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Love is a PhoenixI have seen nothing more tragic,
Than watching love die.
Enduring it’s painfully fade,
At stubbornly clings to life

The slow death of a love,
That’s filled with years of life.
Or the sudden snap,
As it blinks away in a lover’s eye.

It doesn’t go easy,
And it doesn’t go fast.
It goes out fighting,
Because love was made to last.

It is a brilliant flame,
Drowned in water.
It clings to the air,
With all its dying embers.

Yes, I have seen no sadder sight,
Than watching love as it dies.
But I have been blessed to gazed upon no otherworldly scene,
Than watching love be born again, anew and free.

The Devil's WayMake a bargain, sell your soul.
Condemn it to the deepest hole
That ever came of fact or thought.
For such a price ought can be bought.
Just sign right here. This dotted line.
Cut the last ethereal twine
That ties your body and your mind.
Don't you wonder what you'll find?
Be free of all your earthly toil
And later you will surely boil
In tar as deep and thick as night
From which escapes no saving light.
So what's your choice? It's time to choose.
What will you gain? What will you lose?
Sign right here and you can say
"I lived my life the Devil's way".

Ocean's CallRays of the morning Sun tear the veil of mist
Ships slumber by the shores, waiting to be awoken
Ocean whispers while they slumber of her beauty unspoken
The wooden bodies by her waves are longfully kissed
The beacon closed her fiery eye, the Sun laid her to sleep
But the slumber of the ships will soon and slowly break
When the ships have spread their sails, then they'll be awake
Not because of the chiming bells, but by the Ocean's weep
And the arms of safe lands will not embrace them anymore
When they hearken Ocean's calls and her secrets hidden
One by one, they will leave their safest home - the shore
But perils lurk in dulcet calls of the Ocean so enchanting
Nevertheless, the ships will leave, for freedom is not forbidden
They shall sail forevermore, mesmerized by the eternal chanting

HeartHello, you’re new, shall I show you around?
You will feel at home here, I assure you,
You know this place, it is a sacred ground,
It may look cluttered but there’s room for two.

You will notice that there are just four rooms,
It seems ‘small’, but I choose to use ‘cosy’,
Left is cold, right is warm, by both life blooms,
Your bed is central, should you feel dozy.

You could stay forever, if it’s your will,
And I would like you to stay with me, please?
For now you are here to leave is to kill,
Keep my beating and fleeting heart at ease.

The broken cupThe broken cup does not signify much,
Other than I dropped it
and I ought to clean it up.

It is not an allegory
for my last relationship;
Just a gift from a friend
From which I liked to sip-

And there's coffee on the floor,
In the carpet, down my dress.
Does it have to be a metaphor
For me to be distressed?

Why can't we just drop
A damned cup of damned coffee,
Without it being a brooding realisation
Or a life-epiphany?

My Muse Has Left MeWhen she departs from my grace,
My palette dries in her wake,
Devoid of livelihood for now,
With dull words to fill my tray,
For now I paint a portrait,
With gray,

With no wings of my own,
I am yet to be grown,
For she alone floats me high,
She alone carries the brush;
Strokes colours unto the night,
Filling the empty artist with,
Her sweet kiss of silvery light.

So I lay now in wait,
Under rainbows left gray,
To taste the honey of her life,
Dripping like nectar from rose-soft lips,
Pressed tight as a clamp unto mine,
Breathing into me a laced love letter,
Sighed: To the artist; From: The divine.

Can't believe I couldI can't believe I could fall for you,
but I can't get rid of an impression,
you would understand meanders of my soul,
and take me safely home.

I can't believe I could think of you,
and I can't accept I could like your view,
but when it comes to the truth - I do,
and this complication is incredibly new.

A breakthrough giving rise to an new age,
before I fall offstage.

Drifting among the Spheres...Descending the stairs to the top of the tower,
I stumbled and sank in the sky;
From Venus to Yuggoth I rose like a cork,
Through the æther of Space I now fly...

From the light of Andromeda, crystalline-bright
To the uttermost distant of stars,
I must drift evermore on this eternal flight;
Farewell to Jupiter and Mars!

The Big Bang was merely one drop in the pail
Of Cosmoses unnumbered and vast...
As Infinity drowns in Eternity's depths,
So long will my great journey last.

Hadal OblivionFrom vastest depths of the forgetfulness,
The wail of the banished memories
Resounds, bouncing off invisible walls of nothingness,
And their painful intensity – sonance, greatly varies.
Oh, millions of darkest memories cast out
To oblivion, gently caressing them and yet...
They are starving; on the edge of life; bleeding out.
Although kept alive in emanation of agony, grief and hate.

