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MilestoneClosing doors and scribbling pens
And it's long past midnight, wind blown
Hair and bloodshot eyes, bloodstained heart
Pumping time, pain on every start
My life is viewed through a dirty lens
The clock ticks away the ones and tens
Each pulse a milestone
Electrons fire deep into the night
My heart is a bird that's already flown
And far away my deadlines race
Evidence I'll never face
My pulse is unlocked, I know I'm right
My hopes and fears go bump in the night
Each breath a milestone.
Five-FourA pulse in my head, like somebody
Rewired my heart, a pulse so
Foreign and and exotic, so much like
Somebody has breathed
New life into my
Heart, skin and bones, so
I => Have
A new time signature
An extra pulse, extra
Time => To finish
What must be finished.
No heaviness now resides
In my soul, only light
And air, and springs
On my heels, more
My heart now runs
In 5/4 time.
The Lady of the NightWhen the moons cries, and the swans laugh
And the birds have stopped singing again
The beasts are in burrows, down they've lain
The lake fills with tears
Not disturbed by man, no midnight train
To paint new fears.
Though mind may run, our hearts will tire
The world around one big campfire
The wolves will howl, but they're all liars
They wake us up in spite
But no sounds nor cares would dare disturb
The beauty of the night.
The rain might fall upon our eaves
Our hearts will beat in fright
The shadows cast by fallen leaves
Our muscles loose and tight
But stars will shine, no troubling dreams
Can find us in their light
For now we're safe, wrapped in the cloak
Of the lady of the night.
BlindedSome say that stars rise, but
Lucifer was a morning star,
And he fell, as we all know;
Fell and fell til he hit
The ground, dazed and numb,
Swallowing his raging words.
He now rises to the dais, nervous
Worried, questioning, doubting
What he is about to do,
Rightfully so. We will learn
To hate him for this day.
His words thunder like a
Teautonic nightmare, viking
Storms, raging across the world.
He sees himself as a god, an
Aryan dream, but light - be it
Good or bad, is not darkness,
And so light will crowd out all
Else, burning, blinding, scalding.
And this is the legacy he left us
Left us hated for what he
Forced us to do, they cry, but as
We all know, an eye for an eye
Will only leave the world blind.
PerfectionA perfect teacher. A leader. A hero.
We ascribe perfection to our lives;
To everything, we give it out.
This word, this value, I swear
I am perfect, but it was never true.
A marble idol on a doric column -
Or was it ionic, or some other
Traditional name given to something
Time has washed away, was perfect.
But was it ever true?
No, can it be true, that society--
The idols it holds dear, can it be true
That Jesus was perfect, the Buddha
Was perfect, Muhammed was
Perfect. It was never true.
A word meant to denote infinite
Goodness, justice, light where
Dark could never reach. But I know
In my heart, that the gods that
Haunt our past were never perfect -
They were men, rasied upon the shoulders
Of the crowd, raised to idols, heroes,
Immortals, I fear I will be too.
Perhaps I may one day become the perfect
Teacher, like Plato and his Academy, or
His shadows on the wall, wraiths.
And maybe I can be perfect, may stand
The test of time, but I know.
It was never true.
Human CostsCells we divide now divide our masses
One becomes two, God help us.
Don't you dare question what
Science has deemed is good for us -
Things never were this complicated before.
The human costs of cloning, they claim,
Are morally repellant. Slogans yelled,
Placards raised against a vilified enemy
One we will never fully understand, nor
Hope to, they claim. Pitiful. Shameful.
Absorb our eyes, skin, the feel
Of rain, sensations, broken, absurd.
We comment, socially, societally, upon
The biology of our technology, but never
Do we consider what we ourselves say.
Lost upon our nameless sea of guilt,
Pentagrams repeated 'cross our skies, burned
Into our retinas, our genetic code;
Our hearts beat poisonous cells though
Our arteries, corroding our morals.
Sticks and StonesThey say that sticks and stones may break a man's bones. But what people don't often account for is what happens when metal enters the equation. I didn't.
Now I was seeing the consequences.
I lay over his body, crying, sobbing. I never cry. Ever. But I did. Make of that what you will.
He was covered in blood. It's funny, disturbing even, how much blood can poor out an apparently non-fatal wound. The irony of the situation, which I never noticed, is that he was a hemophiliac.
Was. Past tense.
That sent me into another fit of hysterics. "Oh, God, no... not this, please, he has to be-- Ben! For God's sake Ben, can you hear me?" Over and over. I said those things over and over, a thousand permutations of "no" and "not this" and "oh God", over and over, and his name, his name over and over... Till my brain was just running in loops. There was nothing I had not said, and none of it meant anything
Like cold rain racing down my body
Or the sharp nails of an insane man digging into my flesh
And that crazy laugh
That chills me more than any word with meaning
And a scream
Oh that scream that goes on far too long
And waking up again and again
Only to be confronted by another horror
And all the while those eyes
Like some infinite void
That send shivers down my spine
And then it's over.
I wake up with sweat running down my face,
And try to catch my breath.
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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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