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We Can't Eat MoneyI cannot understand the fall air
in your radio show.
And I don't see the leaves
that fall from your concrete trees.
You awake each morning,
to the sound of the el train
rumbling through the tunnel
of your dreams.
Wondering why you smiled
in the face of the proof,
Painted on your dying face.
Each brushstroke a jackhammer.
A single-minded tooth
eating you alive, one chip
at a time.
The Eyes of Our ChildrenBecause sometimes I forget
that the sun can shine from my heart.
Because the speech-born webs
that connect my mouth at its corners
were conceived from the alphabet soup I was fed.
Our hearts walk twenty miles barefoot,
to the rhyming toll of the prison bells
we forgot to hear.
Yet here their Olympian din is hollow,
Drowned out by its fading significance.
I know not why my eyes open black as night,
nor why the rhythmic spasms that once meant life have stopped.
But I see clearly the smoke rising from our future
and I wonder,
Why have we been wrong?
No Sympathy For The Broken-HeartedOnce the flame burned,
a smoldering conflagration of our courage
captured in the self subsisting light
of a beating heart.
The human condition at it's core,
heroic and strong, but inevitable is
the losing. The floundering in the forests
of past civilizations, fallen from faith.
The fragrance of a rose,
it was my fault I picked it.
But I picked it for you.
It strived, struggled
to stay perfumed,
Yet petals fell to the ground, anyway.
I tried to fix them,
to return them with the acrid paste
of my misguided dreams
to the withered stem, to save them
in the flower-press of my wounded heart.
But of the roses, only thorns
You were my moon,
My crescented light,
There to guide my way.
A pale light brightening the dark sky
You shined as beautiful as an elegant swan
Surrounded by a million little stars which were
equivalent to my feelings,
Twinkling in its moonlight
I rewound the time I lost with you
around the spool of my misguided ambition.
Floundering to hold the gaze
of your memory, w
SearchingI saw you there in corners
of what we may become.
Sequestered in your heart, like me,
confused in the shadow of the promises,
that the truth broke.
I understand though
I don't know who you are,
not really, but my heart
longs to feel yours.
To kiss your lips
and as one soul,
understand our pain,
DaydreamingIf I could for a time,
deign to forget the muted window of reality
revolving around my daily life.
And create relief from that endlessness
in something more concrete, and imaginary,
so that perhaps the days lived will become more
than just two boots on the ground, trudging in reverse,
toward an uncertain future.
Yeah I don't like schedules very much...I don’t empathize with time.
That is on a schedule oriented basis
I tend to forget, as many do, the oblong
shapes of the grains passing through
some microscopic hole in our universe.
And so becoming lost. Forever.
Forever being an extraordinarily welcome word….
The opposite of time is the eternity.
The rather malicious metaphor of the soul’s journey
through an imaginary hourglass that we
in our self righteous anti-wisdom attempt to control.
Forked RoadsLet yourself breathe the fumes
of the mis-cultured outside, forgotten
by the futility of our attempts
to build a transparent box of secrecy
around our souls
And in a effort to shut-out the truth
you forget to see that these,
self inflicted lies have sliced through
the connecting tissue of our palpatating hearts
and laid bare the mis-truthed monster
for which they beat.
ThreadsEvery occasionally wispered phrase, or
evanescent thought spiraling heavenward
Only the travesty of the truth of that
perilous human condition that we in
ironic brevity, sum up, as love.
We wake in the morning to the sound
of our struggle to forget the one thing,
that we cannot live without.
The connection, singularly suggested
by the never ending knot of a coiled heart
masked, and suppressed, but never lost.
AgeWe the young, the souls bleeding fear,
stood, stooped and silent at the door of destiny.
Hoping, dreaming, beyond reality,
that we can become who we are,
and remain the innocence we once were.
Stepping through that ethereal doorway.
picture frame of the future in fractured fear
of its power.
Of our power.
Of our failure.
And grasping hope of avoidance
of the wreckage of the crumbling tower of age's responsibility.
Existing in fear of remembering,
that somewhere along our convoluted road,
we forgot to live.
When Stars CollapseThis is how you bespeckled my bones
with bewilderment: you kissed hushed heart
whispers and slumbering secrets
into my fingertips. You infused awe
into my joints, causing me
to ask how snowflakes got their
shape and how long would it take
to get from the Sun to Capella.
You taught me that energy is neither
created or destroyed; stars do not die.
Eyes washed with emerald sorrows you
told me that they evolve, they change
into something entirely different,
or not so different.
I now know we are made of the same
particles as someone or something else.
We began someplace together.
We're made of so much more than "star-stuff",
we are made of each other.
In a world with no mercy
Day after day
Until the end
The day I die
And then maybe
I'll find some peace
The Breaths Between Usi'm minutes away
from the collision site
the breaths between us
and the lost time
clock guts, sprung
our hallway uncoils
his walnut lean
i'm seconds away
from the before
of our near-miss
the beads of air
and the imperfections of
in a rumored heart
a stuttering mass
this broken belled
has lost hold
of the lives we live
its skullsong rings
the same vibration
I am me. Who are you?I am fragments
of every person
I've met; every
memory made; every
bond formed and tie broken.
I am an orchestra
of people's opinions;
each snide comment
each casual remark
each passing compliment
I am a library
of forgotten lies
and fake smiles
and empty promises.
I am a sky of hope;
filled with stars
which carry the wishes
of the people I have encountered
I am never alone
for their influence will forever
taint my soul and
remind me of their hopes,
dreams and pain.
This is who I am.
Who are you?
Blooming Through CrevicesBlooming Through Crevices
People are characters;
their personalities are not to be cracked,
but to bloom.
Codes and signals
Setting our sights
On how to see
Through the cipher.
Optics opting for options
As opposed to conscious.
Ardor replaced by harder
To break through exteriors.
But mortality is only one facet
Of the entirety of humanity.
It is a compass of one being,
But merely a piece of the puzzle
That makes up human composition.
let us not break through empathy
with deductive methodology
but rather with the rhythm
of a honeybee whistling along the hymn
of the wind whispering in the leaves.
humanistic, holistic ideologies
is what the standard can be.
it is the notion of being a metaphor
rather than being something to decipher.
because there are more stars and galaxies
in poetry than there will ever be algebraic
expression curls up with ambiance
under the window pain of a picture frame
because we write more about
storiesi begin and end with stories
where hummingbird hearts play sonatas
against my ribs and i drown in
early morning light and
the girl in me sinks into the sea
like rusting anchors chained to
ships and i sway port and starboard
the lion in me rises like lazarus
from the savannah where dust swirls
and i begin and end with stories
where i swallow the world and all
the rain and girls and lions in it
where i hold it up like atlas,
where i support jupiter with just
an index finger and where i chase
comets and cup them like fireflies
to hang on my bedroom walls
on remembering to breathe:i.
you can't hold it in for forever.
your lungs weren't
made to bear the weight
of this world, they weren't made
to left unexpanded
and unexplained -
it is not phenomenon that wakes you
when paralysis hits in the
night, it is physiology telling you that
not everything happens on automatic, okay?
(at least not for always)
you're born like a time bomb, with
only so many beats of
your heart in place to tick away day by day -
your words, they're the same.
there's a time limit
on your tongue, so say something that
means something - use words
that dig in and rip out hearts, use words that
curl around your fingers and worm their
way into your soul.
use words to make something
beautiful. something remembered.
never leave three things
left unsaid because they can be three
words that mean everything -
i'm not telling you to save your breath.
i'm begging you not to waste it.
sing. sing enough to take your breath
away because even though
it leaves you gasping, it fills up that
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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