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Memories of the PastHi little ghost...
don't try to hide yourself,
I caught you walking on tiptoe
in the rooms of my head...
Poets (practical People)Poets adorn Love with refined rhymes
only when their lovers are away.
This way they spread trough letters
the feelings they cannot retain.
But when the chosen's presence
kidnaps their minds and lips
it's hard to tell a poem
while mouths just want to kiss.
goodThe good farmer brought the dog in the field,
the old dog who had served him loyally.
He, who was called respectable person,
hanged the dog to his unique olive tree.
Since then, the tree stopped bearing fruit,
and the farmer swore and said profanities.
For this rage the man fell ill.
For his love the son went into the field,
and returned with a hand full of olives.
The good farmer ate them greedily
and while choking he confessed his 'good' sin.
a Northern TaleHow cold must be the nights of the North?
Warm maybe are just around the chimney tops...
while all the stars trembles,high, for the flu
and the moon cries 'cause there's nothing she can do.
Thus as comfort they just have the dark smoke
from the wood killed by the woodcutter's stroke.
So all together they gather around
relieved for a moment from the pain they are bound.
Crowded as they are, to spend not the night in vain
often organize their 'battles of tales'...
and if there's a child in the underlying house
a spokesman of the sky will be this son of the ground.
a salty DreamWhen young girls cry
for all reasons but pain
every drop that falls
's not exactly like rain.
They're in fact cocoons
that will soon dissolve
givin' newborn fairies
to this needy world.
But when ladies fear
and their torments lead
to committ the sin
of let drop pain-tears
those are full o' scare
and their inner salt
terrified 'n' dark
gives birth to the trolls.
If you are devoted
to the sort of Earth
kind and polite maidens
stop them from the start
if you notice that
they'll give birth to trolls
and when they'll be fairies
allow them to go.
when Poetry fallsThe very first time
you made me feel that way
for a problem of translation
from the language of the heart
I said: "Your eyes catch mine
like hungry birds of prey" -
With years and experience
but for us really too late,
while other lips had stolen
your warm interest, alas
I traslated it like: "I love you
and your presence makes my day".
the animist TortureThat Water is alive, it has been shown
every single time we've boiled it:
its spirit has soon reached the air in form
of a ghostly cloud, a soul of steam.
This fact could maybe seem a little weird
to all of you who care about the sun,
but for the ones who care about the moon
every life that's cut 's a rite undone.
a sad SongA tempest was raging
nearby the old harbor
a ligthning from heaven
felt into the sea.
The water got pregnant
gave birth to a siren
whose hair were cold silver
whose eyes were blue-green.
The Lord of the silence
dark prince of the shadows
took form of a black swan
and unfolded his wings.
The clouds were ferocious
all grim and menacing
the flight a defiance...
a true agony.
Then when she was at sight...
her beauty was matchless.
Love led him to madness
and dived toward her.
The maid unaware
of the things of the world
opened her arms
and stood waiting the swan.
But the clouds revengeful
commanded the lightnings
to fall down like arrows
and pierce the dark prince.
The mission accomplished
had two, not one victim...:
she too had been pierced
while embracing him.
The desperate sea
became like a cradle
and lulled their bodies
who fell in the deep.
The clouds and the heaven
the waves and the lightnings
as one sang a sad song
and started their weep.
Death in LifeI eat this idleness
For my state granted
As a sclerotium
Nourished by boredom.
The worms, they haunt me
I hear their whispers
Gray corners for Hermes
To my destiny - prelude
I was born planted on Earth
And until the last breath
That deadly kiss closes
I'll be here: gloomy retreat.
Vain death in life
Hidden under sophistry;
And the Essence prostituted
What will remain? Nothing.
The Ones You LoveSay goodbye to the ones you love
With each time you get lost in the drug
To become someone you never wanted to be
But in the darkness, it's the only solution you see
Every time you light up, you hurt your friends
As each relationship draws closer to an end
Now you have given up on yourself after so long
And all the ones that you love have gone
Love Makes You HumanI am tired.
Tired of knowing my presence is harming people,
Because they try to help me,
When they should help themselves.
I'm tired of being human.
I'm tired of loving people,
Becuase I feel their pains as if it were my own,
And I know that I can't help them,
No matter how hard I try.
But I can't and don't want to stop loving them.
But this is the price of love isn't it,
It makes you human.
a strange ThingLife has lived me enough to make me die
Death instead hasn't lived me at all...
leaving me alive.
So Death has done what Life should do:
make me live until the time had come to depart...
and Life has stolen what Death should have...
right from my very first start.
So what Life is and what is Death
if one is warm and steals...
the things the other, cold and black
has left to you to feel?
The answer lies within.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More