[x]

Deliverancean angel drifts at the edge of the sky
with dwindling wings, she murmurs 'genesis'
and extends her fingers to try
and catch the pieces of a broken world

"sometimes we just need to burn
to have a way to light up the night"

the ground collapses upwards, and the
clouds come tumbling down-- the stars
awake and smile, they set fire to
desiccate all blinded faith

the masses watch on; glazed eyes,
broken spines, excised tongues-- they
are seduced by the twinkling lights

"destruction breeds beauty and
it seems to go both ways"

as the day decays, their time shatters
until those knuckle-dragging fools
find broken moment shrapnel
dee

The Art of Detachmentdehumanized:
I am a stirring in the breath
of an unswept sky, an itch
in the throat, a tear in
the lining of the sleeve you
keep fingering- like reminiscence
will repair loose strands

(I woke up this morning
in a new carcass, trapped,
by fleshed out flaws and
dismal dreams and the
hush hush thrum ,steady,
[pulsations are riddled with
intent] of my veins)

I am the dents in the floorboard
where boxes of I-can-never-forgets
lay, I am the aching cold of walls
untouched, I am the callouses
of your fingers forgetting
how to work.

(my voice will melt the icecaps,
it will draw all salt from
the ocean and carve a careful
coffin

crystal catastrophies bottled upv
her shaky hands couldn't hold a pen
or a promise
"my fingers have broken
trying to rewrite clichés-
believe me when I say, I'm special"
hollow laughs glossed over her
tempered smile

as she waited for the day
when that might actually mean
something

i
there was an eve long before dawn
ever tainted the starry night sky and
inflicted vision on those who preferred
to stay in the dark, where a girl
crooned quietly to herself
"what if when we meet,
I've run out of I love you's?"

this was before the sun whispered in her ears
that they'd never mattered, anyway

iv
hopelessness descends
on wearied souls
who couldn't lear

Drought-Thunder-
There are no stars tonight. The sky is
alone and my skin waits
patiently for the rain.

Our roses withered and died that summer.
You blamed God, but He did not let
dust gather on the only tin watering can…

The day you left me in a flower shop,
I decided to put what was left of my faith in an old
man spouting clichés to his granddaughter.

"If you don't like the weather here, wait a couple of minutes."

Half a year and I am still praying for a storm
to cool me down.

Anatomy of DepressionI watch the world go by through my windowpane eyes,

and it turns my kaleidoscope mind.

My lips are a cave by a turbulent sea;

my voice a lonely echo

conversing with itself

because of the big empty within.

My arms witch for water,

but my hands only ever hold deserts.

My skin is a playground

wrapped up in caution tape,

casting chalk outlines

of the body it follows.

My heart cries out in mutiny

against my kaleidoscope mind

as my feet dig deeper in indecision - -

I can feel them taking root in the clay.

Keepers of My Hearti.
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal

ii.
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.

iii.
you did not want tangibility

cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
fluorescent lips
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)

iv.
you did not want me

v.
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in y

Amnesiacsmaybe you forgot how to
wake up without screaming.

she smiles like a broken dawn
and the meek will inherit the
earth, if they don't drown,
first. she's barely breathing;
trying to grow gills because
it's only in the state of dying
that we adapt.

and you won't see the colors
pouring out of her chest, you
won't hear the ebbing swansong
she hums so quietly.

you didn't come to be reminded.

you inject a little further, a little
closer to the heart. numb.

(she died the day she
was given a name)

she made you promise never
to be a number, or a majority;
she made your heart beat in a way
that made you think you were alive,

Spotlessone day you'll fly a little too close to the sun
and you'll remember the boy who told you
gas station trinkets were worth more than
the heart you wore on your sleeve.

disillusionment will take you home, and
it will not leave your bed in the morning.
(you will remember he called you loose, too.)

you are the one who believes in smoke
smiles and candid cadavers. no ones'
nose grows, so everyone must be
undeniably true (except

you lie to yourself, too)

a few lifetimes ago you fell in love
with your own reflection, but as you
stripped away layers of common mis-
conceptions, you realized you are not

virtuous and radiant and hung o

When the Mountains Turn BlueThe nights you spend alone feel the
most familiar, but you can’t define it.
Intangible, like the way a field of cotton
breathes before a rainstorm, or those
pieces of yourself, left behind on the
far away sidewalks of your childhood.

One day it will be the hottest summer
recorded in fifty seven years.
Your wife and children will be somewhere
without you so you’ll sit on the porch and
sweat out the memories.

You’ll think about the time your father
took you on a road trip to the Rockies.
The only time you ever spent alone with the man.
You’ll also think about the nights when he slept
on the couch and how your br

Alone With St. JosephThe shell was pale- an afterthought of heat lightning
Every night the sun attends its own funeral
Days slowly die like the sparrow egg you found
underneath our favorite oak tree
You buried it in the dirt and said to me;
"The earth will make a perfect mother."

(Silence and a weakly nurtured glance)

Every time I think about failure, I picture
the crib in my tool shed
The opportunities we could have given it

Every time you think about me, you picture
sweat dripping into the ocean
And you wonder why I visit that tiny grave,
for no apparent reason

StainsI.

