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I should rapLay siege and sew laces to a slow pace to pesos
Santa Anna's Tejanos taxi in on Texian soil to say
that the Alamo has a maximum occupancy
and the entrance fee is taxing on the economy.
It's a slow start to recharge the duracell
so why is it so hard to locate the terrorist cell
when social media isn't an epoxy for proxy;
I'm noxious, so when I don't wake, don't call for me
because ISIS is irate that my iris resists and dilates
with a pupil futile to who'll toodaloo to tattletale
I'll conclude my speech by telling ya'll I'm oh-AK-47
and am done presenting politics for the modern Hessian.
You can all go to hell, I'll have my Alamo and go to Texas.
Bitlets 159Women keep to their curves:
pregnant navel and breasts
and hourglass figurines.
Men have their angles:
elbow jabs and erections
and chiseled figures.
Bitlets 158She can’t decide to ask him
picking the petals of forget-me-nots:
he likes me,
he forgives me not.
Bitlets 157He says that "You must have a girlfriend,"
upon seeing Lauren's embossed envelope
that he has retrieved from the mail.
Truth is, in that envelope are bookmarks
for me to match origami paper too
and a galaxy of trees,
and while there is simplicity in truth
there is convolution in explaining it.
"Yah, I must."
it perches on my rounded lips
as a bird prepared for flight.
I will fill it with my soul
until it's bulging - days stretched
so thin they hardly separate
and butterfly mornings blur
into strawberry eves.
In a blink it will be gone,
a breath too hard and
SeptemberThe page hasn't turned
The sun tilts on the edge
Before it falls
You have caught it already
Trees with a hesitant shudder
Shake leaves that aren't ready to die
The breath passes
But when you look up
The clouds are pulling back
They have smelled it
They are leaving the thick air
Near the ground
To escape it
But you have to stay
And when you feel it again
There will be frost
Autumn in My BloodLustrous morning jeweled with dew
Spirited brown sugar winds
Summer's haze is stripped away
The sky shines like crystal
Every tree a tapestry
A masterpiece of color
Lively air spices my lungs
And whips my hair around me
The earth is awake with every fiber
A festival of roguish splendor
Cigarettes and AutumnsAll these cigarettes and autumns are piling up
on me. Dead leaf at dusk from a
hoary apple tree.
Eden's falling with each
tick of the tock, measured by periodic
fingers counting down an imaginary clock.
I can nearly see the golden leaves
dancing on the breeze while the
incense smell of burning fronds
waft tenaciously through the trees.
It's a good time to be alive.
Soon enough the frost on the window's
going to hide the impending
autumn happening outside.
So presently I'm exhaling stale smoke
on the window, lamenting summer's
passing with a clear view
of each hue of a burning bush,
of each push towards doom
already intent on being reborn.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
Mother NatureThere is a soul,
That seems to flow,
Beneath the gold,
Of the suns glow.
It flows within,
It floats within,
You feel its breath,
In the wind,
You feel its death,
With every sin.
It does not think,
It does not hate,
It only loves,
It doesn’t berate.
And her breath,
We have a peaceful death
Last Days of AutumnDays grow shorter, the air more chill and crisp
Sweaters will be replaced with coats in a matter of days
Awaiting the final leaf of autumn to fall
Cool breezes shift gears into frigid winds
Gray clouds blanket the once blue sky
The sun hiding its shy face behind the the dyed cotton puffs
Rakes and leaf blowers emerge from hibernation in their garage dens
Wildlife gather the last of their food for a three-month slumber
Soon rain will be substituted with snow
As the last days of autumn come and go
Opening welcome arms for Christmas, for school holidays, for New Year's
Bidding farewell to autumn and good day to winter
Everyone Forgets the RainThe lightning tore into the clouds
Their pale, innocent faces darkened and their eyes shut
Their eyes shut and their blood turned to water
The water, their blood, their tears, poured down upon the earth
The thunder cried, loud wails echoing across the sky
And the lightning grew brighter, prideful in its massacre
And as the lightning swelled with pride, the thunder
That poor, poor mother, cried for the loss of her children
She cursed the lightning, cursed the man that would dare take her children from her
And the clouds, those poor children, those happy, innocent children
They withered as they cried, as they bled out in the sky
And as I looked upon the spectacle
As I stared up at the sky
As their tears hit my face
As their blood drenched my hair
My own tears joined in the mixture of their blood
Their sorrow became my own
And as the clouds finally dissipated
As the thunder quieted, her grief stealing her voice
As the lightning vanished, having stolen the lives of his children
I was blind
Beauty, Concerning a Spider WebDew drops catch the first light
From the rising sun, still stretching
As it awakens for another day,
It’s routine tasks unchanged.
The shadows shrink as the new day dawns,
The heat of day lighting up everything.
Not much is hidden from its scorching rays
As the day burns on.
The web, now devoid of moisture,
Is hidden from view, remaining
Invisible to all who pass it by,
Its beauty unrecognized.
As the sun starts it's eventual descent,
The world becomes restless as the
Light it adjusted to for vision
Starts to fade.
Shadows stretch across the ground,
Darkness slowly taking over as
The moon graces the sky, taking watch
Over the world below.
Soft white light bathes the world,
Dancing along the surface and
Adding a sense of wonder.
And the spider web, forgotten during
The day, now catches the moonlight as it
Dances along it's threads, bringing it to life.
Nature then readies to repeat its melody.
Bitlets are about quantity, not quality. Free-write at least one a day about what is on your mind, going on around you, or the state of your life. Ignore the urge to edit; it's not about being profound on purpose, it's about stumbling on it by accident.
About this BitletThis originally said copper instead of iron. My elementary science teacher would not be proud.
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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