Newest
Silence means obscuritySilence means obscurity; Both are the conclusion. Shadows overcome—individually, Then as one indiscriminate mass Called Night, the Chasm and the Abyss, From which there is no return, Having no entrance from which to begin.Silence means obscurity
In the temporal flutters of Light, We worship sight, dark and white; Yet there are unseen rays That lie behind blind eyes, Even more in the still musings of the dead, Who see all that we cannot, are all we can never be-- We who breathe in the diaphanous curtains of Life.
We fear the dark as we fear Truth; We fear Not
by ~dead-poetess-society
In GeorgiaIn Georgia, there is only half-winter, sometime-winter. Half the trees are bare, naked, Cold and dying and still as death. Others sway and pulse with life beside them, Glossy green leaves rustling in the wind, Bending back and forth in blushing failed attempts At covering their kins’ and lovers’ weaknesses, Their deterioration, their stark exhibition Of thin limbs and insufficient trunks. But one cannot be twice as strong, (Once for itself and once for another) Or twice as green, twice as full and flowered, Twice as alive.In Georgia
Already the weak ones are
by ~dead-poetess-society
All the pieces fall away...All the pieces fall away— Strands of gold, strands of copper, Ribbons of obsidian, crimson, Cream and sienna silks twisting away; All shed themselves from my skin, Reveal the silver of my eyes, Dropping off, slithering off like serpents, Melting away, soaking into the earth Where all the histories whisper, Where lie all the helpless bodies, Where memories complacently Make themselves into manure.All the pieces fall away...
It can’t reach me anymore; I can’t touch the ground. I hover above, abandoned By all those things that shelter, That blind in warm c
by ~dead-poetess-society
Swan SongThe trees are being denuded. Branches that were shielded from light By the lush verdant of their youth Now delicately hold the old crimson and gold Of their last brilliant rush.Swan Song
Watch them with spread eyelids, The tender, glimmering orbs Pierced with clear and colored lights, The leaves the warmest and most soft, The shape of the air invisible but through them.
by ~dead-poetess-society
Favourites
No favourites yet.
Details II
AmazeddeviantID
No deviantID yet.
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Georgia, USA
- Interests: reading, writing, enjoying visual art, learning, Taoism
- Favourite band or musician: Eric Parton
- Favourite genre of music: I'm eclectic
- Favourite artist: J.M.W. Turner, Francis Bacon, James Jean
- Favourite poet or writer: Flannery O'Connor, T. S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, Robert Frost, Toni Morisson, William Faulkner
- Favourite style of art: For literature: Modernism, and second, Romanticism
- MP3 player of choice: 80 GB Zune
- Favourite game: Scattergories, Clue, trivia games, bowling
- Favourite cartoon character: GIR (from Invader Zim), Ramon (from Happy Feet), Tiny (from Meet the Robinsons)
- Personal Quote: A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages ~Tennessee Williams
- Tools of the Trade: pen, paper, Word, dictionary, thesaurus
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
*crosses fingers*
--
The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in Life, the Mystical in Nature, this is what I am looking for. It is absolutely necessary for me to find it somewhere.
~Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis"
--
znajdź mnie i odwiedź o tu: [link]
--
The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in Life, the Mystical in Nature, this is what I am looking for. It is absolutely necessary for me to find it somewhere.
~Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis"
--
The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in Life, the Mystical in Nature, this is what I am looking for. It is absolutely necessary for me to find it somewhere.
~Oscar Wilde, "De Profundis"
--
Whining is anger pushed through a very small hole.
~: If heaven's so great, why is death the ticket there?:~
PS--Love your quote.
--
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
~T. S. Eliot
Previous Page12345...Next Page