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BlindfoldSuch a pretty blindfold
On such a pretty youth
A lust for revolution
But no taste for the truth
A plant that’s gone to seed
More poison in the water
Too many words to read
Such a pretty slogan
And such a slick salute
So many ideas
And every word acute
They call themselves the heroes
I called them too far gone
But then you went and joined them
And tied your blindfold on
I miss the friends I used to know
The people I’d admired
I’d held a blindfold in my hands
But threw mine in a fire
I’ll never shy away from facts
And thus I’m called uncouth
Because it’s a such a pretty blindfold
And such an ugly truth
Beginnings, Chapter ThreeFlecks of grass caught in the carriage wheels as they spun along the fledgling nation’s excuse for a road. It wasn’t that no one cared enough to build a proper road. It was just hard to decide where best to put one, seeing as Canada had relatively few visitors spread out over a lot of space.
Inside the carriage, little Alfred bounced up and down on the seat cushion. The momentum of the carriage urged him onward while every bump they rolled over sent him popping out of his seat. He had passed time on the long journey by making a game of it, purposefully jumping and letting the carriage’s shifting balance fling him along.
Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have insisted he sit still, but after spending so long in close quarters with the youngster, he was simply glad that he was entertained. Relishing these relatively peaceful moments, Arthur caught up on some sleep. He had no way of knowing when he’d be interrupted once ag
Beginnings, Chapter TwoArthur may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right that Matthew needed companionship his own age. As bad as the fighting between Arthur and himself had been, Francis had to admit it was unfair to keep Matthew and Alfred separated. There were no other children in the area, so Matthew’s only friends were the squirrels and raccoons and ring-necked geese that populated the area. And, of course, his best friend was his papa - a papa who (however begrudgingly) knew the right thing to do. Grumbling, Francis pulled a new sheet of paper from the stack on his desk. He looked out the window to see little Matthew playing outside, and he silently cursed Arthur once more. With a freshly dipped quill in his hand, he began to write.
J’accepte ton idée
He scratched it out. He had forgotten to whom he was writing, apparently. Taking another piece of blank paper, Francis reminded himself that switching la
Beginnings, Chapter OneDay dawned early, brimming with the promise of summer. The scent of morning flowers perfumed the late June air, so Francis propped the door open wide. He crossed the cabin’s slightly uneven wooden floor and pulled the curtains away from the window as well. Soon, the quaint log cabin was filled with warmth and sweetness and sunlight.
Stoking the banked embers in the tiny cast iron stove, Francis hummed to himself. He loved this time of year. It was a time of fond memories and new beginnings. He cracked a few eggs into a pan and set them over the flames to cook. That’s when he heard a squeak and a thud behind him.
Francis turned around to see a pair of short, chubby legs sticking out from under a tangle of cloth. A single blond curl protruded from what appeared to be a sleeve.
“M’aidez...” the bundle whimpered. “M’aidez, s’il vous plait.”
Chuckling to himself, Francis approached th
Don't Look DownThis was a trauma so immense
It could only be seen from space
That I have reached so high
Do I truly know
The danger I was in
One should never look down
I am not afraid of falling
I am afraid of ever having been so low
MaturityGrowing up means growing down,
deeper into the earth
until we are six feet under.
Maturity is not a badge of honour,
because the gleaming golden trophy belongs to those who will
punch and kick and undercut,
while the mature must settle for quietly consoling themselves
in their celebrated capacity for emotional abuse.
Perhaps we should be proud of our blank name,
Our battered and broken selves,
tucked neatly away into unacceptably present bodies.
And yet nothing can heal that,
the most crushing of loneliness
when one is wrested from the label under which
they once took solace.
Call me barbaric
Call me overlarge
Call me the unwanted moss on an otherwise manicured tree
But never call me yours.
I am mine,
but never tamed.
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th)Prehistory’s iPad.
When light hit the water
a supernova dance of
scurrying dust swayed
in their amber infinite.
When the wind tapped,
the waves flapped their feathers
and spread into
a migration of curly black lines
on a child’s drawing,
choppy pattern after choppy pattern,
wave conforming to wave
into a wallpaper covering
algae, flotsam, dead bricks, dead stone,
until the irregular birds changed the flow.
Be it the duck that draped a dress
behind in a V-shaped groove,
or the pudding-plump coots
who gently honked, imprinting
flat bubbles on water.
They live in the reflection of Life.
Fringed by feathers like icy mountaintops
and dead fish bloated on pollution,
an Irn Bru bottle imitates the nature it killed.
An orange bread packet is ignored by the mallard
for the tragedy it brought to town.
It’s a flat town, a houseless town,
but still a moving community of
twig islets and breadcrumb empires.
Fringing on their utopia is us,
us standing still from dry grey pavement
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th), BI enter the trees.
Between the dozing leaves,
hugging canopy and soothing shade
I awe at a swan bathe.
Cruiseliner, white, pure, naked
graceful, living china.
Seven others chat by the hidden soil shore.
They see me, spread out ornamentally,
politely move away
and then fly
with curved ceramic blades
ready to pierce gravity’s oppression.
I've found Peace.
StarsThe stars in the sky
Glow like fireflies
In the thin veil of the night
Pale glow to be seen
His brilliant beauty
Charm the gods
I can feel the chill on her shallow breath
And the color's draining from her youthful face
She's bleeding out, I tell you
In red, yellow, and orange
And there ain't a single thing we can do
She'll want to be buried just like her mother
Laid to rest in a simple white coffin
No roses set on her grave
It's not warming
But it's final
Even as the rest of the world
Collapses into her absence
Perhaps she knows
Perhaps she's always known
The MoonNight Sky Black as Pitch
Startling Diamond Moon
A Quilt of Stars and a Stitch
Morning Comes Too Soon
A Cheshire Smile in The Sky
Clever Grin To See
A Wispy Cloud Shields My Eye
And Takes Takes The Moon From Me.
The ViodThe darkness is surrounding me.
Looking left and right is this dark depth of nothing.
I am not sure where to go because all i see is black.
Getting confuse just walking and maybe even in place.
I hope this is a dream, because i don't want to live here anymore.
Continue to just seeing all but nothing, and getting scared inside.
Just waiting to explode and scream out my inner demons.
Saying that this isn't so.
I don't want this to be my end.
Wondering and wondering to no avail.
Going more insane by the minute.
Trying to look deep inside me.
Hoping and striving for a light or a way out.
Starting to wonder more and more if their even is a way out.
But this walking doesn't do any good.
So i sit and wait, while my madness take over.
Nothing to see out here but on the inside.
Thinking about what i must have done wrong in order to escape.
While also thinking that their must be a light that will spark and shine the way out.
This can't be the end, so i guess i just have to look forwa
The WatcherI lay here,I lay there
I want to cry
but I can't shed a tear
When did this all happen?
I run and hide,
no hugs for me, please
I'm soft, but rigged
Voices anger at me,
but not for me
I am loved,
They wish to be me
free and wild
But all I do is
I don't speak
for I can't speak
waiting for a hand
I am just a cat
RainLooking into the sky,
I watch every tear fall
ever so slightly from the heavens.
"Why are you sad?"
The sky answers with a thunderous boom.
The sun hides away,
almost as if it were afraid of the sky.
It's so cold.
I stand in the rain,
in wait for the sun to come out again.
In the meantime though,
I let the tiny drops of ice
shatter on my bare skin.
Warmth no longer exists.
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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