I want to feel but I have no hands
I want to smell but I have no nose
I want to Taste but I have no tongue
I want to speak but I have no mouth
I want to live but I have no life
I want to see but i have no eyes
Riddles, Riddles 2Spiky brown cone
as in off of a tree
Seeding the earth
in a planting spree
Open and close
to the seasons it responds
Ghost of the future
a natural despot
Riddles, RiddlesReflective, yet clear
Holds yer best beer(sorry for the bad rhymes)
Made from coarse sand yet smooth as babies hands.
Bleeding BlueA rift in they sky,
pouring its life.
Up with the clouds,
misting their strife.
Like a sickness,
the sky takes a dreary hue.
Spilling sadness, raining hatred,
spraying madness, bleeding blue.
Sourceless RiverAlighted from where?
All I can do is stare,
at the sourceless river above.
Its shining water plays tricks on the eyes,
flitting about like a seraphic dove.
Like a shapeless dreamscape,
it goes neither left or right,
Bleeding,pouring blue, the water has taken flight.
Upon ending its watery descent,
it splashes upon the ground,
and creates a spectrum of light.
"Oh where, Sourceless river, from where did you come?"
I called to the sky.
"I come from the world, way up high."
"Can you not tell me, where is your source?"
"My source is irrelevant, but what of my course?"
With that the Sourceless River stopped its rapid flowing,
and the last trickles of the sky fountain,
and the splashes stopped their crackly crowing,
and the Sourceless River was not sourceless anymore,
for the mist lifted and it came from a mountain.
Shapeless DreamscapeShapeless mist in an endless cloud
Startling shapes and frights abound
Endless sky and shifting ground
Shapeless dreamscape all around
Leather-BoundBound in leather
Sewn in tight
Full of words
Silent as night
Heard with Eyes
Oh soundless book
What are thee
But a Leather-Bound tool to me
Random QuestionsI wonder what pigs think of cows?
When did santa come into the christmas tradition?
How many flavors of pie are there?
Why wasnt Abrasoka given full state-hood?
Why dont we still use runes as our primary form of language?
Why doesnt anybody know about Mad Cow disease? (Bovine Spongiform Encephelapothy)
How many deviantART users are there exactly?
Why doesnt anyone say 'Happy Harvest!" on Halloween?
PrayerPlace your poems
on the lips of angels
so you can teach their wings
how it feels to fly
Mark the summer evenings
soon to come
with the grace
that carried you
warm and cherished softly
and know we will always place
among the stars.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happy
To leave their home for her newest installation piece
She cried sometimes for no reason other than
She felt like having a good cry
Her house was covered in her students’ drawings
She said the best art was produced from innocence
She went mad once, and painted canvas after canvas
In furious strokes of black
The soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew old
People shook their heads when they saw her
And whispered “poor dear” under their breath
But she was never poor
Her love for everything and everyone never died
It was swept in all directions like a summer breeze
Making people smile without knowing why
But the river rocks know
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Photo-NegativeA weightless pause, the warmth between seconds.
“You need to feel something other than me”, and the way you said it-
Like the gazelle asking the lion not to chase her,
and many similes much worse than that.
and many smiles more cancerous than that.
and everything I say you say I say- it’s all farm grade bullshit.
Starting here, I begin to correct myself, control myself,
before the words lose their beauty by taking on far too many meanings.
I’ve cleverly described this enough times already: ants besieging a gone sparrow,
the death rattle of an air-conditioner as the summer heat takes it,
three boys swimming in a pond and only one survives their childhood.
I’ve described this enough times to know that I’ve exhausted it of figurative substance.
All that’s left is the picked clean husk of what it has always been; bitterness.
Sometimes, less words are needed to define.
Mastering MeIn another universe,
I have green eyes, curly hair,
and paint smeared across all my fingers--
a war cry of artistry
instead of needlepoint scars.
The pooch of my belly
and the lumps in my thighs
might be from anything else
but the insulin I inject four times a day.
I grow up a child, not a parent,
the master of my destiny
not running away but running toward;
I'm a little bit taller
in spirit and stature,
in all the ways that matter
when darkness creeps under the door
and phantoms howl.
I shave my legs every day
instead of once every month
once every three months
once every only now and again when I feel like it
and I'm confident--
a goddess with the stars
around her neck
instead of pearls--
in any type of heel.
In another universe,
I still trust myself
behind the wheel of a car;
I have mastered winged eyeliner
and smokey lids;
I gave up chocolate
or whatever it is
that brings on migraines
just because I could,
just because it's better for me,