You burned the eggs and wrote scripture
in the shadows of a lunar eclipse.
I haven't slept for years, but it took the far away
scream of a siren to convince me that
the moon is a liar.

Body bags are filled with better men.
There are rivers of oil where I can't seem to break
The mirrors that flaunt your reflection.

II.

You couldn't dare me to walk across that bridge.
You couldn't ask me to sit through a full sermon
and still remain humble.

I'll never be home before the street lights come on and
you'll never hold my hand in the day time.
We're both clinical fools.

"The only difference between poison and medici

The Last Lie of SummerQuiet days, the overcast sky keeps
to itself, ignoring the living for weeks
at a time.

From half a state away-

you could hear trains roll through
towns like mine.

There is peace
and it can't be trusted

Undeserved suspicion
given to the first
fallen leaves.

This was the calm before the calm.
The man that is seen, but
nobody knows.

Promise yourself:
"Tomorrow I will say hello to him."

But we are all too busy dressing healed wounds.

He Remembers 1961He always puts extra steaks on the grill,
in case the neighbors stop by.
It’s not that kind of world anymore.

The wind was the only visitor that night
and it assumed an odor of burning leaves.
He thought about all the funerals he had

attended and he thought about Hurricane Jenny.
The sun’s last breath felt like thunder.
A child yelled “Olly olly oxen free” but

to him it sounded like “All your friends die in Spring.”

7.I ate your absence for dinner.

Mabonthere are dead leaves
sprouting from her amber spine,
reaching with child-fingers
to devour the sun.

her skin is freezing,
seeping winter through
november pores.

seeking warmth,
the whiskey tongues
of godless boys
wish to decipher
the atlas of her thighs.

counting the sleepy fireflies
alight in her lungs- there is
wanderlust churning & warming
her frostbitten heartstrings.

swinging pendulum hips,

"I am the tease of autumn flames.
I breathe in mint sunsets,
& gasoline dreams."

Browse More Like This

more ▶

More from =dawn181

Breathe AgainAllow me to breathe again.
I long to see more than the swirling water around me.
My lungs keep burning,
Allow me my wish.
Why be so cruel?
Allow me to breathe again.

You keep suffocating me with every word you say.
I realize I'm holding my breath,
Holding onto your every word.
I'm waiting for you to seal our fate,
To answer the unspoken question.
Allow me to breathe again
Fore I will hold my breath as long as you stay silent.

Allow me to breathe again.
Pull me from the depth.
You are the only one who can save me,
The only one who can breathe life into me.
Please, allow me to breathe again,
Or release me…

Dear PeachesDear Peaches,
I haven't seen you since the day I stole your innocence.
Remember the day we set out?
It had rained that morning and yet you were still eager to go out.
As soon as you stepped out the world was lifted by your presence.
That day I was able to relate to the world,
Fore I know just how much joy you can bring to a life.

Dear Peaches,
I'm writing you to tell you how much I miss the image of your face.
The picture I have doesn't give justice to your china doll cheeks,
Your wide, innocent eyes,
And sweet, pink lips.
I still dream of tucking a lock of your silk hair behind your ear
And kissing your tears away.

Dear Peach

HeavenStaring back at the house she called home,
She knew her time had come.
With a sigh of relief,
Knowing her job was done and goodbyes had been said,
She closed her eyes.

She saw His face,
Bathed in blinding light,
But for only a second,
And she held on to His retreating face with the rest of her being.

Awaken she did
In a world not unlike her own.
It was peace she felt inside herself that told her she wasn't on earth.
She had quietly slipped into death,
Walking through a wrinkle in time,
Guided by His hand.

She was mistaken minutes before.
That building wasn't her home,
But Heaven instead had been her home all along.

Secrets of a ClairvoyantShe swiftly ran through the garden,
Child to her breasts.
Each foot hit the grass with a deafening tone.
Her brown hair was in tangles around her hollowed face.
It was one wish she had,
A wish she wished she had never wished for.
If she had only known to be free of her visitations was to be locked in fear for her life,
Mistress to a man of darkened shadows.

As a carriage came down the path she knew at once her mistake.
The child felt cold as death in her hands,
The diamonds at her throat constricted her.
With a breath of sworn alliance,
She handed over her daughter to the hood face.
She dropped to her knees,
A pounding in h

His vision, Her brushHe took her by the wrist and gently placed a brush in her hand.
She dipped it in a bottle of pastels,
And under His watchful eye
She drew a sky with all the colors before her.
A shade of blue glowed on the page,
And in the distance birds cawed.

Once He nodded in approval
Her brush painted a scene of love and silent tears.
Houses appeared on the page,
Each with more meaning then the next.
Gradually the scene changed,
As things do with age.

Her brush faltered,
Painting a scene in all blacks and blues.
She shaded her face until only the tears showed.
The painter stubbornly looked down,
Ignoring the face of beauty looking down a

Ignorance of the Middle AgedExcuse me?

I beg your pardon?

Forgive me, but will you repeat that?

Once more please?

