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The Boy and the GirlThey watched riverbeds cycle past on Chinese bikes while red lanterns passed their eyes.

They saw as the mythic dragon dragged its feathery tail across.

They held hands as the dancing parades brought their thoughts to them.

They didn't realise it now, but this would be in their minds for years to come.

After minutes of still eyes, they got to their feet and headed toward town.

Darkness was lying over them on the cloudy black sky, stars not in sight.

Stars not in sight, they could only see by streetlight.

Eventually neon lights glowed ahead and took them to a dancing dream of streamlined madness.

They held and moved.

They clapped and

RevolutionI sit in Preston Park. I sit on a bench that has been nailed into a wall that curves like a crescent around a fenced-in clean-cut field of grass. Grass lies behind me, the crescent wall slopes down, was built into a small grass verge it seems. Pavement and steps flatten parts to allow for easy walking. It looks kind of nice to the human eye, the curves and shapes and inter-linking pavings and grass. It makes a nice place to sit.

Now I think, this spot on Earth over 600 years ago, it would have been grass over-flown. Plants, trees, scurrying little beasts, bursting from green and brown undergrowth. Times change fantastically. But I am not for

AustinGlancing around, he sits
cautiously
next to a girl who looks
almost familiar

Her black hair, cut severely
into a bob
her sunglasses, round and dark lenses
She wears flip-flops
her toes are so lovely
but she doesn't notice him staring

her eyes are fixed on the book in her hands.

He looks at her clothes; all in black
with heavy silver chains
hung 'round her neck
and he wonders
if perhaps she suffers
from some horrible inner torment.

He envisions holding her close,
to heal all her pain
to kiss every wound away.

He's glad she hasn't noticed; a gentle blush
colours his cheeks at the thought
that she might count him among

ExistenceSweet embrace of the numbing flames
Shadows licking the edges of my soul
Sheaths of ignorance hide my shames
Of child like innocence wickedly stole
Heart of glass shattered galore
Gathering army greets the Coming
Enemies unite at the sound of war
Reverberating melodies born of drumming
Long forgotten angers suddenly ignite
Death lurking at every door
Gaurdians of the world commence to fight
My life as I knew it exists no more

wrote 7-7-12

Broken MirrorAs a young girl I once found a mirror
So big and mysterious it seemed to me
Something straight out of a fairy tale

I imagined so many stories that were held within
So many different worlds on the other side
And one of them was my fantasy

A world built on magic and hope
I used to see so many different outcomes
So many different dreams

Sometimes I would even forget who I was
Who was the person I was supposed to be
Was not that girl within the glass just the same as me?

And that is where I was confused
If I was not that girl, then who was I
Perhaps I was her fantasy

This is something I thought I knew
Is the world I live in now a

My eyes aren't the right shade of blueMy eyes aren't the right shade of blue,
They didn't come from the sky or the ocean.
My skin isn't like butter or porcelain,
It's like the earth; pebbles and stones show up unannounced,
And as time goes by, roads will soon be on my face.
My lips aren't the right shade of pink or red,
They're not full like a rose,
Nor soft like the petals, nor harsh like the thorn.
My cheeks aren't high enough,
And my jaw isn't sharp like the mountain's edge.
My hair is not my prized possession,
It falls flat and sways like the grass,
Other days its like an angry cloud.
My arms are not slender and neither is my torso,
My hips fall flat,
And my tu

IronyI can taste my heart on my lips.
Cold, bitter, sharp.
Like the edges of a mirror.
On my tongue.
Swirling around.
When did my heart end up in my mouth?
Oh right.
I puked out all my insides.
But my love for you was too big to fit through my mouth.
Ironic how the one thing that kills me everyday
Is the one thing I can't get out.
So I'll end up being choked by it.
And some random by-passer
Will find a corpse
Of an alien
With no guts
Who dreamt of a love
That ended up killing her.

