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The Blizzard RetreatsThe sun slips in through egressed window pane,
a subtle warmth and lightness hiding bites
of winter's wind that howls with distain,
the hearth and heart of poets' fire ignites.
The words, both inked and spoken breath, are slights
to ice and snow that coats the frozen ground.
The voices of our minds and mouths resound.
To think of all the time progressed and passed
with little light and even less of heat,
the thought of all the bone-chilled months can't last,
erased, destroyed, by hearty meals to eat.
Amongst camaraderie, we take a seat.
This banquet testament to human flame,
despite the weather, flickers all the same.
TransientI meet the man on the moon once,
we didn't talk, just drank.
I could hear everything
in the bar.
The chatter was dull
The clatter of glasses
argued profusely, what
a waste of empty space.
The stools groaned under
the weight of people
feigning interest in
The nachos were amazing
but I've forgotten about them now.
He paid the tab,
he's forgotten about me
On that thought
I have a sudden onset of loneliness
and finally feel what connects
me to every other being.
The force that pulled her down
brought her to the river bottom
but the moment she left the ledge
she felt weightless
Letter from HereafterWhile you’re alive, learn patience.
You’ll need it when you’re dead.
There are no clocks
on this side,
The bread is done before
it is put in the oven
and has yet to rise.
Music is stuck on one note,
on all the notes,
all the time.
There are no pesky tenses
to keep track of
while writing a poem,
everything is present,
Progress and accomplishment
are living myths,
past leads to future
as much as future leads to past.
What you are going to do
is already done,
what you have done
is what you will do.
You do not “need more time,”
you have all the time in the world
so don’t concern yourself
with writing that book
or learning the piano,
and don’t regret missing
that chance to go to Paris.
The time you spend is of little importance,
but enjoy the little ticks
as they count off on the wall.
But I don’t need to tell you,
you already know this
because you are already here,
just not yet
Morning RoutineI have little concern
for trivial things like
what to eat for breakfast
or if the oven is on
My life consists of very little
but what occupies it
is more than meaningful
Ordinary is of no importance
there is no such thing
Lock the doors
turn out the lights
In the morning
I dissect my dreams
They die before
I find their heart
before I drink the milk
I doubt they have one
FreakIs everyone so beautiful but me?
Through my eyes, I see their beauty
How they tarnish it
With horror I watch
As their beauty fades and I can't stop them
So wonderful they once looked
Watching them every day was my joy
Because the mirror may be a lie.
Still it cracks and breaks
I won't enjoy living in this body
Still ill deal with it
There is nothing I can change
About the horror that is me
No matter how much I apply a fake face
It all washes away
Refusing to lie to the world
Letting me cry
I don't wish to look this way!
Covering up with cloth doesn't work
Im still the same underneath.
Why can't I change who I am?
No-one will ever see me, as beautiful.
Freak, is my name.
I'm Still HereTorn away, ripped apart
From a life that's still at its start
Previous problems seem so small
When you lose your everything , your all
And march along a crowded path
Of purely misplaced disgust and wrath
The power to press and carry on,
to refuse to be forgotten once long gone
Shows the truest type of will
to never be silenced when the body is still
Drafting a dreamDraft of a broken dream
she sat by the stained glass window, gazing at the pouring rain
The cold wind upon her skin, as it fogs up the window pane
she then recalls a promise from a time not so long ago
when winter began its passing and the sun melted away the snow
a promise between 2 children, tis but a childish scheme
involving a red roofed house that sat by a flowing stream
a dream to be together when they reach that "certain" age
and to live happilly ever after, yet still turn the story's page
she then smiles as the tears began to pour forth
if one were to ask why she just could not retort
a childs drawing with a joy that held no cost
and dreams of long ago that will forever be lost
"it was a childish wish" she whimpers wiping away the tears
a wish that would surely be gone after all the passing years...
Broken PathAgain, she walks along a broken path.
Where she will end up, who knows?
but she puts all of her faith in the math.
She walks in the direction the wind blows.
This path was worn long before she was born.
The path can cause one to be torn, by all of its thorns.
It has caused many to stray and find another way,
but those who get through, reap the rewards enough for two.
Now this girl has tried before,
but with no prevail, this time she won't fail.
She walks through the path and knows that it's right.
Half way through she sees the white light.
She makes it through the broken path,
and can look back and give a good laugh,
though she carries the thorns that caused her forlorn.
The path is now broken no more.
The HollowEvermore an empty shell
black soul gone to hell
broken heart collision
empty human, in her own prison
The gems of life
removed from her torso
glister no more
they've become dull
As black as a raven's feathers
is the color of her demeanors;
deep rich violet
covers her nonsense
A wicked chuckle echoes
informing you of her presence
it's an eerie scoff
that turns people off
Even without morphine
the numbness doesn't dim;
it nags at the feelings
cutting their breathing
inhabits her existence;
ordered to perish
for trying to vanish
she is stranded
on the shores of sorrow
forever to be hollow...
Out Of My MindI just looked at my reflection
And asked the most bizarre question
"Tell me, am I still alive?"
I could have sworn as I walked away she whispered "no"
So I must be losing my mind
You think my references to death are metaphorical
But the truth of it is I really can't tell
If I'm breathing, if my hearts beating
Or if this is hell
So I drink, so I smoke, so the drugs keep me calm,
If you were this sick you wouldn't think it was wrong.
I love the way it feels to care and not be cared for
Just like I love to break my bones and cut my skin
I love the way he picks his weapons
I love every ounce of pain
That's why I stay and choke back screams so he won't leave
I think I need someone to fix this
Life just isn't what I pictured
The suns an awkward lighting fixture
You look so beautiful beneath the swelling moon
All I want is peace once more.And if I am to be the sacrifice that will end this war....
then so be it.
My disappearing voiceI've betrayed you all..
This one is dead.
This one has fallen.
This one is dead.
I don't know where I belong..
I found the darkness. But no way out.
I've hurt you all.
This one is lost.
This one has frozen.
This one is lost.
How can I save myself?
How anyone can save me?
There is no way..
This one cannot be saved.
All That Has Come BeforeAll that has come before
Is not needed anymore.
What is in store? What is in store
For people that recede like waves?
I crash upon the shore and weather
The rocks, into sand, into clocks,
For someone to come across and wonder
Who is the creator of time.
We are. And when we kill history
We will be free of all the ghosts
Piled high against deaths door
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More