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Only the Moon RemembersThe mists gleam with an iridescent blue.
But they pull away from me as I walk
along cobblestone paths, footsteps oppressed.
The forest takes on a spectral facade.
A sound from within the foliage,
interrupts my silent, cold amble.
But goes ignored, like the breath of a sleeper.
Resuming my stroll through the moonlit woods,
I find myself gazing up at the sky,
as I contemplate epochs long past.
Unheard, a call from the grave, echoes behind.
A grey cloaked figure, waiting in the haze,
with eyes of burning coal, that look through me.
Open to an age, submersed in forever night.
Face to the StormI'd have to look up to see the bottom.
How have I fallen so far, yet have so far to go?
This will end here, my heart holds no repent.
Ebony clouds on the horizon stare back at a sickly smile.
I am the wind that has no master.
Your violent lights shake the very air around me.
Lightning impacts the earth beneath my feet.
But still I stand, spear at hand.
God of the Tempest,
I will never fall to your gales and rain.
I will never be your slave.
You and I are One and the same,
a Positive and Negative charge on the same particle.
Even if you crush the world beneath your Kingdom,
You can never break my spirit,
and you can never take my soul.
Into the Storm, my sight remains.
It's just you and me.
Come what may.
The Spirit in the MistThe mists gleam with the ambient light of the moon and stars.
But they pull away from me as I walk down these cobblestone paths.
The surrounding forest takes on a spectral appearance in the haze.
A sound from within foliage interrupts my amble,
most likely a small rodent or cat.
Resuming my stroll through woods,
I find myself whistling to a tone by Iron Maiden.
Taking the time to reflect upon myself, as the sky draws my gaze.
A faint whisper escapes into the cool night air.
I turn around, but no one's there.
There's no such thing as ghosts.
Another whisper cuts through the air, sending chills down my spine.
I held my breath at what I saw when I turned around.
A silhouette, twisted and rippled by the fog, stood less than fifteen feet behind me.
RockHacking away at a rock with another rock will shape the rock
you are hacking at by time, but the rock you are using might also break.
This can be frustrating and you may want to give up and go do something else,
but that is when you should get back on your feet, find another rock and continue hacking.
You might never feel that the rock you are shaping ends up perfect and you will always see flaws or
improvements to be made. Passion to do something isn't to finish it, it's to work on it.
Hearts of ImaginationStanding near the horizon.
Looking at the world before me and all of it's colors.
Breath taking, inspiring, refreshing.
So many things to say, so many things to feel.
All of this was created by someone perfect.
All of this couldn't have existed.
This was created with a heart that can see perfection.
This was created with a heart of pure imagination.
Imagination is in every heart as the desire of eternity.
How can this be limited and challenged?
It's hard to fathom that all of this was limited.
It wasn't, nor was the heart of the one who rules it all.
Sitting in class, and hearing his words of glass.
Make everything realistic and meaningful he says, but be creative.
Story after story breaks my own heart; where is the imagination?
Where is the one thing I was made for?
In my room I huddle; this class frustrates me.
Papers torn across the room like a hurricane of parades.
I feel torn; I feel cold.
Where is the one thing I was made for?
It all becomes meaningless, and my passion becomes co
Ephemeral MomentsLike the sky above me
And many endless sea-waves,
It seems to me that I am floating.
In the sleep for the past.
In all splendor, in my glance –
Interwoven the butterfly flies
And it is easy to smile for me.
Today matters, but only the true appearance
And far prevail all flaps.
In view, freedom can be almost seized.
Yesterday seems to be forgotten
And the future, beyond question.
Balanced is my wish
To let go all hold.
