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The little things[The little things]
The little things they said,
Are what matters the most.
Hello! Goodbye! Can I help you?
Providing aid to some lonely ghost.
Are all forgotten in the blink of an eye.
I'll walk into a room and say good morning!
Noone looks up, but a few albeit they were yawning.
I'll stand in line, waiting on my turn.
A gentleman cuts in front, looking quite stern.
A passerby bumps into me and spills coffee on my shoe.
Not a word of apology, even as I smile "Hey, howdy do?"
I'll stand on the sidewalk next to a puddle so clear.
A driver will pass, splashing me while the street kids cheer.
I'll leave my phone unattended next to my lunch.
The phone's still there when I get back.
Of course, what would they do,
Make a call while they munch?
I'll ask a question, different from the norm.
Harsh glares would be returned that say,
Why don't you just conform?
They'll dwell on the part that made them mad.
Just a second it would take, to make us all glad.
This is the world we l
Falling asleep[Falling asleep]
I lie on my bed at the end of the day,
Letting all my troubles just drain away.
An intimate time I can look forward to
By bidding the world a warm adieu!
I close my eyes and say a short prayer,
Thanking God for all I hold dear.
Into the silence I slowly fall,
Just then a mosquito decides to call!
Its tiny wings create this horrendous sound,
So under the sheets I go, where I can't be found.
This hide and seek I always win,
Till it flies away in a beaten tailspin.
Finally now I can get some sleep.
Maybe even count some white fluffy sheep.
I take a deep breath when I felt a slight tingle
Under these sheets I was baking, medium rare and simple!
I claw my way out as fast as I can.
Struggling like a fish caught by a fisherman.
Then I was out! I was free!
Into the cool air, which began freezing me!
A flash of genius, I could fix this.
Stick a leg out into the room's dark abyss!
The temperature now, was just right.
Now I could fall asleep with all my might.
As I dozed o
My day off[My day off]
This morning I woke up fashionably late.
Something to which I could never quite relate.
Lying on my bed, I paid my respects,
To all those unsavory mornings that were just so complex.
Waking up early to a deafening sound,
Thinking if only that alarm was never around!
Jumping out of bed to my morning routine,
Around the house, up, down, left, right even in between.
Pulling on my clothes disregarding any options.
When I get a job, suits would be a simpler concoction.
Even the most important meal was never part of my day.
Just maybe choking down some toast in a confused disarray.
Out the door I go, grabbing my stuff.
Mentally checking my phone, wallet, keys and books, in a huff.
I stumble outside into the cold chilly air.
It wouldn't help, but quite softly I'd swear.
Following a plan, that's part of the norm.
Into the world I go and so I conform.
Everyday forever the same thing it would be,
Just so long as no one changes that unspoken decree.
The glow of the sun shone t
Who am I?[Who am I?]
"I am me.."
Who ever that may be.
Made by a world,
Not easily understood.
I am what I am.
Of race ethnicity or a sexuality.
How to be an artist[How to be an artist]
Being an artist is not so simple
Nor is it a gift to those who are faithful.
It is the easiest thing in the world to do
But also the hardest by far to have a breakthrough.
It starts with a thing that some call will.
"Where there is a will, there is a way"
You'll hear them say.
Follow it down a path, don't let it go astray.
Passion is next, but not to be confused.
A mixture of love and anger, that only you can transfuse.
Kept tight in a bottle till the time is right
Then let it explode! Giving new insight.
If by now you've decided, then you'll need some tools.
Canvas, paper, film, get whatever you can use.
Media on which you can express your thoughts and desires
For without them, you are just another with grand ideas.
If you've come this far, then go all the way.
But you must have a heart,
That is the key and mainstay.
Being an artist means you create
With nothing but creativity
And see the world through all its objectivity.
Our brushes and pens and whatever
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