[x]

CourtshipGretchen was on page 76 of The Prisoner of Zenda when Terry introduced himself.

"Hey, pretty lady," he slurred.

Gretchen looked up to see a man in a tatty grey suit.

"Are you lonely?" he inquired.

Gretchen choked because she could taste the bourbon on his breath. She cleared her throat, then said, "No, thank you."

"I'm lonely," Terry informed her, and just stood there.

"I'm sorry," Gretchen sputtered, trying to focus on a gazebo in the distance instead of Terry slouched over her.

"I'll love and protect you!" Terry offered.

"I beg your pardon?" Gretchen asked out loud without meaning to.

"I'll love and protect you, pretty lady," Terry

Inner Demons

Inner Demons

Silently peaceful
Praying for the prey

A saint so blissful
Don't let the old scars awake

Chaotically graceful
A storm of rage comes my way

Idle hands yearn to be unfaithful
Even the heavens won't feel safe
-
I am my greatest fear
I am my own worst enemy

The glares I give myself are fierce
I barely hold onto this false harmony

My twisted thoughts flicker / The acts of a sinner
The silence of a confessor / A secret held forever

The madness took over / Becoming hell's harbinger
I am the lawless; I am executioner / This is my will; this is my terror

I hated my own reflection
Knowing the truth behind the lie

I destroyed my o

The Alicorn A celestial presence hangs upon the whispering winds, unsung by the prosaic fates,
pertaining to a vigil of majesty told of in transcendent scriptures. Whereupon this occurrence,
tales of dissent fall on deaf ears in the midst of these echoes of future yore,
echoes of the flutter of the wings of memory carrying a single clover of fortune.
And thus the Alicorn shall speak, with a voice know by that memory, and bring our peace,
to be the kindle of a spirit in our hearts, the same as was borne in our journey to this place
where the whispering winds blow. And this journey shall continue as we spread the wings
of memory, a transmutation of the stillness of time into our grace upon this land.

NegligenceI am a faggot
I'm unacceptable to the Peers, who never let me be
Hallowed be my name by their psuedoroyal decree
I am not as I'm told, only like me
A schizoid prisoner-victim
In a prison that is free
In here I'm bound by chains made by the words of the Peers
And I often wonder: Where did the words come from? How can they live such empty lives? How can they have no heart to speak from
nor the free will to acquire one? Not even a mouth with which to ask why?
Social status is an essential nutrient I've lacked all my life
Resulting in this disease known as faggotry
There is no cure, no rest, no light
No escape from this conviction as I am lost in this mirage formed by the repetition of synthetic repetition
Every night I dream of logic and harmony
(symptoms of my disease)
Every day they say to me that the way to live is as the silent scream in the throat of a collective dream
of a place where every kindheart bleeds and every blackperverted heart

Zebra SpeakThe Zebra speaks
She speaks like a neat freak
She speaks like a poet
With a freaky mystique
She speaks not often
But her words are far from weak
Some might shriek
When the Zebra speaks
To inform the meek
When things get bleak
But she knows their shrieks
Seldom reach their peak
Because when the Zebra speaks
Her wisdom louder shrieks

EquestriaIn Equestria
Freedom is not a dream and all the grass is green,
There is no injustice nor loneliness nor lack of life's purpose,
Nature can talk to citizens who'll listen.
In Equestria
Colors take shape in magnificent ways,
Monarchs openly lust for peace,
Villains' words cannot be heard,
Love is the only weapon you'll ever need
You will always find your joyous conscience
In Equestria.

Lunar SolitaireShe is loved by the stars and the mirrors,
She is an unknown goddess who plays solitaire on the moon
All she wants is love and you do not know her name,
She does not know your games,
She does not want to be alone,
She wants love so much,
And yet she is feared, the one who's scared the most.
No heaven knows more beauty, no hell more pain...
She has returned now with the holy gift of night
But do you know her name?

