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I Am Not Dead !!!You!
Who are you!
Who are you to call me dead.
I am the author.
I am the poet.
These words you read are mine
and mine alone.
On this work
is all rights reserved.
Who are you
Who are you to say the author is dead.
With each word i breathe.
The rhythm is my pulse.
The poem is my soul's cry from within me
Contained in this written form.
My poetry is evidence of my life.
I am not dead but alive forevermore.
Who are you to call me dead?
Who are you to disregard my intentions
my opinions, my life
in favor of your own ideas.
To disregard me is to disregard my poetry.
Each poem is a piece of me,
whether i distance myself or not.
I am still the poet.
it was my,
my intentions, my opinions
and my mind and my soul
that gave birth to what you read.
Why argue amongst yourselves about interpretations.
You have a right to yours
but that does not make it more important than mines
or my opinion.
You book reviewer!
What makes you think you are so smart.
What makes you think you kn
Innocence DefiledInnocence Defiled
in hails of gunfire
Innocence and youth
from fragile hearts
caught in the crossfire.
If alive, displaced
if not physically.
hands of the young
the scarred future.
seeds of hatred and anger sown.
they rise on the corpses
of those they loved
those they deem martyrs.
Forced to set aside childish things.
Forced to surrender their childhood.
Dolls and toys,
replaced with guns.
Education and books,
replaced with knowledge of war
and images of blood and violence.
The sound of laughter
the sound of gunfire
The seeds are being sown in these broken hearts.
Seeds of war still to come
as hatred begets revenge
in lives tossed into wars
that they did not start,
but will continue to avenge those they've lost.
Innocence has been drenched in blood.
It has been defiled,
Hearts and mi
O heart !O heart where art thy shattered pieces now?
Hast thou gathered the shards and splinters from
whence they fell and
were buried deep within.
Hast thou begun to try and mend thyself once more?
Can you put the pieces back together?
Answer me O you broken pitiful thing!
Answer me and hide not the truth from me!
I know you.
I have seen thy tears
in the dead of night
and before the sun
doth shed its light.
I have heard thy silent sobs echoing within
thy hollow bony cage.
And watched as thy sadness birthed
more sorrow and pain.
I have felt thy pain
that sense that no one understood you...
or truly... really...cared.
I know you,
though often I tried to deny you
and hide you from the world...
Now I have come.
Come to face you one on one.
Let us reason together
and speak plainly.
You are broken O heart
and hurt deeply.
It is time
it is time to end the silent pain you
Above it all Below Zero Above it all Below Zero
50 below in Celsius
below...yet above it all
where the air is thin
and one's tallest mountain
is but a mere snow-caped peak
jotting out of blankets of clouds below.
lies civilisation...people...millions of people
so far...so small...
obscured by the clouds
clouds that blanket the heavens high above?
ha! frozen below zero soaring even above the clouds.
above it all
even above the clouds and mountains
that seemed insurmountable.
soaring at speeds unimaginable
swallowing time-zones in the wake.
below the stars
above the clouds.
higher than the Andes.
behold their peaks
their tall soaring peaks...
carpeted in snow...frozen
yet colder still soaring even above the Andes...
Hours pass and day turns to night
as darkens begins to fill the heavens
but this feeling has not left
wonder rises still
as clouds stained red drift carelessly below
My Facade 2Drenched in life's sorrow, my own inner pain.
Filled with sadness, contempt and hidden fear.
Longing to be set free from an evil reign.
Longing for someone to tell me they care.
My hurt buried in self condemnation.
My soul poisoned with bitterness and hate.
The tears of affliction be my portion.
A life filled with loneliness my sad fate.
But in the eyes of the world I'm happy.
Radiant and dancing in pure delight.
Filled with love, joy and laughter, you see me.
Angelic and performing what is right.
My façade perfected all on my own.
My true emotions kept from being shown.
Journey SolitaryLost he seems.
Forsaken he feels.
Its back the world hath turned,
on this lonely soul.