Many want to banish those shards
of their lives. In the end - banishing themselves.

Stripped of those shards of glass, containing memories,
We are nothing – especially not humans. Without identity,
We may find ourselves lost in the overwhelming wor

Sexual AwakeningMy heart kept pumping
But it drowned in its blood
Waiting for someone
To save it from its flood

Yeah, I did that once
Now my patience is dead
I waited and waited
As my heart just bled

Now my patience is dead!

Now I paint the town red
With that sexy new paintbrush
I just met instead
To rephrase what I said
I paint it in my head
When I picture the masterpiece
We can create in my bed

I’m awaken by perfect chaos
Of tranquil vividness
I believe that this is the outcome
Of my restlessness
In silent chaos I’ll hunt down
The prey of exquisiteness

I’ll lure them in
As I prepare to entrap
Then go for the kill
And begin

Gothic CreativityGoth Creativity is a very dark, amusing thing to have,
But you criticizing, using horrid language, makes my heart halve,
You see, Goth Creativity isn't always death, suicide, or depression,
It's almost always about love, romance, and the use of nonaggression,
But I apologize, we may not be friends, for you are stereotypical,
I already knew that, but ignored, that, of me, is typical,
You're probably contemplating, on what you will do next without me,
I do not care, now without you in my life, my creativity has been set free,
Looks like you are alone, now, and wish to have never done the deed,
So now, you just watch your wrists bleed,
Now look

The measure of the lost memoryAge is but a fraction,
But a story not yet told,
But a sentimental value,
But something we cannot hold.

Age impedes our victories,
Age stands in our way,
The young remain incapable,
And the old will seldom stay.

Age is not a birthday,
Not a frame of time from birth to death,
Not a number that can be ever told,
Not a number told on dying breath.

Age can not be measured,
For none can seem to find,
That age refers to the memory,
Of the thing within your mind.

And whence you forget what your mind holds,
The age is lost as well to the abyss,
And the hourglass drains the last grain of sand,
And the pure void, ensures pure bliss.

Just scaredYour words were scaring me,
What can i say?
Whatever it is, is nothing to stay,
Let me walk for that i shall,
I wont ever even be found.

ArtistWhat skill with your hand you do lightly draw,
connecting lines to form dazzling dreams,
without being able to make a flaw.

Sparks fly in your magic, persistant eyes,
creating a new world in your image,
with confidence that reaches new highs.

Your efforts always seem unrewarded,
the public turning a cold, blind eye,
with nothing to keep your ego fed.

But what dif'rent message is seen in scribes?
Nothing but a meaningless textbook here.
A school's reading has no creative vibes.

A generation that does not read out,
only wants to see words in the pictures,
though there are those who read Poe's works about.

Though literature can on

The Imperfect LineWritten by Josiah Shockency (JCS)

Life is an imperfect line,
We all have ups and downs,
Positives and negatives,
And even smiles and frowns…

It’s a pleasure to be born,
And your life’s a treasure,
But there are stains that won’t budge,
While having all pleasure…

ANGER! DEPRESSION! SADNESS!

Life, what is life anyway?
With all this love and hate,
Mixed together into one,
A huge stain on your plate…

JEALOUSY! STRESS FROM MADNESS!

With bullies in life of school,
Mugs and thugs in cold streets,
With enemies that lurk on,
Seeking for one’s defeats,

FEELING IGNORED! LOSING HOPE!

Bills to pay, mone

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A Blank CanvasMy heart is a
Blank canvas
Waiting for the brush
In your skilled hands;

An unplanted field
In autumn
Yearning for your
Seed and plow;

The clay as yet
Unmolded
Needing the cup
Of your fingers;
The spin
Of your wheel;

A poem just
On the tip
Of the tongue
Hoping your words
Will emerge
To make it sing.

My heart was once

A family portrait;
A field of poppies;
A Grecian urn;
A sonnet verse;

But now;

It waits for you.

A blank canvas.

Castle Faye pt 6 Tomb Dally“Who was it that sent the girl to me,” Dallion demanded. No one responded so he repeated the question, this time more emphatically. Still he gleaned no audible response, but this time more eyes than not came to rest on the face of a brawny pockmarked boy named Lance when he made the inquiry.

“Was it you,” Dallion glowered blackly at Lance.

