[x]

For the Man Who One Day Holds My HeartI want to be your Summer girl,
peaches, sunshine,
and August thunder.

I want to be the Autumn hearted,
colorful and always falling,
vibrant.

And I could be your Winter bride,
clean and innocent,
blushing on the snow,

while my spirit smelled of Spring,
smiling with the lilacs,
every kiss a crocus.

We'd be more than seasonal lovers,
but steadfast as the years and
ever-dancing with the Earth.

I Am Not WeI am not "we,"
I shall not suffer,
Never again, for what "they" believe,
Mine is not "theirs,"
I don't sweat for philanthropy,
My life's constructions are not to share--

This collective, a hive, servicing the "weak,"
Claiming moral superiority,
While they hand out what's mine to the meek,
I built this home, not for "us,"
But for me and mine.

Never again, for what they believe
I shall not suffer,
I am not "we."

PassingListen to the words in the passing reverie,
They sound like notes sung without refrain;
Not to be caged in misleading memory,
They evaporate like puddles after the rain.

RiotThe children have broken into riot,
They see a frivolous thing on a political shelve
And are demanding that their parents buy it—
Unaware of the blood-price of dreams half-understood
They lash out in mass, so no one is to blame
And claim that they are just "misunderstood"
As they set the world aflame.

Every cent James earned he put into that store
Its windows now smashed, its inventory gone
He stands in a frame, the door now on the floor
And wonders on the time spent to build his little dream…
How will he provide for the family he adores?
When every cent James earned he put into that store.

There is a little blue banda

Bloody MondayGrinning sly smiles,
We were playing cards among friends,
Watching carefully for deft hands,
As we gambled away our precious tobacco…

When the rain started to pour,
We hid our worries in jovial talk,
On edge, but unaware
That our fears had begun to walk
Towards the mud walls
We had made our home…

Sounds like thunderclaps,
But longer, closer,
Splitting our eardrums,
We felt shockwaves
Destroying our walls,
Falling into defilade we took cover
From the rocket propelled grenades…

Then came the talking of their guns,
As they advanced trying to take a bridge,
Ours screamed back,
Too loudly for an argument to be

The Waves of UncertaintyThere is truth in my waves of uncertainty,
their message hidden in the foam of my eyes.

Don't look
         to the glass
                 within my heart,
it shatters
         much too easily
                 from words of the wise.

Today is a lovely day,   for a swim in the oil.
The clouds roll on in,   and the rising of the sand.

Black scales le

Flightless BirdsPurple and blue
Black and abused
school
I'm supposed to attend to
Yellow – the sun
Hardened when I run
away
From purposeless scum.
Babies contemplating suicide!
Watch while we hide
he cried!
And nothing subsided
Those babies are not our own
Lost! They have no home
and we know!
We have cared to show
Nothing, nothing at all
We'll watch you fall,
We'll make you crawl!
Laugh!
Because you are small
and powerless
Empty and horribly worthless
spoken
From our perfect mouths
We will bound through the cities!
Trample the fallen!
Because we are the one and the all!

I watch flawless birds
Fly back their mommies
A beauti

HorrorsThere where kites cloak frail horizons
And where the heartless shall rise
There's the home to all night's beacons;
These shall make you realize…

The light at the end of the tunnel
Has ceased to exist so long ago.
Downcast hearts in hellish funnels,
Skies that fell on me, down low.

Images of dismal tombs
Filling up my dirty mind.
The dead devouring human wombs;
Answers that I cannot find.

Dirty, you say? The doom's on us
Nightmares disembowel me
Falling to death, falling to lust
Why are you too blind to see?

Horrors, crows, zombies, alike
Empty bodies on death's spike
Howls of darkness they will make
My creations, for G

Tyrian PurpleTyrian purple
lips match the blue
fingerprint bruises wrapped around
her throat like the latest fashion.
A thump
and a gulp of air
rushes into the silent stage
of a delectable crime scene.
They prod her body like sushi with chopsticks;
the air tastes stale, unused.
One uniform brushes fingertips
across her velvet skin while
another admires the glossy black hair
missing a single lock.

MY INKWORLDMy mind is a silver blade that slices me open
without shame, a tourniquet I tried to fashion
from my nocturnal scrawl of letters shaping
words, I tried to write myself a new existence
as the Night spilled her ink across my pages-
but the souvenir Stars blurred my vision until
all I could do was cry-for what was never fully
healed and my wounds again unsealed, they throbbed
beneath their frail black lace stitchery, my heart
was sliced and skewered into several bloody pieces,
but from its slaughter the Light shone even more
purely in the Dark, though others may wonder how
can this be-how can such fractured pieces shine?
I know that

ListlessSleep the world away
Dream of a better day
See the empty streets
Smile, and begin to breathe

Hope the world fades
In blackness of eternity
Don't have to keep up this facade
Isn't death peaceful serenity?

Laugh off all the pain
Drink until your memory is dead
Dance to become insane
Forget to carefully tread
Across all your broken dreams

Your smile's tearing at the seams
Walking on the glass of broken dreams
Now it's over
No longer sleeping, sober

Crying hurts too much
So you sit there with no other humans touch
Lie there
In nowhere
Creating more dreams

The Nature of BreathingIf each person is allotted
A limited number
Of life-filled breaths,
I will hold mine in,
And maybe I can
Live forever.
But the air
I must intake to live,
I will exhale singing,
For the essence
Of existence
Is best spent
Creating something beautiful.

