[x]

A Letter to No OneThe clock ticked against silence,
Upon the cemetery of a room.
Deep sighs weave through the air,
Meager warmth in compressed despair.

Moths fall prey to a musty lampshade,
An opened window to Night’s gloom.
Thoughts dance like ripples on water,
And clouds on the hiding moon.

A lullaby plays from the gentle sound,
Made by scratching pen on paper.
One story told too many times,
Is voiced from words created.

Though this time revived from lies,
A phoenix forms the ugly truth.
The pen rolls from the wooden desk,
Having served its final use.

Old dusty dolls and teddy bears,
Watched helplessly through glassy eyes.
No star showed to twinkl

Burning.B – I really like you.
G – I'm not ready for that.
B – I'm sorry, I really can't help it.
G – Try.
B – Why?
G – Because a boy like you burnt my insides up
and the flames are still burning.
B – I can extinguish the flames for you, just give me the chance.
G – Will you take the time to repair all of my damages? Because
I don't think you're ready for that.
B – I'll rebuild everything in you and give you an
oceanfront view if that's what you want.

The Flower of DeathDeath is a flower that unfolds,
each petal caressed
reveals another secret untold,
to drink from awakening nectar
and transcend into worlds beyond
even dreams, while you are lulled
away upon its offering scent,
bespeaking of mysteries even
farther then the farthest Eastern shores.

A subtly of beauty revealed
lackadaisically within its unquestioning depths,
like fields of opium dreams
caught upon the gentlest breeze,
white as virginal snow
its pollen is swept away
for Death's blossoms are infinite,
everlasting, and yet only
rarely seen.

To study or not to study?To study, or not to study: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The grades and criticisms of incapable markers,
Or to take my pen against a wave of questions,
And by completing end them? To study, to procrastinate -
No more - and by procrastinating to say we end
The headache and the writer's cramp
That our hands are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To study, to procrastinate;
To procrastinate: perchance to fail: ay, there's the rub;
For when we procrastinate, the failing grade creeps upon us
When we have shuffled into our exam room,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes

Love In SecrecyI can't love you...
not in the light of day.
I can love you beneath
lust-twisted sheets,
behind closed doors,
where you can kiss
my secret places...

I can't love you
where anyone can see,
so maybe on moon-soaked
shores, wrapped up in
salty midnight air,
with sea-foam waves
matching our rhythm.

There is a PlaceThere is a place
A special place, where plans are crashed and
Dreams come true

A place where
I would want to be forever
But I can't reach it

I see it everyday
I can't move closer
Because I am trapped

Trapped within my own memories
Moments of pain and suffering
Would it ever end?

I can't do this alone
But then you appear
With a smile on your face every time

Always wondered what made you happy
Till you told me
"I am happy because you make me happy."

You hugged me for a long time
What ran though my mind started to make sense
My pain and suffering was drifting away

There was someone who care enough
Someone who want

We The CursedBreathless night, warm is the…
Darkness in here, silent wooded corner,
No one around, no one to sound,
Darkness within here, humid breath in humid time.
They cannot touch you, they will not understand you,
A new meaning becomes of this, change,
But the same as years before, in scriptures and song,
Nothing lost and much learned.

Although she is gone, you stand proud,
Of all the things you know, in this deep night,
It becomes you, it lives within you,
As humid breath surges in plumes like ink in water,
And they cannot touch you, they cannot see you.
I have held the meaning in my hands,
In the cool rains in winter, on the sid

HelloYou don't know who I am
But
I'd like to
Dance

With you
While laughing,
Crazily,
In the middle of the street,

Watching cars go by
And
Hearing them honk their
Noisy horns at us,

So that I'll have at least
Loved
And been loved
Once before I
Die.

For What It's Worth...Her name is nothing incredible,
It's only ever been a long letter
Just something
...that's
    not
     even memorable...
So she strives to be the best, sometimes better.

Her pain is something kept silent,
And even though no one cares to make it loud
She hides it
...although
     it's
      obviously pliant...
Only bending to the pressure of the crowd.