She PlaysShe plays the piano
Just like an angel
Taking strides of her own

With folded wings
Clasped about her skin
As fingers intertwine
And hands do not rest,
But instead move

Across the keys
Unlocking the doors
Of a child's heart
As she sways
Into the Movements
Of a woman

The intensity of
Eyes permeates the air
Even as they are
Lowered

To the stepping stones
Where raindrops wept
A million tears
Creating Oceans
That spanned across
The sands
And forever flow

No matter how torrent
Or impalpable
She eases into that
Steady Motion

As her vessel
Gently rocks
The sunsets

Until the door is closed
And the song has
Ended, and

The DreamHis shadow looms behind you,

His hands are stained with red,

If eyes are windows to the soul,

Well...

I guess his soul is dead.

Stupid CupidWhen the stupid Cupid came in my way
with bow and arrow, and began to say
"For the loneliness of yours, I have the cure:
a love for you, sweet and pure."
I said, "What kind of angel are you?
Why don't you look for something else to do?
You shoot people, play with their lives
to give them love, which is only strife;
I wonder how fun it must be
to play with other's feelings for pure vanity.
Then, next time you come in my way,
you mind your business, and go away!"
He stared perplexed. What to do, he didn't know.
Then I've stolen the bow and the arrows.

Lucky 13I think 13 is lucky
It's certainly chaotic
but it matches the black I wear
the web of my mind
it gets a bad rap
no floors in its name
but everything else seems
to reject me too
so, I'll make poor 13 mine
and we'll be lucky together
just fine

Small ThingsI cling to small things:
The deep color of your eyes;
The poetic rhythm of your hips;
The beautiful lines of your face

I cling to small things:
The emphasis with which you say some words;
The softness of your gestures;
The stars that escape from your smile

I cling to small things:
hope;
dream;
desire

I'm a castaway in the life
and do not want to drown in this icy ocean,
Then I cling to small things,
and swim desperately

I swim trying to reach the island of your heart

The GallowsThe gallows harkened
Somber tones, companied by morose faces;
Slow footsteps
marching –step after step– to meet death's call

sapphire-jeweled skies masquerade
setting space afire, snow-white clouds drifting
through the flames
the golden sun spun its silk, weaving robust heat

siphoned smiles taken from the royal treasures
regurgitated onto faces, framed by dazzling jewels
hand-given by majestic, greedy nobles
bribes expressed the desires of the wealthy

one by one the marked climbed
nine stairs, five harrowing steps, one stool
a single jump, one noose, one final kick
the bodies slid

down

Newspeakmindless babble floats through the room
forming the backbone of a secular society—
intelligence, naught but an empty tomb
the picture-perfect antonym of sobriety.

Newspeak, a language just free from the womb;
a frightening attempt to soothe 'anxiety'—
all thoughts expunged, every synonym set to consume
depths hollowed by the sands of time, an affront to propriety.

Propaganda at its worst is government at its best

a peculiar kind of braverywe set ghost traps in nightmares.

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An Enigmised Existence

Poetaeically entangling, vines of foreign footsteps creeping,
Around, and around
And then again, once again the floor pulls from beneath you.
Only time before this has happened was the call of
Valeroth and her guardian demon wing.

Cast the spell in which the ancient tome had
Beset, written on its pages,
The answers you sought on heeding this call.
The ancient's howls echo through the catacombs.
Betrayed, lost, growing desperate.

Heed the voices, their warnings.
Their crumbling rock bodies, besides soil and timber, contain wisdom.

Or shalt their bodies crumble?
Should their old bodies, as ours do now, relatch unto the Eart

Space Samurai: Log 1Log 1: Date 4678, 36th Zen.
I have arrived in the vatarski quadrant. My holocon tells me I'm 4 clicks Zerga (south) of where I need to be. My target, so my contract tells me, is a cowboy, he's looking for something that is important to the man who hired me. He's looking to steal something. I don't know what. I don't care what. But this bitch is mine as long as his life is worth 50,000 MZ. On my person I carry my usual: Slize-air powered blade,

The Skies We SeeThese are the skies the world shows me.
Born into this world and destined to die there are only so many I can see.
So as the world spins around, within and without me,
I am glad that it still is and hasn't gone on before me.

Such a small fragment of it all I am.
Just a single man,
In a world not yet planned.

