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Getting Back to Never NeverlandI can feel the warmth lick my skin
Little balls of sunlight caught in my eyelashes
The smell is sweet and stale as time
Leaves skitter like insects across the dry pavement;
The sun sinks ‘neath the horizon.
A beaming moon chases it west and out of sight
The old man smiles his toothless grin
And stars like his laugh echo in the blackened sky
When I sleep I can feel it all
leaving me like the sun in such demanding haste;
Now I am as old as the moon,
Toothless but not laughing as I chase the sun west.
That sun’ll hide and hide and hide.
I’ll chase the sun until I’m colder than the night,
Till I’m stone dead and the sun
is further from me than I could possibly dream.
The Creamy Dream of Sadhir AkeemThey’ve got us sailin through the clouds and America is proud
Engines roarin loud, drownin out the world o’ sound
Crowdin round the plaid couch, watch impossibilities found
This is when we found out, innovation is never bound
We’re all king and queen clowns wearin round, jeweled crowns
Plowin at the ground until the Earth’s no longer round
Take a look round the town you founded, see the dirt’s no longer brown
And we’re wearin sad frowns and wearin gowns from mad cows
Make a bout for a loud row, yellin out sour nouns
Take the flower like it’s ours and build a house for the powers
Make cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
Neath the towel where world grew proud of its power there’s a rope unwound
Now beneath the sweat of your brow, the only word renown is a pronoun
And we’re makin cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
The WayfareI trod broad hill littered with skyward trees
Beyond which lied the roiling, raging sea
There was naught that I could not see
For in my heart a wayfarer did sleep
Until upon the day the night did creep
Where stars had glittered in their depths so deep
And a lust for the world awoke in him
So he fared the world and sailed on its brim
Flew under the light, be that bright or dim
And I was he, and we gazed upon the stars
We saw the endless ocean high and far
In all the world our way could not be barred
That was until I woke from my slumber
Yet I knew that when I felt a shudder
Like great waves my sheets did pull me under
The Winking HeavensNever forget that which follows the sun's depart
For they follow as well your sleep and the beat of your heart
Like glistening eyes may follow you and keep you sound
They make your night living as day and ensure the earth is round
Take them with you wherever it is you may go
For they will always bring company when all lights seem low
Let them make your wishes true and real as the moon
Such a wish may bring the world to behold its salvation soon
Yet never forget what importance forever lies in day
For always may you remember that our sun is a star against dismay
A Good Night's Sleep A Good Night's Sleep
Jack finally laid the pencil down. An entire night's worth of sketching, and nothing to show for it. Dozens of lines and characters lay sprawled across the sheet of paper, dancing either impassively or violently. They all trailed off into different sheets, most of which were piled into the bin. The metal bin was full, balls of sheets bouncing off the top of its pile, and the floor littered with the rest of the trashed sketches. The desk careened to one side, near to subside. It was a wonder that it had not collapsed yet, and even though it seemed clear a new desk should be bought, Jack refused. Procrastination was his best friend, something which he depended entirely. That showed when it came to his art. As of late, very few finished pieces could be seen in his portfolio. Otherwise, works-in-progress lied about the room in constant slumber.
The Lily both Dying and LivingWhat makest thee dream?
Art thy worlds not spawned of them?
What hast been wrought of thy realms,
Whilst thou art beset?
Whilst thou rot in thy watery grave,
Hell bringest thy harrowing
Or is it not this that thou hast dreamt of?
Is it that thy heaven shinest upon thy face,
Bringest light for thy dreaming shrine?
Nay, not one be so
Aye, for both be so indeed
For thy dream makest thee bleed
Yet makest thy tourniquet
And bringest a lily both dying and living
Alas! Thy hellish realms come
And those of rapture blighted,
For thou art overcome by thy fears
Lo! Pay not heed of these
For what wroughtest these is but a sojourn
Lo! Thou may sodden these realms with heaven and awe
And thou may wake from thy slumber
Yet dismay not of what dream comest on the morrow
Out from the Gray EveningWhile morning pushed me drearily into noon, I passed the smallest window of my house several times before finally stopping to observe what lied beyond it. I had done this from time to time for weeks, perhaps too often: standing before the smallest window, staring into the same spot though the slouching tree-limbs; the very spot that caught my eye each time, the spot that had no concrete form or obvious potency. There was no reason why I would have to gaze into it, whatever it had been. I knew no other feeling it gave me but curiousness, be that good or bad. And with each day passing, my curiosity grew. It had begun to form an itch that eventually sprouted a tumor. I ached.