The Essence of Love

The little girl noticed the little boy with the cute dimple glancing her way. She quickly looked away, not wanting to give him the time of day. Still, she couldn't resist the urge to look again. There he was, smiling and waving, as if he'd known her for the entire 10 years that she'd been alive on planet earth! So, throwing caution to the wind, she walked across the playground toward him, at a rather leisurely pace, of course. When she got to where he was standing he stopped smiling, looked into her beautiful brown eyes and simply said: "I love you." Her face got as red as a tomato and she ran into the school gym as fast as she could and

Fleur

J'aimerai tant être une fleur,
pour être regardée, admirée

Etre différentes des autres
Tout en étant identiques à elles

Mais je ne suis qu'un chardon
Alors j'attends que mon heure vienne

En regardant les belles

En espérant une autre vie
Une vie de fleur

Ce sera peut-être pour la prochaine fois...

i loved you like i love the whalesyou flooded the streets with your crocodile tears
humming an upbeat requiem for the dying man;
the very last match you ever lit.
at best, the irony is poisonous.
____________________________________
but the world goes on.
it doesn’t stop for deceit and treachery,
not when there are fireflies to be hung
by their wings, shedding dream-dust
to light up the sky.

an abundance of lonelinessi remember Tate.
her hands were always dirty
soiled from hours spent in the garden
behind her house,
even though it was never really a garden;
it was more like a forest,
wild and untamed, that had settled there.
like she had called it.
we spent mornings on the porch
swing-set, me kicking rocks and her
smoking Marlboro cigarettes while telling stories
about the creatures

Six Word Stories - Life, LoveNatural
The rainbow dripped colours of happiness

Loss
The newspaper read, folded away, gone

Leaving
The suitcase packed to the brim

Left
Her hair tore out in bits

Sunlight
Dances slowly across the spiders web

Depression
Nowhere to go, a lonely road

Scare
Cold snow, dry ice, black curve

The Internet
Love, Happiness, Sorrow, Peace, Education, Change

The Camping Man
He had never seen the internet

On her death
He reached for a strand hair

True Love
Sign a death certificate for two

Love
My head is on backwards, happily

Love songs
Sound sweet -- to those in love

Lost love Songs
My heart bleeds, turn it off

Your leaving
Sent shivers d

serafimyou in your deep-rooted worship
fingers laced together with eyes closed,
bloodied wings uplifted towards the heavens
and a soul made of the hottest embers

the spark within you
will burn the world to ashes
and renew it
in the will of your God.

Pathway to HellFreshly torn skin,
Hangs from the limbs of
Bare trees.
Still dripping black blood
Of the innocent.

Billions of heads
Lined down my pathway.
I look to see if they are watching,
But in replace of the eyes
Are just empty sockets.

At the end of my path
Lies a throne
Made of countless human bones.
I sit and wait patiently,
In my royal chair.

The bones come alive,
As a set of hands
Rips open my chest,
And steals my heart.
It dissects me, just like the others.

This is it.
I’ve made it to hell.

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Dream TravelFrom here
to there
for eternity.
This constant distance constricts me and transcends me
as I travel through my dreams.
I see myself in shattered mirrors; a million shards of unfading hope crying for resolve.
And then I turn to see myself now, staring into the abyss, as if waiting for some kind of madness.
As present moves to past, the abyss becomes a door,
through which I move into the future.
My dreams suddenly, gradually crossfade into ever-vivid reality.
I travel further.
The events following resemble deja-vu, and perchance such is so of some lost prophetic vision;
change, like a thief in the night, from mere shards to to being they once were,
like a forgotten best friend.

OuroborosOuroboros am I
who eats his tail and watches it bleed
day after day, as if in a temporal prison of his own device.
I stand at the threshold of eternity,
and if I were so inclined I would seize it and wield it unfalteringly,
and become at peace.
But my eyes are clouded by the illusion of time's ashes blown away,
leaving me but to eat my tail further
and watch it bleed again.
I am a martyr of chaos,
a sleepless dreamer,
a hero unborn.
I am Ouroboros.