Everything flows a certain direction.
All burst from a single point.,
Is everything's first connection.

Now abound and fragmented,
The Universe attempts to unify again
But in reverse.
A frozen microscopic stature,
Worlds within worlds, the single point still remains.

And what is the point? I hear many of you say.

Own TimePatterned Aromas,
Swish swash swilling
Clovers
In an endless spirillic
Relapse.

Take one's own time
To delve into one's mind
And come out with a glorious
Harmonious
New shine that will
Rock the palisades
Of kingdom nigh...
While the blades fall silent,
Beheading the night
Dry.

Be close. And
Feel the time watching.
See when it will make its move,
Always.

And a second later you're done.
Remember when you were at
The beginning?
Remember the thoughts that were
Swish swash swilling,
Like clovers,
Filling, drilling, tilling
The mind's meadows,
Its syncopated goodbyes and
Hellos...
Only to arrive at what you s

Seamless Oceanic CyclesGareth Light, he travels across oceans you see. He transports himself through the driving wheel of a rig; a heavy machine certainly, but durable on the rough seas. Sometimes he stands out on the deck, taking in the fresh sea air through widened nostrils. The boots around his feet shine with the gleam left from splashing waves while his feet remain dry underneath. On them a sparkle from the glaring sun shimmers from time to time, with the rocking of the boat. Then at night sometimes he stumbles about on deck, drunk-barmy from rum, enjoying the lashing rain that he feels hit his body. Some of his best nights on board were the stormy ones. After

Autumn

Lavenders breeze,
The field around them
Flow like the seas.

Autumn rolls in,
Slowly, surely,
It's that time again.

Picked off by the winds,
Crisp leaves hit
The ground.
Tumbleweed blows,
Nothing makes a sound.

Clarity,
The crystallisation of Summer.
That moment,
When everything lies perfectly still.

In the Autumn dawn,
There is no haze,
No humidity.

Just clear silence,
Broken, crisp, underfoot.

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Last Night's Rain

by ~dude-im-alive, Jul 17, 2012, 3:00:39 AM
Literature / Poetry / Nature / Free Verse

Wet roses, sick with heavy rain,
Left from last night's slumber,
Smoking the breath of new days.

Swirling crimson sun, turning
Clouds kaleidoscopic in
Burning, dark rhythm.

Let the dew drip full of weight.
A whole morning magnified,
Inverted through liquid orb.

Solidify fiery decay.
Capture the meaning absorbed
Within chaos and abstraction.

In a glistening pool of water.
Lake akin to the forest fire,
Stiller, staying lower,

Ripples investing height
Upon the next day's shower.

Last Night's Rainby ~dude-im-alive

Literature / Poetry / Nature / Free Verse

Woah. Totally blown away by the reception this has got. Thank you all so much for your time for reading this and to all of those who favorited, for my sake of course, I'm really glad you liked it. After following critique from those kind people within the elite literature group, I've decided to reduce words and multiply meaning within my poems. It seems that this is the way forward and it does feel much better writing this way too. Really enjoyed making this one and the reception I've recieved has made me feel incredible and happy to write. Thanks to you all, this day has blown me away - the views and favorites. I will continue in this new style and see where it takes me. Thanks all!

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~Evalnia Apr 6, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is so well written. Very, very beautiful and painting - stunning.. just stunning!

~dude-im-alive Apr 10, 2013 Writer

thank you so much

~Evalnia Apr 10, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Welcome

*MistressofQuills Jul 28, 2012 Student Writer

absolutely stunning work! i really love it!

~dude-im-alive Jul 28, 2012 Writer

Thank you very much

*MistressofQuills Jul 28, 2012 Student Writer

you're welcome^^

~dude-im-alive Aug 3, 2012 Writer

~insomatic-studios Jul 28, 2012

Wow! awesome poem

~dude-im-alive Jul 28, 2012 Writer

Thx

*Lou-Sifer Jul 21, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Okay could you have found a better picture for this? I think not it's absolutely amazing which suites the poems beautifully.

And I was also happy the read the description ^^

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