“No! It wasn’t I,” the boy protested, squirming beneath the Knight’s glare. Dallion moved his gaze from Lance, letting them flit around the room until they stopped at last to rest upon the face of a boy he knew to be named Orland. He was a small boy but quick with a

Tomb De'Lau'Dai pt 5Tomb de’ Lau Dai
Dalion Peligre

Dalion, whom everyone had taken to calling Dally much to his chagrin, frowned irritably at the two boys. As a True Knight of the Twin Gods he was charged with ensuring that all matter of pavilion life were run in accordance with the laws. These two boys’ were kneeling with hands clasped in proper reverence but they were facing South. Dally walked behind the boys cuffing them each gruffly by the ear.

“What God is it you pray to in the south, some patron God of foolish irreverent little boys? I hope he will protect you should Lord Barristan catch sight of such foolishness,” Dally snarled.

Castle Faye Part 4 SeguewayTomb de Lau’Dai
Bryson Barristan

Bryson Barristan was a man of patience. For twelve long years he had been covertly scavenging his army from the castle-towns and villages of Illidan and the Western Kingdoms. His recruits were hand selected by himself and other officers. Each must be young and disenfranchised enough that their nubile minds and belief systems were pliable to his cause. Most had been born mere peasants of craftsman’s sons.

And now they are warriors, Bryson thought with some satisfaction as he strode down the lists inspecting his armored men. He was most pleased with his cavalry, a band of boys most of whom had never

Wing Clip Caged bird
Wings clipped
Just try
To fly
Away.

Castle Faye Pt3Xira awoke to a headache of monumental proportions. The incessant wrapping on her chamber door did little to soothe it.

“By the Gods, stop that knocking and come in already,” Xira cried. She pressed her fingers to her temples and massaged in slow circles, willing her headache away. The door flung open and Doren stood, staring coolly at her from across the room.

“The piper wishes to speak to you,” Doren announced. Xira groaned. If Vael of Azen’Tai was insistent enough to wake her at this ungodly hour, she presumed the palaver would include tidings beyond his usual chatter about the state of the vineyards in the South

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Errors in Judgement

by ~UltimateOutlaw, Jun 15, 2009, 5:23:42 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Eros draws his bow; his golden arrow flies wide.
While the hunted deer blinks, unsurprisingly doe-eyed.
The indiscretion: such poor form, and quite ill-timed.

It will not be the last mistake made, of this kind.

Icarus raises wings of wax in the art of flight
All this youthful folly, underpinnings of his plight,
Arrogance thus ending in his tragic birthright.

It was not the first mistake made, of this kind.

Blame the crooked shaft, or the light of the sun,
And though tragedy results in catharsis for some,
There are errors in judgement that can’t ever be undone.

Mistakes have always been made, since the beginning of time.

Errors in Judgementby ~UltimateOutlaw

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Yeah it rhymes. So what?

*ZexyPineCones Jun 28, 2009 Hobbyist Writer

LOL...I like when you rhyme.

A wonderful read.

!Moon-and-Ash Jun 17, 2009

It RHYMES. (!!!!).

Once I get over the betrayal (hur.) I have to grudgingly admit that I am warming to the idea.

*Cheers* for myths, but that summation at the end:

"Blame the crooked shaft, or the light of the sun,
And though tragedy results in catharsis for some,
There are errors in judgement that can’t ever be undone."

Is staggeringly fantastic. You really hit your rhythm here, and I love the weary/foreboding/omniscient feel.

~UltimateOutlaw Jun 18, 2009

yes. It rhymes. So do several of my new ones. I blame pennessence and tina-go-lightly, mostly. They are bad influences on me

I'm glad you liked it though

!Moon-and-Ash Jun 18, 2009

I'm feeling a bit left out, actually. Maybe I should stop being so subversive?

It works SO well, m'dear. Go with it. I'll just content myself with being a bandwagon fangirl, and leave the rhyme to the pros.

~UltimateOutlaw Jun 18, 2009

I am hardly a pro lol

`thetaoofchaos Jun 16, 2009 Hobbyist Writer

"While the hunted deer blinks, unsurprisingly doe-eyed"

~UltimateOutlaw Jun 16, 2009

witty right?

!MistakenMagic Jun 16, 2009

I have always batted for the 'non-rhymers' but occassionaly I find that rhyme adds rhythm and structure, making it a better poem.

And this one is lovely! Especially love the Icarus imagery!

Erin xxx

~UltimateOutlaw Jun 16, 2009

I generally prefer not to rhyme. But sometimes it can be fun (yes, there, i said it) and challenging I suppose

~tina-go-lightly Jun 15, 2009 Writer

Oh happy rhyme!

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