Songbird CageFree men entrapped in a cage gilded by faith alone
sing their despairing song,
which sings of a hope close to their heart and
yet so far away,
and echoes the inevitable,
for which they wait and hope for so strongly.
The gaoler, too, is a prisoner to melancholy,
wilting his heart
and burning his mind with a whisper of freedom;
which falls on deaf ears for one so queer
as to be blind to happiness.
And so the caged song sings
"Let the gaoler be free!"
and goes unsung by the gaoler's lies,
like all others an inner death of its speaker
or a cure for his blindness perchance,
but inevitably consequential.

Metropolis, Citadel of DreamAwakening is a blindness through which wisdom can see;

dreaming is the solvent that brings it into being.
This dreaming is becoming of the meek,
whom are beckoned by it.
Life, love, death, and time: these visions of the meek
Are the construction of Metropolis, the citadel of dream.
Its stance is erect as it reaches for the light with cloudless breath;
the light of the ever-giving night which it harbors.
The flora of the heart is growing in its gardens,
which whispers poetry to the sprite hiding behind your eyes.
There is a silence in the streets cracking at the seems
waiting for the song of a songbird freed.
Perchance it would be freed by that sprite never seen,
and sing thus a song of harmony in spring:
"The temptress of murder is a martyr of nightmare
whom might dwell in shadow but is scarcely found,
if you see her be aware and unafraid
for she will pass like a ripple in a pond,
perhaps without a word."
And if this song t'were heard,
all betwixt heaven an

Another WorldThere lies an oasis in the desert of time,
which manifests as a rainforest of strangers and creatures.
This is a theater of untold depths which screens the cosmos itself,
wherein a vigil lies at which people pray every day for revolution.
Gay horses may be crowned as kings of fantasy lands here;
lands vastly perverted yet beautiful as the heavens.
This is another world altogether, beyond the sleepless wall of dreams,
where a faceless dark white man hides in the trees.
In here:
the natural order is maintained by chaos and sacrilege,
there are squids who swim with schizoid maidens in the deepest regions of the moonlight,
and every face is a hallucinogenic masquerade.
I have seen firsthand the creatures that dwell in here:
the smiling killer with the eyes of abyssal fire,
the man who scoffs laughingly on his soapbox at the strangers who envelop him,
the great collective of Clover, flawlessly lawless in their garden whose flora is nightmares of mass repulsion,
the stand-up prophe

The Poet of LogicOther poets write from their heart,
she rights from her logical mind.
She communicates her poetry with her actions, awkward and occasionally cryptic.
Those who can read it are rare and seldom found,
leaving her well-organized verses to be a perpetual charade;
a charade that teaches her what logic has yet known,
so that perchance she might see what her poetry could sow
if only it were read.

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Submitted: November 8, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

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Discord

by ~DoctorNarpasLoveless, Nov 8, 2012, 3:46:52 PM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

The bringers of light take their stand in the dark

While the light turns grey

In the wake of Discord

The sky turns inside out

The shadows shine bright and become a myriad presence

By the hands of Discord

Liquids explode

Light fades into dust

Animals dance madly

Such is the reign of Discord

Will is now but a dream that died in vain

Hope is now is a light given off by fiends

Made so by Discord

Euphoria becomes confused

Beliefs disbelieve

Jailers are now felons

Madness fills the wishing well

To the delight of Discord

Sleep becomes a narcotic

The heart transfigures into a door to a ruinous void

And if you so happen

To have friends in your life

Turn to him with them and face him with all your might

For all is not lost

Merely chaotic

Discordby ~DoctorNarpasLoveless

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

~IceLuxray Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

nice icon and nice ending

~DoctorNarpasLoveless Nov 14, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks.

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Discord

Discordby ~DoctorNarpasLoveless

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