Yet I couldn't know what I ached for. Was it to know what it was that stared back at me? Or to know what intentions that would ensue these encounters?
Still I waited. Perhaps I could have been building up to something, an apex of my dull life, something to give the least form of livelihood for which I long yearned. D
Death isn't a fresh perspectiveI saw my mother
swallowing something small
when I was just a child
The anguish in her eyes
faded, as she told me
it was just a
with a little extra kick
maybe years later,
that's how I convinced
to swallow fifteen,
give me a fresh perspective;
in the end,
my breath reeked
instead of mint.
fall in love with (splitting hairline fractures)we swallow blues instead
of talking them out. oh,
kids like us are specters,
spectacles: boys counting
rib(cage)s & (de)composing
don't you hate
is a vessel
we're deities or tomb-raiders; no
in-betweens for writers these days
Dark SideThere's another side of me
A side I barely show
It's my dark side
And my pride
The time I showed it to my friends
They were shocked, worried
I will tell you what they said
Decide for me
If these are what you call
One said 'just be happy'
One said 'that isn't true!'
One said ' but I've got it much worse'
One said 'don't be annoying'
One said nothing at all
Only One listened
That could be you
This is my dark side
The one that tells the truth
It makes me write
It keeps my dreams
It is everything I have
But no one knows
i'm not going to lie and say she was perfect.her skin was spotted with what she passed off as freckles,
but what were really scars from a thousand summer suns
as she ran about outside,
climbing trees and treading rivers,
pretending to be an american bomber
in the midst of WWII.
she kept crimson stains on pearl pink lips,
which always had the habit of getting on her teeth
because she put on make-up after dressing in her car
and ordering coffee in every way she hated it
as she drove to the record store three times a day,
ignoring her job downtown.
she owned four and a half hairbrushes exactly,
i took count on the first night i stepped into that whirl-wind room,
though her lopsided up-dos of messy blonde hair revealed just how much her fingers
never broke the dust.
she had these lovely fragile hands
that showed each and every vein and bone,
the type of hands made for tearing boys like me apart.
how could i have even expected to survive,
a paper poet
held against a reckless flame?
I died todayI died today
Took my own life
I was tired
I was desperate
And now I'm dead
People never cared
So I left them behind
Now a new life awaits
Beyond the gates of Hell
each kiss carries
context and content,
sad eyes pour into mine
like a swimming pool
being filled with angels’ tears.
i cup her face in my hands,
trying to hold all of the water
that escapes her
as i gently kiss her forehead.
i will cradle her cerebrum
and maintain our composure.
i will protect you.
refers to the hands on a clock,
as well as the anatomical.
and this kiss is subtle,
but it represents our passing of time.
i started this with my mother at 13,
and only a few embraces away from 18.
with our fingers locking
themselves to adolescence.
i never have visibly blushed,
but i swear my flushed cheek
burned where your left your lips
for nearly a lifetime.
at least that’s what it felt like.
i kissed the blinds
that covered the windows
of your soul
to let you know
the sun still shone
even if your eyes were close
bone brittlethey say that love is like an ocean and you can feel the waves
filling up your stomach, saltwater rolling against your nervous system.
they say that when you're in love and you curl your toes in pleasure
you can feel wet sand between them, warm against the skin.
but your love was like a desert.
our love left me parched, throat raw, the taste of grit in my mouth.
my stomach empty, growling for some sort of sustenance,
something you always refused to give me when i needed it most.
you told me you loved me, like a mirage floating amongst our heat.
if love is like an ocean then you were loneliness, i guess.
every saltwater tear you cried evaporated into thin air.
you were the Sahara and i was the Atlantic.
we collided every time we met.
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchin
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