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12:53 AMSitting at desk, lounging in the chair...
Semi sleepy, feeling... the flow of things. The rhythm of the white noise of the computer and its gears and parts whirring warmly...
The television as background noise in the living room... sounds like an old movie.
Leg feels like its falling asleep. I move it instinctively.
Overhead light is off. Lamp is on. Not bright yellow light- soft white light. Long lamp. Unusual shape. Dusty on top.
I glance around... memorabilia from childhood scattered about... statues of Batman, old cartoons, old major league baseball banner hanging on wall-- "Baseball Fever!", it says...
Face feeling scruffy. Ran out of razors a couple of days ago. Haven't shaved.
Car hasn't been working for 3 days. Trapped in here... feeling tired...
The World I Built From DarknesThe world I built from darkness
Isn't dark at all
It is a world of perfection
Where every mother is just a mother, every father just a father,
And every son and daughter is a great child
Where there is no fanaticism, hatred, greed, or whore mongering
Just peace, freedom, and true liberty
In the world I built from darkness, there is silence
But only when and where you want it
There is no confusion, only clarity
Emotions do not exist, but rather, rationality
The world I build from darkness, simply
Does not exist
My Purpose.I wonder why I live,
Is it to serve a purpose,
To save a soul lost at sea,
To become a War Hero,
Or to save the world somehow,
Or can I live for nothing,
Just a wanderer on these empty plains,
Or do I truly have a purpose,
Just hidden from my sight?
A World That Lost it's GreenOceans crawl back to regain their turf.
We all predicted a land devoured by the surf.
And all the islands that are drowning all scream.
In a world that lost its green.
All life dragged off. Out by the waves.
The omega for the profit we crave.
A science that one chooses to believe.
Is one that houses dangers to which we stay naive.
When we face mortality down on our knees.
When humanity's sun falls into the sea.
It will be far too late to grieve.
In a blanket of algae.
We are given technology for the future's page.
Yet insist on choice fuel from the industrial age.
Choking in a cloud of certain death.
One by one we use up our last clean breaths.
Is M.A.D. what gives it it's worth?
A fitting grave for all of the earth.
Is it possible to live life fully free?
In a world that lost it's green.
Another Quick Poem.People often ask me if I’m mad or insane,
If I think this just some sort of crazy game,
A trial and Error fit for a king,
Acting like this is just a crazy fling,
Treating it like our love is worth nothing,
But let me tell you this,
For it be true,
Our love is real,
And it is only between me,And you.
Words as swordsWords,
they are the swords
no one does see.
They appear so harmless,
yet they can become
the writer's greatest strength.
With symbols as easy as letters,
writers are capable
to breathe life into these
white, dead sheets of paper.
that once were in their imagination
become so real,
And once the reader was free
writers can climb to their minds
like their words are soldiers
holding close their readers.
they are the swords
of the mind.
Blood on the RootsBlood on the Roots
Innocent man for the guilty jury
Judged for the sake of decree
Innocence died and Hell broke free
He isn’t blind but you can’t see
Dead, the man who breathed life
Prune the tree with the sacred knife
Sin taken as the executioner’s wife
This one died for the sake of strife
Rotting failure of all mankind
Seek your end and ye shall find
Twisted tale and twisted noose
These and other obscene truths
How we could cast out, crucify, and kill one of our own
We deserve to drown, weighed down by sin’s stone
Jesus Was a GingerJesus was a ginger and he lived in Galway Bay
he had some magick freckles and a love of Guinness Stout
Ma lived in the Village Knock
where she knit him woollen sweaters
everything was fine and dandy
until one day the Bankers came
when they told a sterling lie
that bled dear Ireland dry
so Jesus went to the hardware shop
where he meant to buy a whip
but when he did he left in shame
for he couldn’t foot the cost of tine
I hear he moved to Boston
Unnamed wolfUnnamed wolf
There is a dark
in the forest.
mercy. No sanctuary.
MassiveSitting in the dimly lit den, I hear
The static of the television
And the rambling and muttering of a talk show host on the air
I hear that audience laughing at Conan O'Brien late at night
And the ranting of an old minister's broadcast
And I hear the click of the remote grasped firmly in my palm
And my heart thrashing about in my chest, as if to get get free from it's captor
And the forced words of a reporter crying tears in front of the camera
And the stern voice of a President, bearing a grim visage, saying that there is nothing to fear
Sitting in my den, I hear the sirens beckoning, and the gears of war slowly beginning to grind
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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