In sight there is not a friend.
A helping hand no one to lend.
To accompany him just fear and dread,
on his long trek home.
DEAD MEN's BONESBelow the surface,
Lie dead men's bones.
Hold the still remains
Of once strong men
Some who died in vain.
Below piles of earth
The corpses rest
Where no one can hurt.
Below the surface,
Lie dead men's bones.
Bones belonging to the young and old.
Bones of both the rich and poor.
Bones bearing bullet holes.
Bones broken revealing the core.
The corpses lie
Their eyes shut tight;
Their bodies rigid
Like a block of ice.
Below the surface
Lie dead men's bones.
The bones of kings are buried here!
... their skeletons wear their jewels now.
The bones of brave warriors doth rest below!
...rusting armour is all that's left to show.
The bones of man. woman and child!
... all descend below our feet when they die.
Bones ... bones ... bones!
Those bloody bones!
Below the surface
Lie dead men's bones.
The land is drunk
with the blood of men.
Those corpses and our corpses
A meal without end.
The "great" men of this world!
They all, end up, a pi
Many have died there.
Silent screams echo throughout the deserted corridors,
the blood stained walls whitewashed.
Scarred walls tell the stories.
The stories of pain and hurt.
The stories that tell of dark times.
Times when tears, and screams
of anger and hurt,
seems all that is known.
Distorted nails scrape the walls,
and claw at the bars.
Once strong men resemble skeletons,
as they waste away,
paying for the crimes they comitted,
with no one willing to omit it or forgive.
The guard strolls down the dark corridors;
his face set hard;
his heart as cold as the walls and cells themself.
He is indifferent to what occurs
within the prison walls.
He holds the key,
to the condemned men's freedom...
but does nothing.
He walks on,
ignoring the pain.
Slowly, but surely,
the prisoners succumb to the merciless prison.
The walls bear the scars.
The floor is stained with their blood.
The bars bear scratches.
The corridors remain dark.
The prison lies empty,
but the memories of its inhabitants remai
While The World Laughs OnSilently but surely the two edged sword pierced his heart.
Over and over again, its cold, icy, tip penetrated his inward parts,
shrouding him in trembling fear and immense sorrow.
Yet, he managed to smile.
He waved to the crowd and dared to laugh.
He betrayed no sign of outward pain.
No one suspected it.
Not once did it cross their minds.
They were blinded.
Blinded by his broad smile.
Blinded by his charm.
Blinded by his shimmering facade.
(that dazzled they eyes of everyone he met)
But behind closed doors it was different.
Within the chambers of his heart lay the truth.
he was bruised, beaten and bleeding.
His heart lay torn and in pieces.
he succumbed to the pain as the tears gushed forth
out of his weeping, inflicted, soul.
But, he would not allow it.
he would not allow the world to see him so.
He wiped his tears and put on a smile.
(an act he perfected over the years)
He waved and smiled, while his heart lay torn.
He laughed and cheered, while his soul lay weeping.
He pretended to
RIPMy poetry book died
But it wasn’t all that sad
It lived a life
Filled with words
Was well used
And treated with the utter most respect
Soon falling apart
Who will try its best
To fill its shoes
Because my poetry book
Has no more room
To be written in
Grow a GardenHer father gave her a pack of seeds, and told her to grow a garden,
for flowers could teach her about life
Sitting cross-legged, the dewy, viridian grass itching at her ankles,
she took her freshly-sharpened trowel,
and dug deep into the sodden dirt
Her lungs inhaled the musky scent,
as butterflies beat softly around her décolletage
And she promised herself,
she'd give a flower to her favorite boy
For months and months, she waited for the flowers to grow
And as she waited, to no avail,
the blue-eyed boy that made her lungs fill with salty water,
and made the butterflies cage inside her stomach,
only gave flowers to other girls
So she promised herself,
she'd get a flower from her favorite boy
So she grew a different garden:
She allowed crimson roses to grow from her skinny wrists; thorns digging, creating vertical lines
And she permitted black velvet petunias to flourish cavities under her sullen eyes
And finally, she let pale, yellow marigolds consume the skin of her hollow chee
Two SidesOh. It broke.
