There's nothing to fear,
than fear its self.
And fear is nothing but,
Is just the mind,
playing tricks and games.
Which children play,
whom will be so innocent.
What are you really afraid of?
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Sonnet For The DeceasedPeople all round the world have this all to share.
Their loved one gone with the horrible night.
Someone to grieve over, now despair.
Their remains found caressed, kissed by the light.
Parched lips thirst for life but no longer drink.
Eyes gaze for one last glace, final slumber.
The seasons come and go, a winter's brink.
Grants the cycle a way to re-enter.
The dying soldier answers his "roll call".
The chef "lays down their knife and fork" alas.
Emotions wild, their bouncing off the wall.
Their body in a box under the grass.
Follow the actors and exit stage left.
Of the life you think was stolen, a theft.
The Roadside PoemSat upon a wall sitting under the barely lit street lamp...
at the edge of a near empty road.
Eyes flicker dodging
any cars passers by.
While my mind walks into its path
feet soon follow
A noise distracts me from
my sleepwalking state
Where am I?
I walk off the road and back to the wall.
Today I DiedToday I died and I never got to tell my parents how much I love them, how glad I am that I was theirs.
Today I died and I never got to tell my best friend I am sorry for everything I've put him through.
Today I died and I never got to tell my boyfriend that I want us to be the cute old couple walking down the street holding hands.
Today I died and I never got to tell my future children how much I love them.
Today I died and I never got to say goodbye.
If I had survived for ten minutes longer it may have been the most painful ten minutes of my life, but I beg to have them. The pain is nothing in comparison to the agony of not saying everything I should've said.
Mom, I love going to bingo with you during the week. You have the biggest heart, a generous soul, and a loving nature. Life hasn't been easy for you, and I know I sometimes I ignore that. I'm so sorry Mom. You've given me such a warm and caring upbringing that it's hard for me to remember that you had to do without when you were
Lost ThunderThe sky flashed white for a second but only silence followed. With a sigh, the weary man sat on his cloud.
As he aged, his sight grew dimmer. Red and green were usually alive with light and power but now seemed only plain; undead colors painted from the same dead pigments as everything else in the world.
As he grew, his dreams become increasingly rare. Life was tough enough, with bills and taxes and jobs and tests. There was no time left for watching the sunset, for riding dragons in a thunderstorm, for wielding the essence lightning itself as a blade, for jumping from cloud to cloud keeping a wild smile in his face.
As time went by, his friends began to fade away. They too had bills and taxes and jobs and tests. They moved away and even those that were still around had better things to do than chasing lightning bolts in the clear blue sky.
He saw the world was a plain, dreadful painting. He did not dream. He had few friends and rarely saw them.
Was his thunder stolen or had he hid it
Mechanical MalfunctionAs the midnight breeze fluttered his overcoat, he carefully checked all of his equipment. He clicked his night vision goggles on and sprang into action, jumping from the rooftop. He counted the floors as he fell, carefully aimed the grapple gun and shot. The steam engines made so much noise no one could hear him. He swung on the cable, kicking his way into the glass window, rolling in the floor and onto his feet. Success.
The door on the other side of the room opened with a mute click. Preferring action over thought for once, he ran. Pneumatic pistons on his boots clicked and clacked on every step, doubling the ground covered, increasing his speed. Grandstepping Boots, she called it. She never saw them working, he remembered. His determined grin covered by the gas mask, he kicked the guard hard and fast as soon as the door was opened. Muffling the guard's cry with his gloved hand, he stepped out. No lights. Steam engines cackling maniacally far away.
He opened the door slowly. A
Gris IIIShe felt her stomach rumble softly.
Stapled to her bed by her own inaction for god knows how many days, she felt hungry for the first time. Numbness still covered her insides as a shroud. She always felt numb, even when she didn't. But now, now she was hungry. Some people would say that was a good sign.
Her cell phone's battery was deader than disco. A thought floated in her mind unrequested, as her autopilot lit a cigarette, reminding her she didn't even know whether she had a local phone or not. Her thought process flowed fleetingly, far, far from her fiery fag. "No one would have called me anyway", the sound soared from her mouth, hand in hand with smoke.
Adventures and battles and romances piled up next to her bed. Doctors and archeologists and professors and swordsmen with the pleasant smell of chemically treated dead trees. She tracer her finger through a cover; books were her most vibrant lovers.
She got up in a spring, her legs wobbled like spaghetti, she fell hard on her knees
The day she stopped tryingShe stood in front of a clock store. When she was a kid, the constant tic tac of clocks felt comforting. She enjoyed watching clocks, be they mahogany pillars, small round ones hanging from the wall or cuckoos.
The grey sky vomited tiny drops of water, singing a sad song when they hit the black umbrella she had in one hand; the other hand rested inside her purse, squeezing something. She wore a dark brown overcoat, a pair of boots, denim pants and a shirt. Her perfectly applied make-up masked any imperfection that could have been born in the last two years. Her eyes, small from last night's crying, nervously scanned the deserted streets.
Suddenly, he was in front of her. Messy hair, stubble, jeans and T-shirt, exactly as she remembered him, every inch as handsome as before. Hands in his pockets. He had changed absolutely nothing.
"Hi.", he said as a half smile drew itself in his face.
"Hi.", she answered, more anxious than startled.
They just stood there for a while. She kept ho
Manga Review - Chapter 667SPOILER - SPOILERS - SPOILERS!
Hey! I'm back!
Sorry for not reviewing last chapter ^^' I was very busy last week and almost didn't even read it.. buut I'm back again! ^^'
Sorry for any english mistake ^^"
Review: Chapter 667
- Eww! What the heck was that first scene! xD
- Karin start yelling at Kabuto because she's afraid that he'll absorb Sasuke but he's just reviving him =]
- Did anyone notice that he said Hashirama cells? Rinnegan time!!!
- Orochimaru meets second Hokage.. what's left of him ^^'
- It seems like Kabuto changed side to escape Izanami. That was easy. But I still have doubts about which side exactly he is
- The only way to defeat Madara is through senjutsu or taijutsu. Good news for Guy!
- Guy jumps straight on the front and start fighting like there's no tomorroooww! xD
- Guy is extremely tired and even Madara recognizes Guy's power, then Lee comes to rescue him.
- Everyone said that taijutsu didn't help but Guy is determined to fight and
2200 Points to 220 Deviants(CLOSED)
Amount For Give Away this time is : 2200
first 220 people who follow rules will get 10 points each
Note: Follow the rules exactly.or else you wont get points.
1)Watch 5 or more of Awesome deviants from here
2) give their names here. that's it.( Do not copy paste the names, be genuine )
Watch them they do have nice artworks Love you all
Love you all..
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More