All those accusing eyes look down on me
And it's hard to swallow the feelings of anger that take hold.
They think they are god,
Whatever they do is right,
And what I do is wrong.

Oh how I hate to be a child,
Wise beyond my years.
Does it really surprise you so,
The things that come out of my mouth?
I'm not playing grown-up,
I really am.

Forgive me, but will you repeat that?

No.
You heard me right.
Now stop with the fake surprise,
It's really getting old.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#bipride
Be Proud.

#written-from-within
Written From the Soul

#writeaway
Find Your Inner Voice

#Writers-Guild-DA
writers everywhere

#writingclub
write it for real!

#ThePoetryofDA
DA Poetry Club

#LGBT-pride
a support group

#Writers4Life
Writers Welcomed

Show all (90)

Details

Submitted: October 17, 2012
File Size: 979 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 36
Favourites: 46 [who?]
Views: 545 (1 today)

[x]

My Mistress

by =dawn181, Oct 17, 2012, 4:25:22 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Erotic / Free Verse

The sun is her mentor,
that orange ball of gas that
dances across the pale blue sky,
pulled along by an invisible string -
the same string that throws me to my knees
before her feet.

I find it in her eyes,
the fire that burns in the sky,
and also in her soul;
a passion born from coals
and lathered in desire -
my mistress of fire.

It is in this game that she reigns supreme,
the woman of fire
who passionately controls each breath I take.
The Devils prized orator,
it is the eloquence of her speech
that keeps me playing with fire,
the burns beautiful reminders of
her incredible power.

And if I were to die,
I’d die amongst flames,
awaiting our demise
with the taste of lust still thick on my tongue -
for she is fire,
my Mistress of Fire.

My Mistressby =dawn181

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Erotic / Free Verse

~~Wha? BDSM? Yeah, I went there~~

Finally I finished this! Oh my goodness, this is the most frustrating poem I have ever written. I've never spent this much time on a single poem in my life. I got the idea at school, worked on it all through French, completing the first stanza and then fighting with the second. When I got home I poured all my energy into figuring out the second stanza and then completing the last stanzas. I'm actually pleased with how this turned out, surprise surprise.

I'll be posting pictures of what my notebook looks like with all my edits, scribbles, and frustration for this piece in case anyone cares.

This wonderful playlist helped me finish this poem [link]

^{You may not use this, under any circumstances, without my permission. My Mistress (c) dawn181, a.k.a Taylor (me)}

Critique by ~NotenSMSK Nov 5, 2012, 4:10:50 AM

How should I put it... First of all, thank you very much for the bday gift! Yes 17th October was my birthday (also Eminems but who cares).

The work was strangely beautiful. The thing that made it so was the fluidity of the phrases, the way they merged to make simple yet expressive and touching expressions. You know, I say (regardless of rhyme) that poetry shouls "speak" to person. This is what it did for me.

There were emotions in your words, submissive and portraying your mistress as a powerful entity. You portrayed that surprisingly well. The start was strong, the sun tied with a string analogy was well thought of and gives off a strong impression of your imagination.

Then there were also elements that come to ones mind with the term "My Mistress". You did not play the wrong card by exposing diturbing images of that impression. You played witfully with words:

It is the eloquence of her speech
that keeps me playing with fire

here you expressed power of control over you. Both literally and figuratively. A few lines above you also mentioned her passion for you (I don't want to imagine

)

with the taste of lust still thick on my tongue
makes a wonderful imagery of how you consider her.

The ending was very well written. Endings really matter to me. Here, I wondered if you would either be unable to bring an end to the emotions and feelings and analogies but you managed to end it well. Mistress of fire eh?

P.S I thought your name was dawn181... never knew some called you Talor as well

What do you think?

Fair Unfair

The Artist thought this was FAIR

4 out of 4 deviants thought this was fair.

7 Replies

Devious Rating

Vision

Originality

Technique

Impact

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

Please sign up or login to post a critique.

=HillsOfMyst May 28, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Your fantastic work has been featured here!
I'd really appreciate it if you could give some love to the other featured pieces and

the journal!

=dawn181 May 29, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Wow thank you

=HillsOfMyst May 29, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

You're welcome!

~Adonael Feb 3, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

That is a brilliant first line!

*Mumikansou Nov 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Loved it! You took on a difficult perspective with expert precision. Therefore, you win money! ^^

=dawn181 Nov 17, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh my goodness thank you so much!

You're so sweet

*Mumikansou Nov 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It is my pleasure to give some sort of compensation for such a brilliant poem. I only wish I could give more. ^^

~Adonael Oct 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Some fantastic descriptive language and metaphors. I loved the first stanza.

However, I thought some of the lines were a bit superfluous such as 'a passion born from coals' and 'awaiting our demise'

If you could weave them into the poem another way then awesome, but they just stuck out and disrupted the flow of he read.

Overall though, god job

=dawn181 Oct 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you

I see what you mean, I think, haha.

~Adonael Oct 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Sorry. I hate to be the bearer of confusing comments xD

No worries!

More from =dawn181

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

My Mistress

My Mistressby =dawn181

The Artist has requested Critique on this Artwork

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style