Don't worry, we can fix it!
Why bother? It'll just break again.
But then we can make it stronger!
It won't make a difference.
Well, we have to fix it if it's broken, right?
Not unless we stop using it.
But we have to use it!
It's useless fixing it though; it never stays quite right.
Then we'll just have to make sure it does this time, won't we?
You know you're just setting yourself up for failure.
We'll see. You know we're going to end up using it.
And a week after we start using it, it'll break. Again.
We just have to learn how to use it properly.
And what is this "properly"? Have we been using it dangerously this entire time?
Well, no, but—
Exactly. It's not us. It's them.
You know, you shouldn't blame it on others.
Why do you never care about it?
Why do you care so much about it?
LifeI'm not living
I'm only surviving
There's so much to do
And so little time
I'm always in a rush
Trying to keep up with life
Without a moment to rest
Without a moment to think
There's no joy in life
Being here makes no sense
Sometimes it comes to me
That I should put an end to it...
The suicide noteIt was upon a scrap of paper,
That she began her final labor.
Every letter that she scrawled,
Would leave the toughest man appalled.
Every sentence screamed with pain,
That no one could ever hope feign.
Of days where breathing felt like drowning,
And how everyday she'd taken a pounding.
Every cut and every bruise,
She was every cyber bully's muse.
She'd lie awake and hate herself,
In the dark she'd call for help.
She fell into a terrible dream,
And everyone left her alone to scream.
She put up walls around her hell,
And one by one all her 'friends' fell.
She called into the darkness of her lonely home,
Realizing at last that she'd been left alone.
On her wrists were bands that told her not to cut
So she lay on the floor with her eyes shut.
When people came to break down the doors,
They never saw her on the floor.
So concerned with empty rooms,
They trampled on her in the gloom.
With her body and spirit broken,
She went down to the local river,
Drank vodka to try and kill her liver.
Delusional Angel.Delusional Angel.
Twist my mind up, influence me.
It's all a dream darling, don't think it real.
We're just passing through; or is life passing through us?
Wrap yourself around me, love––
hold me through the storm.
Do you feel that beating, love?
––it's in sync with the universe.
Life is but a moment; surging through eternity.
This, right now is but a coinciding instant.
We have survived the world, lovely. Do you see it?
Remember me in the morning dear, tonight is absolute.
Pale pink lips and sweet bits.
Sketches and coffee spots.
Full moons and breaking points.
Vinyl vibes and genuine conversation.
Red wine and lipstick streaks.
Kisses and contemplation.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
How They Flutter ByElusive quarry indeed.
Bright-faced youths may scamper
Through sunlit meadows full of fluttering
And yet, at end of day, return tired
But eager to try again, as children are.
What of those too old, or too slow?
They'll run too, or perhaps just watch.
The glittering prize, promised
And so often savoured in anticipation
Proves always out of reach.
Easy, after a while, to stop and rest.
To forget those dappled hues and their dancing flight.
Retire, and pretend they never were.
Seek solace in other, greyer things.
Or remain forever haunted.
Gazing, maybe, at those more fortunate.
And in envy
Or in memory of sunny days long past
Their collections might sparkle yet.
Cold stillness belies their fate, in truth.
Dreams, pinned under glass.
To YouTo the girl I saw
With the sad, sad eyes.
To the boy I met
Who wasn't allowed to cry.
To the man I saw
Who was falsely accused.
To the woman I met
Who was badly abused.
This is my ode to you
For you live on despite it.
I'm so proud of you
For you can still fight it.
The world is against you,
But it's not your fault.
It's just the way
This world was taught.
So live on, live on,
Don't you give up here.
It gets better later,
The light is near.
I believe in you,
I know you can make it.
I'll reach out my hand,
If you need it, just take it.
You're not invisible,
And you'll be fine.
Keep in Touch!
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