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Such heartless creatures, who learn to lie.
They do not care if you happen to die.
Only focusing on what they like best, they either forget or shun the rest.
They disgust us, they do, with their pathetic souls.
As a matter of fact their souls have left, and all that remains is a simple brain.
A brain that allows them to simply stain.
Stain the planets who were deemed sane.
Alas, the race shall hopefully fall, for nothing lasts forever, nothing at all.
The EndDig your nails into your skin, feel their harshness crawl within.
Scratch and tear the flesh apart, for here begins a fresh new start.
See the pink, the red, and the blue, grab a knife, you know what to do.
Remove the organs, hear the tears, scream and wail for further repairs.
And now you're down to your heart, tear it out to end and restart.
Remove yourself from the past, save the grief you've caused me, at last.
Please go away and save your blabber, it can be mentioned during another case.
I ask you kindly to stab your own throat, for your words mean nothing if said out of place.
Admit your failures, admit your faults, you existence annoys me and I'm through with your soul.
Unloved AngelUnloved angel, whom I must say indeed, you look quite ethereal, though you are considered a weed.
A weed with divine power, and the ability to outthink, you can simply make the flowers wilt and shrink.
A weed with truly hypnotic eyes, that glare and pierce the dead who rise.
Creating truths that cannot be lied, how you kill so many who are frightened inside.
Painting stories and crushing all, watch them run, watch them fall.
And here you are, chained to your sins, farewell dear one, rest well within.
SUPER IMPORTANT PERCY JACKSON NEWS!!!HOLY MOTHER OF GODS UNCLE RICK ANNOUNCED THAT HE IS WRITING A NEW PERCY JACKSON SERIES!!!! OMG I THINK I JUST DIED :iconicantplz:
An excerpt: And I will announce this here for the first time, right now I'm working on a new book of the Greek myths, told from Percy Jackson's point of view. My hope is to offer the original stories, but told in a modern perspective that appeals to our kids today. I decided to set aside the earlier anthologies, as much as I love them – Hamilton, D'Aulaires, Evslin, Greene – because the writing is a little dated. Instead, I've leapfrogged straight back to the primary sources. I'm using Ovid, Hesiod, Homer and many others, and trying to cast the entire scope of Greek mythology afresh. John Rocco, who does my covers, is illustrating, and we're hoping to create something that's going to be useful in your libraries and classrooms.
Anyway, one of my goals is
Hobbit limerickThere was once a director of the Hobbit
when filming LotR, he used to quite crop it.
The profit is free,
so let's make movies three:
that was the way he now saw it.
The Heart of EarthOn the horizon,
Yet the Moon remains
In the skies of Earth...
Every Man and Beast
Looks through the eyes of surprises
Through rivers and plains
In the Heart of Earth...
Each bubble seeps through my mouth
as they lift themselves
breaking free of binding air.
I am sinking deeper
into the shadow of the sea.
Eyes half alive, as they
lift themselves towards untouchable sky.
Glistening light touches once more
and dances on the water.
Beams of the sun wander through,
but I can not reach their abundant light.
This invisible anchor weighs
down on my soul restlessly.
I am lost...
hope has vanished...
faith whispers quietly, softly...
Suddenly an awakening touch
grabs hold of my hand.
Light becomes grander, my soul
lifts towards the surface.
I feel a gust of air,
I breathe in heavily.
Looking up I see my beholder.
My hand clamped in theirs,
like a clam holding
its beloved pearl...
I look into the eyes
of my savior and I see
the beacon of light within them...
Our stares collide as time caresses
us slowly with patience.
You look at me and I know.
You understand my fears,
my hopes, secrets untold.
Understanding yours are hard to unfold.
I am grasping, but you
The DreamWith respect I would like to channel and redirect,
that from the bottom of my broken and barren soul,
I have now lost all self-control.
Arms outstretched and weightless,
suddenly metamorphosing into wishful wings...
To jet-set and take flight,
flapping fearlessly with the fervour of the somber moonlight.
Time eroded and erased.
A twisted time from within.
Swimming breathlessly through the sugary swept space...
Universe unfolding and colliding in a perfect run of grace.
Jagged journey from the inside looking out.
Spatial gap cannot find the direct route.
Buried too far beneath the treasure trap...
never care to ever look back.
Seek and Find let it in unwind.
Sucked back dripping into the vortex of time.
High above the tree-tops once again,
wings weightlessly swinging.
Air infused portal now back to the beginning.
It has all been said and done before,
when we enter that darkened and shadowy door.
If there is a Question there is an Answer like once before.
A Tale of Elves and Fairies
At a time, when humans still believed in faeries and elves, they possessed power. A power of which they were not conscious. They created what they thought and only by their will-power the fabulous creatures of their fantasies came to life. So it happened that the lonely dark woods were suddenly populated by gentle wood spirits. Delicate elves, dainty nymphs, graceful little fairies swinging themselves from branch to branch left sparkling stardust on their ways. A wonderful mystical world was arisen und its habitants were just waiting for assisting humanity. Those who were desperate and sad could call them and they always came to help. Then it happened that the humans forgot the magical realm and a dark age began.
The humans had forgotten that they only need to believe for to see. Those who were desperate stayed alone and those being worried found no comfort any longer. The elven realm existed further on but it fell into oblivion. Humanity had become blind. Hundreds of years pass
The Rohirrim Ride ForthBold they ride and battle-ready
Swift the horses, stern the Men
Sounds of hooves like thunder rising
Who shall ride homeward again?
Gondor calls in hour of peril
Rohan answers, ever brave
Rohirrim ride, though each man knows
Journey's end may be the grave.
Forth they ride, the Eorlingas
War's horn calls to Rohan's Men
Bravely go they to the battle
Some shall not ride homeward again.
The WaterfallI hear the rushing of water.
It calms down, the water sings.
The noise increases.
I stand directly behind the waterfall,
which gushes forth from above down a steep slope.
Beyond its fine threads of water pearls
I look through its silver shimmering curtain.
Isolated drops touch my skin
at my arms, legs, the whole body.
I long for more
and I hunger for the power of this concentrated element of nature.
Lovingly, I would like to absorb its force
to adopt the extraneous.
Presently, I approach the water shade.
Now, I walk through it.
Ah, I just stand in the flow and flux of this element
and I feel its power how it runs through me.
My hands stretch out,
grasping for the wonderful liquid.
My mouth opens
to snap at the drops.
I hold my face under the roaring water.
The jet is hard and unruly,
wild is its course of life,
so wild and unruly how my heart beats now,
in excitement and satisfaction.
I absorb this force in my circulation,
contented I climb up the mountain from which the spring gushes
J. R. R. TolkienJust see who enters
the realm of dreams
that none have seen
legends of old
Molding them into
Reaping the fruits
that in his mind grow
to rivers of words
that from his pen flow
Travel through the lands,
follow the dream
He gives you his hand...
Enter with him!
The Lost HomeWelcome to the lost home, where all live inside.
Lost and found, some see you now, some try to hide.
On the walls we keep their secrets, bottled up in jars of mystery.
But now you see us, now you don't, it's all simplistic history.
Come into Room Eleven, where we keep the lost and found.
Walls built of children, see them squirm, they had not one chance, not one single turn.
Will you forgive them, give them time?
Or will you make them ours, maybe even mine?
No, you won't, you'll leave them behind, just like you did when they were yours, not mine.
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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