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Why is my heart so filled with sin?
Why must I struggle with this filth within.
Save me Lord from myself
And show me how to love.
It's a bright night.
I might write about:
Thoughts of a fight!
Then a flight from spite...
Don't bite.. You're too uptight.
But don't delight in your plight.
It's not right to skite.
What a sorry sight.
Gotta reach quite a height.
I'm not quite upright
On this bright night.
A broken man, shattered by his lover.
Fallen tears splash in the gutter.
I am sickened by this sinful world.
Why do people have to hurt one another?
Another Day - Another Night
Why do I sit at the computer all day
Whiling weary hours away?
I think the nights must know me well,
Hoping for something to cheer my soul
I fear the sleep that steals my time
And while away another day.
Frustration finds itself in you.
And if you weren\'t such a favoured friend,
I may have never bothered.
But since your friendship means so much
I will throw myself into the depths of despair,
And leave with down-turned face,
The notion of a friend behind,
Who shared my weekends kicking
A ball around a park.
I hope that we will long remain friends,
And with that hope I lift myself from the depths,
To enjoy your company as you freely give it,
And set my sights on the game.
Butterflies of Your Love
A torrent of soft wings flood
over my closed eyes,
as I see myself from the outside,
dreaming of you.
Butterflies (a million shades of white)
caress my face
and flow around me
IcarusWho are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I touched the sky
I flew too hard and burned too fast
Dreams like mine, they just don't last
I touched the sun on feathered limbs
I satisfied my wildest whims
But I burnt out, and I fell down
My body wasn't ever found
But don't remember me for how I failed
I embody all the dreams that've sailed
So who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I wasn't afraid to fly.
Death is a GentlemanDo I have a reason to fear Death?
He is kind and he's quiet,
He listens as well;
He'll drive you to Heaven,
He'll cart you to Hell.
His vest is embroidered
With little white curls
He puts flowers in His pockets
Which He gives to the girls.
He likes to eat chocolate,
(Or so I've heard)
And He keeps in a cage
a little pet bird.
His skeletal horses
Always look proper;
His wine is uncorked
and untouched by the stopper.
His shoes are so polished
You can see yourself in them,
His laces are always tied
Just below His pant hem.
His bones are quite sturdy
And never look brittle;
In fact, I have heard
He quite likes to whittle.
He makes little horses
And little toy men
Which He gives to young patrons
And smaller children.
He tells jokes on occasion,
But He's always polite;
His laugh is infectious
and His chatter is light.
He sweet-talks the ladies
and jokes with the men;
He makes your time worth it,
He won't see you again.
His hat is quite tall
and His suit's always pressed;
And He'll try for yo
Once again all alone
I suppose I must deserve it
I'm clingy and annoying
Obnoxious and dense
Rash and silly
Lazy and obsessive
Sometimes I hate myself
I want to draw people in
But only push them away
I cry so much lately
Because everything hurts
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy
I force my smile
I fake my laugh
Does anyone notice?
Does anyone care?
It's not "Like Me" to be so
Depressed? Upset? Angry?
What is 'like me'?
Someone tell me
Because I don't know myself anymore
Once again, as before
I'm all alone
Meaning of lifeThe meaning of life
Life is beauty
Beauty can be a thing you like.
I like fish.
Thus Meaning of life is fish.
Barefoot Today I ran barefoot. It's the only way to run. You don't know freedom until you've run without shoes. Without soles weighing you down. Or laces tying you back. Run without inhibitions.
Today I ran down hills and across busy streets. Feet pounding against hot asphalt. Running through cool, damp, grass. Balancing on curbs. And jogging along walls .
Today I ran down crowded sidewalks, shoes in hand, not returning glances. Silent questions hang heavy in the air. They watch me as I make my way down the street. I zig-zag past trash bins and over recycle bins. The hurdles of city life.
Today I cut across lawns. Made my way through parking lots. Past schools, silent, empty for the summer. Ran past yards with inflatable pools and grills waiting to be lit. Through hopscotches drawn in chalk. Pink dust clinging to my feet.
Today I ran barefoot. Ignoring snide remarks and odd stares. I just ran. Leaving ever
Description of a PoemThoughts on paper,
Emotions in ink.
Verse that shows
What the artist may think.
Not just words
That rhyme or not.
It's a writer's emotion,
Their deepest thought.
To write great poetry
So deep and true,
It must come from emotions
Deep inside of you.
What you feel is what you write.
It helps to let it all out.
It's the perfect outlet
For those who don't scream and shout.
Do not be afraid
To let the world know.
Say what you think,
And let your emotions go.
A Great Artist...A Great Artist
A Great Artist is not someone who gets the Attention
It is not about the Shock and Awe
What really does it mean to be a great artist?
The Answer is within Every Person's Creations
Putting the most Effort into every piece of art
The Determination to never give up
To be Honest and Hard Working
Practice to amplify ones Ability
A great artists is more then Pencil and Paper
It takes Heart, Determination, and Pride
To put a whole being into the art
To work beyond the limits of what they were told
Taking time to give friendly Critique
Learning how to Improve Ones Skill
To be a part of the Community
To Be There when No One Else will
To help the Great Artists
There is a Community for them
The Community Offers to the unseen
That Community is UnseenArtists.
A Soul's PassingPlace me not, within this ground
To hear no more, a mortal sound
Encumbered by earth, a twisted soul
Covered by death, in this devils hole
I scream, I cry, to no avail
A pity screech, a desperate wail
In this wretched place I be
No more to hear, no more to see
All mourners turn and walk away
Interned in darkness and forced to stay
This knoll is now my resting place
Dried tears are etched upon my face
Six feet under is now my home
No more to wander, no more to roam
A stone is laid upon my head
My body blanketed with a flower bed
Please visit me, although I'm gone
Our bodies wither, but the soul lives on
In hearts of loved ones, for ever more
Dreams to keep and minds to store
Our lives are given as a gift
To help restore and give a lift
To those who shared our living days
In many forms and many ways
So I Rest in Peace with knowledge known
Of eternal slumber and seeds I've sown
I close my eyes and say farewell
To what was once my human shell
TortureSometimes torture is physical,
It is being pinned against the wall by the bully,
It is being spat on. It is being laughed at.
It is going home and washing the rotten food out of your hair
And the tears from your face.
Sometimes torture is emotional,
It is being ignored by your family,
It is being used by your friends. It is abuse.
It is curling up in bed at night and crying into your pillow
To muffle the sound.
Sometimes torture is mental.
It is self-inflicted and ties you in knots,
It is insanity. It is fear.
It is running when you have nowhere to go and hiding
Behind something that won't cover you.
All torture is pain.
The Breath of GodAutumn leaves sitting under the tree; out of season.
Until the wind blows them through the Springtime,
Onto the pathway and up the ramp…
…to be rustled and crackled under the feet of flirting teens.
I would love to be moved by God so that my sole purpose was…
…to add texture to the lives of those around me.
And to point them back to God.
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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