She lives in a world of solitude,
Only evaded by the necessary company
Which is always
...unwelcome
     when
       openly argued...
Then it's something that's expressed as phony.

She's trapped in some kind of space,
where nothing's really worth her time
And everyday it's
...always
     the
      same case...
Her presence is what they consider a crime.

No one seems to notice her strife,
Much

Shh. (Extension II)Shh, to hear the silent scream
of the girl you used to be.

Don't blink; she'll flash before your eyes.
To let her escape would not be wise.

She's a monster, built of tears and pain.
She'll rip at your soul till no joy remains.

She's out of control, a tangled mess,
Screaming for sorrow, for pain, distress.

It's imperative to keep her locked in cage,
Sealed with your agony, your accumulated rage.

Remember: she'll hurt them, too,
the ones who mean so much to you.

For however you choose to lock her away,
She will demand of you what you cannot pay.

Stereotype MeYou try to make me fit into your stupid thoughts
as one thing
I am only a thing to you
something you can fit into a category

I am a cheerleader
that must mean I'm stupid or popular

Just because I wear black clothes
and eyeliner I am goth

And every day I read books
Which makes me automatically a nerd

I don't have tons of friends to hang out with
so now I am a loner

To you I am an object
that you can place
where you see fit

I am much more than that
in every way

I am a cheerleader
a goth
a nerd
a loner
and so much more than that

I am me
so just try
to stereotype me

Her eyesIn the flame of the last candle
Floats an air I can't explain,
A dark mood I cannot handle
In the house of miss Lorraine.
In this room with shady lighting,
I look rigidly around,
Hoping nothing uninviting
Would approach without a sound.
Maddened by this constant dread,
That has crept into my soul,
I have not escaped, instead
I have lost all self control.
I cringe as the wait grows longer
For I start feeling a stare
That, in time, was getting stronger
With the smell of this thick air.
But the waiting was in vain
For I knew that it was hiding
And I tried remaining sane
As my nerve started subsiding.
Soon, the candle lost it'

You are not an islandI have been alone. This man is an island.
The cliffs of my shoulder blades
hang heavy with grief, ore, suffering.
I am draped with the permanence of gravity,
So do not believe that you cannot move.
Come to me, water babes fully grown,

Allow yourself to be swept in salt and ash.
Tumble with your brothers into my arms
and be at peace, at last, on the shore.
I too was once drowned, but I arose
and as the caps melt, all things will erode
For no man is an island alone.

Isolated IIsolated I
Build walls around my words
Word-walls around my worlds
Shave off sharp edges
Blunt broken-glass glaciers
Compact, confine, conglomerate
The five in one, the whole wide array
Of thought, behaviour, movement
Into the box of 'normal'
Re-channel, restructure, move maddening impulse
To accepted acceptable action
Break pattern stride shape form
Snap string mid-sentence
Reject repetition, reject rocking, reject unreal reality
Re-shape in readable readiness
For quashing quick-draw question
Silencing scepticism, attacking assumption
But home, here, hearthfire
Here, isolation is intention, internal instinct.
Understood, u

ChainedWhisper in the night,
Dreaming, waiting, calling
Child of the starlight,
Not the angel fallen.
But somebody wants other one to come -
The one who screams, who his tune doesn't hum,
The one who screams, who his tune doesn't hum.

Woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh - insane image,
Tu-tu-tu-tump - the chained synerge,
Woosh-woosh-woosh-woosh - the phrase YANA,
Tu-tu-tu-tump - it's not...

Two last ones, two invaders -
One will never calm down,
And the other will cackle -
He's his own life sawn!
Chained like two sides of coin,
Like two halves of crack -
Write their names and you'll see the revelations' stack,
But which are right? Don't k

Browse More Like This

Download File
TXT, 377 bytes more ▶

More from ~Pr0metheusUnb0und

LibertyWrapped in pelts on birth,
innocent pups grow into
insatiable chained wolves
in hearts of concrete forests.
Their supercilious minds,
deprived, they walk unaware
forever seeking the valley
in their plastic gardens.
In a somnambulistic rage
heads float towards the flame
that melts the cold hides
from around their trees.
And there they see mad cats
appearing amidst the branches,
to reveal the times and paths
towards the raven on the desk
that drips ink from its beak.