But shall I chose the sky now
Or shall I dive into the sea-blue?
i fear you
and i love you
you have created the beauty and the life
as well as the misery and death
as adversaries and counterpoints
to your cosmic composition
according to your secret wisdom
you saw everything already
when it was only in germ
in the shining darkness
and before the world was born
even before the beginning
of all you were here
in the beginning of time, on the face of the darkness
shivered the inkling of the breath of your name
of which bright sparkle the world was given to born
according to your divine and foreknowing will
according to your magnificent wisdom
you have send us the purple dawns and dusks
the armies of the stars of the night sky
which twinkle during the long winter nights
together with the moon and the cherry blossoms
of the spring and the multicoloured summer flowers
of various kinds and the shining colours of
They say Christians never doubt
That all we do is look down on people
For being flawed and imperfect
That we think we are superior to all
Let me tell you something
It is a complete and utter lie
If anything we doubt more than most
Because we struggle not to lose our faith
Why fight for it all, you ask?
Because I'll always know
That there is always Someone there
Whose arms I can collapse in
No matter how much I rage and scream
Despite all the insults I throw at Him
Even if I walk away time and time again
He'll never leave, even if everyone else does
The Heathen in Your Midstdo not mistake his presence as a prayer
nor take his poise as an act of attrition
that he sits atop your pew
does not make him one of you
this Heathen in your midst
he has no guilt left to give
and whether you wanted it or not
is no longer a concern of his
he traces fingers along the stone
and makes your Virgin a proud young Mother
the seed of Annikki becomes the blood of Frija
such is his wicked Heathen craft
your symbols do go back in time
where neither Jew nor Christ have breath
symbols of the harvest to be reaped as you have sewn
sigils here are those that touch the Heathen’s heaving heart
do not be offended as this wicked Witch takes your church away
for were you there upon its silent pews
than he never would have come to bother you
Poet has eyeswhen the night takes its step to the kingdom of shadows
then there is liveliness between the told and the untold
then the poet has eyes seventy
times seventy or maybe even more
within all these eyes the poet has fiery look like seraphs
and equal amount of wings in mouth like cherubs
under the poets tongue is a key which opens and closes
everything on the border of the seen and the unseen
but don’t delude yourself because in reality even one eye
or hand or instinct is enough for a human being
to make bright from the darkness of this world
if it only looks within - because look
the kingdom of god is within you and it can not be taken away from you
by angels or thrones or principalities or dominions or powers
The Cross We BearSometimes we are born
with a cross to bear
and to that cross you are not warned,
it is okay to think that unfair
That cross you must carry
to your own personal Calvary
and you must be wary
that all you will feel is agony
Once the cross is made to stand
and just as though it were planned
You will face both The Dark and The Light
only you can choose which way is right
Ascend into Heaven
or Descend into Hell
Can you live with your choice?
Only time will tell...
La demesure de ce monde.La démesure de ce monde.
Nous humains sommes démons et excès :
Ce monde est en démesure d’absurdités.
Quand arrive l’automne
En éclaboussure de couleurs,
En jaunes qui s’orangent,
En verts que le rouge ronge,
Quand la forêt se fait fleur,
Les brumes pleurent l’été en allé
En langueur de lambeaux et caresses
Que le vent disperse bientôt.
Nous humains sommes anges déchus :
Les croyants qui ne condamnent l’ISIS
Font de leur Dieu et Allah, un salaud!
Est-il raisonnable de salir ainsi son Dieu?
La nuit est cette fenêtre sur le vide
Qui habite notre multitude
Sous le champ des étoiles
Notre univers n’est fait que d’aléatoire
Où Dieu n’est qu’un joueur compulsif
Qui a peut-être mal joué ses cartes.
Existe-t-il un univers plus sensé
Où le bien en absolu règne,
Où l’enfant est ce p
OuroborosThe Cycle begins at the rise of sun,
ending during the descent of the moon.
The dragon that consumes its barbed tail,
the sands of time, and wheel forever turning.
Unconscious is the flow, ascension.
Mindless is the resistance to the wheel.
But in vain, your useless endeavor ends.
It is the sand that slips through your fingers.
Nothing lies behind, but these pale memories.
What exactly is the meaning of this?
You have made life a thief and murderer.
You let the weak be denied and fall behind.
A Question buried in the cold sands
and a thousand Answers we left below.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More