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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.
breathe that soul straight down my throatyou are my full-lipped muse
and half-lidded siren
humming a broken chorus
breathing to a metronome
sighing in crescendo
an evangelizer of acoustics
the ministry of instrumentals
I've been baptized
in your anarchist hymns
you've made me a believer
of vinyl and a religion without god
INFINITELY LILITHI am not dead for I cannot die,
once Man thought I could be easily misused,
exiling me to an epilogue no longer remembered
as he blotted out my blush from staining
the Earth's chrysalis rind, if only he knew
that beneath my touch knowledge took root
and pumpkins were hollowed out into shapes
-seedless and skinless-as infinite as the mind.
I am not dead, I cannot die
for I am the memory of primevel bliss,
though blackened my skeleton still exists,
licking the Silence clean so my name can
bite more soundly, a thousand serpents hiss
from my nebula center, welcoming to me
my children who bring the blood that feeds
my dessicated garden, ravenously growing,
I cannot regret for I live too purely to repent
the pushing and prodding of my blossoms to be
known by the timeless exuberance of eons past,
in the Moonlight I move and speak of dark things
not really dead and the light not really blessed
without me being known first, infinitely I say
I am not dead for I cannot die.
I am Lilith.
The Lost Who WanderI find myself
at the feet of a god,
not with expectation,
praying falsely for
of divine intervention,
but out of sheer desperation,
like those who murmur
prayers to St. Jude,
within the darkness
where there is none
over the rocks
with the blind,
not counting how many
along the way,
all to hear enigmatic
from the parched
of a mad woman
with hallucinatory visions
living in a cave
which sweeps over me
in waves of nausea.
I martyr myself
for your pain,
and grieve unaccountably
for your loss,
it seers through me,
like St. Sebastian
I find myself penetrated
full of holes, bearing the marks
of a guilt which should
never have been my own.
But that dose not entirely
absolve me, there is
no escape from my own
all I can do is watch you
and wait for dead prayers
to be answered
by the indifferent
sages who devour
our fates making
bets as they attempt
at the endisthmus tossed over the edge
wipes the bull's back
in the odourless sun
the tiger could rest
could perhaps be crossed
the temple is marble,
white and final
the boy stands up
In the WoodsIn the woods my spirit wanders
it goes where now my feet shall follow
the trees, they speak with silent tongues
where wind will pass through every branch
my eyes alight with newfound life
I know this is my lasting home
the ground beneath receives me warmly
soft-spun soil has kissed my feet
the air around has touched me deeply
soaking in my every pore
the birds are singing in the trees
with peeping frogs drawn up and down
the waters of the streams are murm’ring
the distance now is not so far
and what is near is father still
the world it breathes in through the roots
where my soul is rising to
digging deep in untold heights
my spirit wanders with the breeze
here is where my people lived
where they fought and drank and built and died
the forest is our endless home
whence our finest tribes did hail
fare we well to come back home now
to bring soft flesh to bare
bear it out along the way
softest skin on rough hewn bark
the palm may breathe in with the wood
and out the lungs give a cath
UntitledToday, Father, we need Your aid
For in the in the present, battles rage
With Your guidance, victory will be made
And Your praise will be sung from age to age
Memories of Days of Peace to ComeMemories of Days of Peace to Come
Midnight, silence echoes through the void;
A sight once seen, the earth ever recalls.
In wordless wait, time comes to an end;
A tale of anguish, by curse and decay,
To be cleansed by the coming of a King.
Heat goes away as all things perish;
Universe being poured out unto death,
Longing for the hour of redemption,
Whence the high price of man's sin is paid,
Foretold since the old days of the fall.
Mountains weep with great tears from the heights;
Magma blood erupts through earthbound pores;
Pressure tightens the core in the deep.
Humble, the moon comforts grounded cries;
Thrice the quakes submit to divine will.
All of nature stands tortured and shamed
By the bloody hands of foul mankind;
Murderous, desecrating the holy.
The deep growl of God's wrath reverberates
Like judgement on atoning innocence.
Starlight pierces the black of the night;
Words of white tell their ancient witness.
The firmament bleeds its precious glow;
Holy brilliance she
Now, BecauseNow is the time to be tough.
Even though you don't want to be,
even though you'd rather just weep.
Now is the time to be strong.
Even though everything in you cries,
screams against it.
Now is the time to be happy.
Even though all you care about is fading,
falling rapidly into the background.
Because weeping does nobody good.
Not even you.
Because faltering only hurts you.
Not even screams help.
Because happiness is the glue
that is holding you
that is keeping you
from bursting apart at the seams.
Because even though everything, everything
Is falling away and is meaningless,
("Meaningless! Meaningless!" cries the Teacher)
You still need to ignore your grief
Keep moving and
It'll be fine.
Now is the time to be tough.
Even though it's so hard,
the hardest thing you've ever done.
Now is the time to be strong.
Even though yo
THAT PAIN YOU FEELThat pain you feel is muscle building,
destruction of the worn away pieces.
Staircases being built while you work away,
signs saying "Construction: please use detour".
Walking partially on the backs of past foremen,
who built their own homes and left behind the blueprints.
The world can't show restraint in its assault,
but the paths have been cut for those who would spit in the eyes of gods.
Look down at yourself now,
That six pack didn't grow itself.
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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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