A Massacre of MasksI saw a vain parade
creeping slowly towards
my decrepit monastery,
between awed windows
and doors that surrender.
Even the fabric bows
before their guises
and legless and in limbo
it follows it before
the roots of my asylum.
There they utter ingots
before stairs with
the green fire stirring
in the ceramic; molding
them into medallions
of their fallacy
to weigh on obtuse necks
of rams battering
the vigilant gates.
To descent the high rocks
and kill the black bird,
signifies a silence;
then their library full
of unworthy palimpsests
will be ruptured;
and my will shall
forever give rise
to the flames
in their minds -
burning their masks;
revealing the true text
behind.

The Call of the MermaidsFramed in a flowery frame is
this tunnel strewn with grain
that blooms into Styx' orifice;
it opens on shores littered
with limbs, bones and sinew
which cast shades over
boney nails like blunt claws;
they hide amidst veined stones
pulsing with neurons,
spilt from contours
that float, when leaving
their bare prints;
on their journey to harken
the sirens' vagitus song,
that grabs them in waves,
when the gleam of the scales
casts light on their smiles,
their scribbles in the rocks,
and the coins in their eyes,
sown along this seaside.

The ArchiveOld ambered men,
rotting in vanilla,
are bounded together
and numbered
in open coffins.
And a mist of dust
protrudes through
their wooden prison;
conspiring with the
ever tempting dark
shining from above.
White paper roses bud
below ladders that end
where shadows begin;
there silk webs spread
over this waste of heads
that thrust upwards
towards the bars.

Flaking Photographs We see the greatness
of faces belittled
in   little boxes
with windows;
still
shattered stairs.
by

  Yielded

EchoesCatching leafy words as they fall
in a paper hat, and brooding them to hatch,
is a remove with her heart in hand
caged in a scepter that resonates;
beating for the universe, and
shaking the bones of his remote world;
cracking the desolate dais he sits upon.
Amidst a square, their play-place
is waxing into the Grand Guignol;
with her, the sinister puppeteer,
enticing the strings that this seamstress
unsew from his tapestry;
yarning the shadows on her rings, and
commanding them to sing her echo.
Through their husks, tenuous silhouettes
bleak the phosphenes, and dredge
them over the pastures of breadcrumbs
below a flock coveting from a tree;
as an infantile craze to see them
soar above the cenote is yielding
their bodies to water her seeds.
When the summer breeze sows a trail
of longing under her arc of conquest,
his sky is sooting with each fallen bird;
birthing muse driven night-terrors
that loom behind the riffs in reality;
unsoothing their chimeras to
tear the fragile pi

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

#written-from-within
Written From the Soul

#Writers-Workshop
Where writers workshop writing!

#TheWritersMeow
Cool Cats Who Write

#darkclub
Dark Club

#Writers-Guild-DA
writers everywhere

#BleedingHeartsPoetry
A Poetry Club

#ThePoetryofDA
DA Poetry Club

#LITplease
A club for every writer

Show all (40)

Details

Submitted: November 3, 2012
File Size: 377 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 16
Favourites: 20 [who?]
Views: 455 (0 today)
Downloads: 2 (0 today)

[x]

Symbiosis

by ~Pr0metheusUnb0und, Nov 3, 2012, 8:50:51 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Apnoea reigns,
and love
is death in a mirror,
when a cold candle
lungs
for her burning breath,
and her fiery heart
strives
for his sacred chest.
Waxen tears bleed,
as immortality
breaks the mirror,
cursing them forever.

Symbiosisby ~Pr0metheusUnb0und

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Apnoea - The cessation of breathing.

=LadyofGaerdon Jan 18, 2013 Professional Writer

Hi! Your piece has been featured as inspiration in #Lit-Visual-Alliance's Seventh Allied Artwork Feature! Please

the article to bring attention to the feature. Thank you for being a part of the Alliance!

~Pr0metheusUnb0und Jan 21, 2013

Thank you kindly!

