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oneinstead of wishing the world weren't sad,
i want to dance until it smiles.
even one will do:
softened eyes like sugared cream,
precious pearly teeth peeking
between curled-lace lips,
a shy smile for starters.
then, the fire spreads
all smile-sparks and grin-glimmerings.
instead of speaking sorrows and suspicions,
our world should heed the hopeful hearts.
even one would do.
laughing, magic manwhen i was little, i laughed with you.
scrunched cheeks, watered eyes
carefree to the worries of the world,
enchanted with your magical mind.
i laughed, because i was happy;
you laughed so i would laugh.
that was your job.
as i got older, i laughed at you,
knowing at last the boundaries
of a flickering screen and the
fame that followed them.
i laughed, because you were funny
and i was still under the spell
you spun over a child's heart:
the only real-life magic is a smile.
you were our magician,
and we're still grateful.
when i grew up, you taught me again,
one last lesson about your magic:
sadness should never be a secret.
tearfully, i wonder
how long you let sadness eat
that precious smile alive,
before it spirited you away.
dear laughing, magic man,
i wish you'd shared your pain.
you gave and smiled so freely,
i never had a chance
When the Fire Falls Fire falls when the night is brightest. That’s how we know it’s coming: lightning paints the blackness an angry sort of orange, and the sky begins to hiss. Well, I say “blackness”, but the night sky has always been sort of…purple-y. That never changes, whether it’s daytime or not. The sun never shines here; things just get a little less indigo. Our sky is a sullen one, hidden from sight by big ugly clouds that have always just sort of been there. Maybe that’s why it spits brimstone at us. We shut it out so very long ago.
The night turns orange and hisses like a cornered cat. We run and hide so we don’t get burned.
Keep your head down, and don’t touch the door. These are old words for nights of fire. Silly words, for days when pe
Picture This: Iwe were Linked
Youthful Days Snatched at the clouds and
We flew to Wonderland.
play my song in this
autumn-colored spring, because<
petrified on pin-boardsi wish i could put to paper and ink
how an overdose of overcast sensations
pins my bones to the board like
brittle butterfly wings, under scrutiny
for being dead.
rest in peace, my fanciful nightmares of
you wrote me away,
and i am tired of shriveling in my skin
thinking i should peel and shed this sickness.
sickness is safety, because i've never been well
and it frightens me.
teardrops and molassesi served tea with pomegranates and prose,
then licked my fingers with a tongue
made of porcelain. boy, did you think
you could sneak sugar into my
veins with a kiss?
my heart might whisper poetic verse,
but my head pens proverbs in
teardrops and molasses.
don't think this smile is for you;
we've got a long way to go,
and plenty of teatimes to take.
but i look forward to every sip of
sugar-sweet memories we might make.
Splinter (2,623w) Planet Earth split in half, and humanity spilled from her bleeding oceans like insects from a broken hive. It was the 29th of February. By their standards, the day didn’t even exist. They must have been screaming, but space is a silent hunting ground. My people were waiting for the battered Earthling shuttles beyond the cratered edge of their moon. The fleeing creatures weren’t even armed; log entries from the squadron commanders rank their catch per slave vessel to be in the hundreds of thousands, but millions of humans still died that day at the hands of our advanced battalions. We the Kix’t pride ourselves on ruthlessness.
I was a child then. Now, it is five decades passed and humans are still a rare commodity. I hadn’t even seen one until a year or so into my service at the legion, for my parents had raised me below the Rim for a ma
I Took a Walk with Time Today I took a walk with Time today and imagined he was a forever-child. Time is not a toddler, and is certainly past that sad stage of hugs-are-taboo and tickle-me-not. No, I envision Time as a little boy, tousled and tenacious, but still tender when he wants to be. He skips too quickly down the Path and we, the care-burdened keepers, amble stiffly behind. As we feel the weight of Time's wake in our bones, he fidgets forever and beyond our reach. I bet he wonders why we can't move just a little faster.
Time doesn't understand humanity's yearning to take life slowly; after all, he's never seen a "the end" before.
Time is just a child.
I took a walk with Time today, and tried to hold his hand as we crossed the street. If I press my palm against the scarred brick skin of Main Street's oldest shops, I can envision my forever-little boy brazenly scraping his boredom into them with a stick.
My childhood is a pebbled beach of summer stones. Settled amidst the solid warmth of summer are the good memories—when Mom was healthy and Dad was home, and I didn’t have to figure out what to talk about at school. Occasionally the winter waves scatter them, washing in and out with the tide of my thoughts with bone-chilling recollections: Mom, bedridden with tremors and delusions, Dad trying to work, care for his wife, and feed his children at the same time, and me blowing breath rings in the frigid playground air. Alone.
I have always been the happiest during summer months.
June. School lets out; we stay up way too late and wake up even later. The sun is straight above us. Evenings wax indigo only after nine, and we suck on chilled drinks as mosquitoes
How to be Populardon’t talk
go to parties
listen to friends
go with the flow
drink some more
don’t let them see the tears
as you cry yourself to sleep
for the most important thing
is to be popular
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?
Panic attackIt hits me like a wave,
These thoughts of fear and regret.
They swarm all around me,
Trapping me inside my own head.
Pretty soon, I am suffocating,
Please someone save me!
My heart beat races,
As does the thoughts that pick up the pace.
Of sending me memories I've kept and buried so long inside.
They've come back to haunt me tonight.
And as soon as it came,
It was gone,
Leaving me here.
And what was left of me,
The sound of silenceThe sound of silence,
Is so deafening,
That it makes my ears ring,
With the cacophony of my own insanity.
Being afraid to speakThe unpleasantries of past events
Were driven by the voices of contempt
Leaving me breathless
To that effect, I was left senseless
And when I laid under the covers
As I tried to warm myself from the cold stares
I shiver, as my skin turned white
By the solace of silence
But, as I overcame their sadness
I learned to embrace the cold
Until I was able to give warmth to others
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
DNAyou are content
because every day
you have the opportunity to
hug both sets of your DNA.
however, i am not content.
half of me is missing
and the other half
is hardly ever here.
The Boy Who Never Knockedhe found her alone that night
the boy who never knocked.
she lay curled up on her side
in a web of fabric and feathers
and twisted threads of restless sleep.
tears adorned her lowered lashes
but went on to stain her sunken cheeks.
even when she was at rest
it seemed that fear pursued her
causing her to catch her breath
a cruel and unfair hunter.
when her unseen guest knelt down
to whisper in her ear
she did not hear a single sound
but his words still dried her tears:
"through better or worse, i promise
that what you once held dear
will once again be precious
the smile you've had to make a lie
will shine strong and pure and true
that weakness helps you find strength
in the hearts of those you never knew you had
and finally, that good will always come
no matter how long you're sad."
he bent to her he loved so much
to kiss her tears away
though she felt not a single touch
to verify his stay
with a sigh not ever made
by any who drew breath
he went back to his watchful grave
the boy who lov
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More