Waking from the DeadIt was like waking from a nightmare, an endless dream of fire and blood. Two miles of guns flashed behind my eyelids, six score horses screamed and reared, and men ran. The musket ball ripped through my belly again and again, and another split Jarosław’s head like an over-ripe melon. There was night, many nights, and there were miles and thorns and rocks and the slow easiness that heralded my death.
That was when the pain came, drowning me, searing me, consuming me. There were dreams at first, as though the battle had never ended, but as the pain grew, it blotted out all else, and I had at least a little peace of mind while my body was being torn asunder. There were voices as well, swelling and ebbing wordlessly beneath the roaring in my ears. I heard my brothers, daughters, wife, whispering amidst the death cries of soldiers and students, a low murmur like the echoes in a hallway in a place I had once known, and a few I could not recognize, speaking soft and low as thoug

Against The VariationsBald bodied cloud figures—
studied muscle structure in water vapour,
twist with the turn of the earth.

Foolish sculpture with matter as irregular as flesh
that changes so swiftly
under heat and pressure.

BlueThe Lancia Flavia gleams,
A blue made bluer by rainfall
Settling on the metal

And the interior is blue,
Too blue to have been an option offered
By the manufacturer.
The driver's suit is blue
And from his grandfather's will
He read like a catalogue.

On a cliff top
Overlooking the ocean
He thought the see would be bluer
But it is as grey
As the sky above it.
He puts the car in gear
And accelerates.

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More from ~slyfry

A Flower's TearsOne night a flower cried
A secret no one knew
Because when the morning came
The world was covered in dew

DDulled dreams deemed decreased
Doing defiant dastardly doings
Depredating depraved denizens--
Do dreams decease?

SSylvester sought sordid songs,
Sung slightly slow,
Selling such,
So Sarah sung so sorrowful
Searing Sylvester sanguine stanchion

Fifty-Three DaysI remember the day we dug our graves,
In which, we'd spend those fifty-three days
Surrounded by those who wished us harm
High up on that barren hill lacking in charm

We dug them two feet deep,
Six feet wide,
In which we could safely sleep,
And from bullets hide

During the day temperatures soared
Our skin would blister when bare skin touched rock
At night it drastically dropped
And we returned to our shallow graves
All except one, who wearily gazes
Down on the green valley below
Where we sometimes tread, but fear to go

Monotony ate at us day after day
A lull had come, our cares went away
And then with a patience, that I've

TToms tinkering the teeter-totter,
To take troll's tall toddler,
Taking thought to things thoroughly tolled,
Things that the thane taught to this troll
Toms thorough, till total totality,
Though, takes time to time the thought.

AdversarySince my birth, you've haunted my path
Filled with vitriol, vicious wrath
Advocating abhorrent wanton destructions
Of all my Dream's fragile constructions
Lacking the higher faculties of the mind
You feed off me—my hopes you grind
Forlorn, bloodied, I'm left to rot
I may be slain, but at least I fought
And this battle is not yet done
I'll wait until you've thought you won
And unleash a dream you can't devour
Taking you to your final hour
When no one will hear you speak
And your old words become meek
In fantastic splendor I will rise
Looking down on your demise

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Submitted: May 17, 2012
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Dystopia

by ~slyfry, May 17, 2012, 10:24:30 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I.
Leaves burn to cinders
To sate an addiction—
Ashes to be flicked off a cylinder,
Then to fall to the ground and be blown away
By a whimsical wind.

Who would weep for the tobacco leaves?
They who are birthed in a flourish of green to flower and seed,
Torn off, desiccated, and packed in the pulp of trees,
Then consumed in the flames of avarice…
Let them take the airs away.

Do not forget,
They are of the Nightshade!

II.
The collies have grown complacent
Their shepherd has gone to fat
His crook lost ages ago...
They play with the sheep,
But lead them nowhere.

They bark and snarl and nip at the heels,
And never allow old wounds to heal
The sheep are left emaciated and weak,
As the wolves gather upwind
Crouching low on yonder hill.

They will bite the throat of the man that feeds
And leave tamed beasts to the wild.

III.
Teenaged Johnny has his father's gun,
Through vicarious lenses electronic he sees the world,
With no idea what is outside his hometown,
He will end his life before it's begun.

IV.
The sun will rise,
But in winter the nights grow long
And frostbite stings the soul,
Leaving some to sink deeper down
Until they are buried alive.

Who will hold on when Atlas drops the world?

Dystopiaby ~slyfry

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Where could it use some improvement?
How was the word choice?
Was it long enough/too short?
Are the messages clear?
Does it live up to its title?

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Critique by `RockstarVanity May 18, 2012, 11:00:25 AM

I love how you've captured so much of the world in these snapshots of lives and of small things and details. They feel at once like metaphors and literal statements...maybe they're both. I like that things can be both microcosm and macrocosm simultaneously.

Your eloquent but unpretentious language wraps simple concepts in beautiful clothes, instantly making them something more.

The idea that our world is being held up by someone stronger than us, someone of myth and legend, contrasts wonderfully with the little snippets of delicate life and the final question inspires so much thought and consideration.

I have no answer to the question but I really love the poem.

What do you think?

Fair Unfair

The Artist thought this was FAIR

11 out of 11 deviants thought this was fair.

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~TheMoralMachine Jun 16, 2012 Writer

I really liked the last line, it brought the poem together nicely.

=EclecticQuill May 20, 2012 Professional Writer

There is little fault to be found in this poem as regards vision, technique and originality; I also found the imagery quite striking. It's a piece that makes you think, and really has some deep concepts.
However, for me, it lacked the immediate "WOW" factor. For that reason, I would have given you a slightly lower impact rating; but otherwise I would agree with the critique by `RockstarVanity

*TheDarkenedBride May 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I'm amazed, it's a pleasure to read poems like this

~slyfry May 20, 2012

Thank you, I'm not really sure what is so special about this poem, but people seem to like it.

*TheDarkenedBride May 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

no problem

I think it may be because the poem evokes various images/emotions so it touches the reader but won't make them get bored easily (or at least that's how it worked for me)