~ChildoftheBeat Nov 19, 2012

Oh... Now I get it, I had something completely different in mind

Thanks for explaining it, it all makes so much sense now... I think it's just the junction of 'candle' and 'lungs' that might need a tweek, maybe an extra word, like 'provides' [lungs] or maybe something less obvious? Don't know... hope this helps though...

Sorry if I was a little too harsh in my previous comment.

~Pr0metheusUnb0und Nov 19, 2012

I was going for a pun: longs + breath = lungs. We have to expect harshness from our peers if we have any chance of improving ourselves. Don't worry about it.

. Complacency will be the death to us otherwise.

~ChildoftheBeat Nov 19, 2012

I love this, simple in its' complexity, elegant and succinct - but I have the same issue as one of the other commenters - the lines:

"when a cold candle
lungs
for her burning breath,"

feels odd and I fail to get the meaning / why they are juxtaposed. The section before, and the one that includes the last two lines as the start of the nex metaphor / image make perfect sense, but not the transition. Maybe if you explained it I would understand, but right now I'm confused... I get lungs for her burning breath, but not linked to a cold candle.

Sorry for ranting / rambling, it's a beautiful poem, thank you

~Pr0metheusUnb0und Nov 19, 2012

I admit my lingual precision was a bit off in this one. Maybe I should have let it ferment a bit before posting it; maybe I would have make it more clear. What I was trying to paint was the simple image of a candle and her flame, and their love affair; its untimely ending in this physical plane. The word candle is not a metaphor, but without using it, I didn't think people would get the right object in mind. I was just following some of Eliot's thoughts about breathing poetry in simple objects, and avoiding abstractness. The transition is not so well done, as I was trying to minimize as much as possible. Thank you for taking the time to read it, and comment though.

=vvolatile Nov 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

i like this poem a lot, though i do have a few suggestions/critiques (if you don't mind!). the scattered capitalization is a little distracting because it doesn't seem like some of the words deserve that extra emphasis. also, visual structure is great for visual poems but i don't think one like this needs to be wrapped up in a bow, so don't be afraid to break lines in other places - sacrifice the way it looks for the way it reads/sounds. the second line was a little confusing to me and it might be easier to understand if it said "and love is looking at death in the mirror" or something like that. lastly i like how the poem is going and i think it could stand to be a little longer to give it more depth and further explain the metaphor.

(gosh, long comment, sorry!)

~Pr0metheusUnb0und Nov 15, 2012

Thanks for taking the time to review it. Very much appreciated. Critiques are always welcome of course. I am not a vain person

. It's hard for me to break the formal rules, though I try, whereas the line is supposed to be like that meaning: love is the same as death, one entity with two faces, not two separate entities. When you fall in love you cease to exist as a singular being, rather you exist in a symbiotic relationship with the one you love, and when you die you cease to exist as well. Same conclusion. That's what I was trying to convey, not ambiguity.

=vvolatile Nov 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

you're welcome. & oh okay, i didn't quite
get that out of it - i wasn't really sure
what to make of it when i read it.

~Doritos1996 Nov 7, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Hello!

I'm coming on behalf of

. You sumbitted this poem to the Critique Folder, so I am here to give you the critique.

Vision: 4
Originality:4
Technique:3,5
Impact:4,5

What is truly remarkable about this piece is the utterly unique and advanced vocabulary you used. It gives the poem the fascinating impact it has. What is more, I was stunned by the vivid images that the words created in my mind, which are being greatly intensified by the word combinations ('waxen tears', burning breath' etc).

The whole meaning of the poem is also very interesting, as it raises a lot of questions and gives the reader food for thought. Personally, it made me stop at every line, consider its meaning and realize how beautiful it is. However, even though I incline to believe that making sense isn't necessary when it comes to poetry, I feel like some lines are just not rightly combined. Take the fourth and fifth line, for instance... 'a cold Candle lungs for her burning breath'... it just doesn't sound right.

Other than that, I greatly admire your talent and your great work. Keep this up!

More from ~Pr0metheusUnb0und

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Symbiosis

Symbiosisby ~Pr0metheusUnb0und

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style