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waterloggedThe rain hasn't stopped for days
a continued onslaught to this waterlogged heart.
It creates an orchestra outside my window
of pitter patter plop
that makes my bones sigh.
The gentle doldrums ease me
into the darkness and the best sleep
I've had all month.
The rain hasn't stopped for days;
I'm beginning to think
it never will.
There's a place in the middle of nowhere
where dreams go to die.
I visit it in my sleep
covered in the veil of the city rust
a velvet cloak of despair
anchored to my scapula
with wire and bullet-holes.
Surrounded by an ocean
of life on the cusp of bare metal and steel,
I am buried underneath the haze,
a sea of high pressure torment
filling my emptiness
with pollution and filth.
The cavitary holes eat away
I am left grasping,
unable to gather the unraveling
threads of ribbon and metal
that led me here.
There's a place in the middle of nowhere
where dreams go to die.
And it's beginning to feel
Tip ToeSometimes I feel like I've lost
that part of myself that clings to sunrises
with poetic verse dancing on the tip
of these tired and twisted fingers
eager to capture every breath that is lost
in the cracked light, breaking upon the morning sky.
There are many moments
that these eyes and this heart will never forget.
They are not big moments like other people's moments
full of white dresses, swirling moments, and kisses beneath the bedsheets.
But do not be mistaken,
there have been so many moments that have passed
where my heart has swollen,
pushing against the confines of these ribs.
My hands have held, soothed and hoped;
these hands have done all the talking
yet cannot translate to paper
the joy that it all brings.
If only they could talk
they would tell of late nights,
of paper cuts and coffee,
of gunshot wounds and car accidents.
They would explain the stifling nature
of the operating room,
gowned with two layers of latex,
removing organs and cancers.
The feel of cold metal instrumen
I've seen you from afar
the way avid bird watchers
glance through windows and binoculars
to see the fleeting passing of some obscure bird
they had only seen once in a book.
The day you talked with me
my heart fluttered
a bird with broken wings in my heart
unsure of whether to smile or frown
at this twist of fate.
Now left dreaming
too afraid to step forward
and upset the balance,
this delicate dance.
I enjoy our time
this lyrical rhetoric of medical banter
knowing it will not last
so I step back.
because some birds are just meant
to be enjoyed.
button it"button it"
put a button on it she says
as if it was that simple
to sum up the world on a button--
a few words to stick into shirts
pants and bags.
what happens when we mis-stick
and the button reaches
somewhere below the skin?
will we even bleed?
is there no hope left for the world?
what would my button say?
would it be unreadable 1 point font
too many words
to fit on the front of the button
or would it be a single word
like confused, misunderstood, or way too damn busy
as if that's all i had to offer the world.
forever the world embraces
the labels of buttons--
the superficial words of those who refuse to look
beyond the outside and go deeper.
so dont tell me to put a button on it
because it will never be that simple
and give me a call when you finally realize
and live further than just
she dances softly
the starlight in her hair
if only she could believe
how beautiful she really is
instead, she tiptoes as she dances
afraid to wake the black
of judging eyes.
if only you could see
her dance a whisper across the stage
maybe you'd understand.
the sun rises and sets upon my heart
in equal joy.
the yellow mist of the sky
catches my eye briefly
and fills my heart with wonder.
perhaps we are the forgotten
the laborers of love
who breathe life daily
finding the beauty in a simple sunset
or yellow canary
everyone else would care to ignore.
life has become a traffic jam
in a city with no power.
we hesitate to move
the lack of the simplest change
of lights from green
i turn around
and am confronted by
a yellow light.
and we hesitate to move
or stay behind.
things continue to change-
the lights flash above me
and we move quickly
to catch a glimpse of something
to take our breath away.
this city is always changing
that yellow sunset always looks the same
no matter which rooftop
i stand upon.
we have missed
hundreds of sunsets
as if blind--
i never really could see them
until love found my heart.
and now all i do
is watch the sky
and the gentle morph of the clouds
from white to red to pink
i look to the stars
and i can only hope
you are looking at them
right now, at this moment.
if i could, i would catch them
to light your way home.
a brother removedshe stands strong
but she's crying inside.
i dont want to lose him
with him never understanding
how much he really means to me.
she stands so still
but she's dying on the inside
the last time i saw you
the last time i heard your voice
did i tell you i loved you?
she looks so hopefully
but she's worrying on the inside
the sound of mom's voice
when she found out
nearly made me die.
she fights back the tears--
will you please hurry home
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spires
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
Poem for My 2nd Semester English Teacher(Short v.)You stapled these words to the page.
Like a modern day tyrant,
You denied them the little humanity
You trapped their souls into
And threw them to the curb,
I understand that certain things
Should be left Inhuman
But we even give hurricanes names.
You taught us to separate the person from the art,
But if the art is about that person, you can’t pull them apart
The SundancersThe sundancers crease the sky ephemerally
and stain the floor with their bravery, eternally.
FlamesThere are flames where
his head should be -
a poem left in the fireplace,
a dressing gown, a pipe,
forty pieces of silver.
This man promised you a winter
so warm and bountiful
spring would be ashamed.
He called you by name -
not the one that father knew
shoved under his bible.
But the one left behind
in the branches,
in the bucket of brambles,
and the columbines
buried at your feet.
Stones on the battlefield,
surrender in the grass.
What did his face
even look like behind the curtain,
counting those coins
and loosening the damp earth
from your shoes?
on moving outI take my bookends. I take my whiteboard
and that crooked letter opener I use to pop the caps off
beers, I take my poems,
I take my brand-new never-used coffeemaker
and my decades-old over-used typewriter which weighs
about 6 babies. I take my pictures, and those letters
you wrote me;
I do not take you. I take the
PS2. and the broken lamp. and your
shirt. I take no shit.
but my own shit.]
I take a blanket,
my good underwear
and a deck of cards.
I take my cat.
I burn the rest.
FriendshipFriendship is a tapestry
Woven through the years
With threads of joy and laughter
Happiness and tears
It's a work of art so priceless
It's shared by a precious few
Yet so easily created
By a loving friend like you
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only one
to walk like there are
who looks both ways
before crossing the road
"knew a girl who";
you are alive
and you will experience
hurt, and you will
be so thankful
for every painful breath you take
because it's better than when
everything goes quiet
and all you feel is exhaustion.
there is more than just
one cold snap
before you enter
the winter of your life.
there are spells
of sadness and rage,
hate and denial
of all that you know
and all that you deserve;
and you are not the only one
to fight for everyday you are here,
alive and breathing
and striving to thrive
on such an unforgiving planet,
in such a world
that births emotional deserts
in its people;
you are not the only one
The lighthouseOn the top of the cliff
Facing the endless blue ocean
There is a place
Where a bright light shines
Guiding people through the night
And through the storm
A place of mystery and wonder
A sight to behold
Let its light guide you
So you can find happiness
Barefoot beachBarefoot, these soles beat across the sand
dancing a mystery of footprints
that disappear in the coming tides.
We jump, soaring above--
for a moment, there is a mix of body,
reflection and shadow.
Upon landing, we relish the warm water
that greets our toes
swimming in the laughter that echoes
in the crashing surf.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More