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memoryshe was a shivering ghost before his eyes,
not entirely a dream, but an old memory
in the dusted air of summer.
whatever spark they'd once had burned quickly
and burst into nothingness, like a vast black hole
set amongst countless failed and broken stars
that had once been beautiful as well.
her voice still lingered in the sky sometimes,
a soft fading whisper
a promise to those dreamers of stars and vapor and
naive imaginings of love,
a promise to the others who'd found themselves
lost in darkness, abandoned.
in the end, she whispered,
those ships lost at sea in a storm of dread
return to find their way through waves of white-frothed dreams,
reborn with a stronger sense of direction in life
and prepared to once again enter the storm that is love.
with her words in mind,
he feels that he is ready to set sail once more,
that he can drift to yet unexplored seas
beneath empty skies and leave behind
And With My Words I FlyUpon the worn old wooden swing
where roses fill the air,
I sit awhile with pen in hand
as wind stirs up my hair.
Like shining silk it swings about,
a cascade of twisting braids.
I close my eyes and suddenly
the world around me fades.
With eyes like stars I gaze anew
upon a dream-like world,
and lost within its loveliness
my thoughts become unfurled.
The skies are dark, the silence deep,
the stars are black and cold.
I cannot rest, I cannot pause
until my tale is told.
Yet suddenly, a light appears
and triumphs over night.
With steady hands and ready mind
I grip my pen and write.
My blood is ink, and ink is blood
free flowing from my hand,
I sit and think and etch my thoughts
my story, at my command.
Forever a child, my mind is filled
with dreams of times gone by.
I long for wings, I long for love
and with my words I fly.
timeA haunted look, a ragged gasp--
my breath seems to freeze.
The slap of feet in winter's air
is taken by the breeze.
I run, I race, I carry on
and yet cannot escape
this thing, this fear, this enemy
that takes no form or shape.
Each tree I pass, each stranger new,
each flower frozen sweet,
has given in, has grown old,
has gone and faced defeat.
The clocks all tick, the bells all toll,
the world is ever burning.
The earth is spinning, spinning, spinning
and I am yearning, yearning.
My heart, my pulse, my crimson blood;
they all beat madly fast.
The sound of passing Time, of years,
Of future, now, and past.
I take a stride, and then another
but time will forever hold
my soul, my life, my every being
until I'm bent and old.
A weathered face, wrinkled skin,
a life slowly failing,
and in its wake, Time ever follows
with Death behind it, trailing.
Another tree, another face,
I slow, the world is still.
I've given up, Time has won
Death creeps in to kill.
lost in the borderlandslost in dreams
of starless nights,
she lingers in the borderlands
torn between insanity and saneness.
loathe to cease her midnight dreamings,
she strays into moonlight,
the sound of ocean waves
echoing throughout her mind,
luring her further into
her dreamworld's web.
most times she is fearless
soaring among the highest stars
or diving beneath the darkest waters,
wandering through mystical dreamed-up
but sometimes she is frightened
fearful of the impending dawn,
when the moonlight will fade and take
her imaginings along with it.
often she wonders whether there's
a difference between
her dreams and reality,
for she can hardy tell
which is which,
the lines have blurred so.
she pretends real life is
just a terrible dream which goes ever on
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More