ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
You are a double defibrillator.
You made a stopped heart beat not once,
But twice.
Made me shake with the pangs of reanimation.
Made me groan, writhe, and foam at the mouth.
Thank you.
You are two tiny windows,
A lost chapel,
With a baseball sized hole in the stained glass
And graffiti on the inside.
It's good to see the kids are still painting
Even if only by numbers.
It's no Sistine Chapel, admittedly,
It's more like gang signs with crayons.
Implying ownership.
Why do I care?
Most people open their arms to God.
You use other appendages,
And that's okay.
You are a near death experience,
And I am a mere factory of metaphors,
Rapidly outsourced.
You made a stopped heart beat not once,
But twice.
Made me shake with the pangs of reanimation.
Made me groan, writhe, and foam at the mouth.
Thank you.
You are two tiny windows,
A lost chapel,
With a baseball sized hole in the stained glass
And graffiti on the inside.
It's good to see the kids are still painting
Even if only by numbers.
It's no Sistine Chapel, admittedly,
It's more like gang signs with crayons.
Implying ownership.
Why do I care?
Most people open their arms to God.
You use other appendages,
And that's okay.
You are a near death experience,
And I am a mere factory of metaphors,
Rapidly outsourced.
Literature
Volpi.
You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see t
Literature
the flower club
dear preacher,
i've got something to admit
last sunday
i was in the field
i was watching the flowers get dressed
well they're just so pretty naked
petals tucked into their sides
and watching them unfold
i was watching them pull down the sunrise
and put it on themselves
so i'm a sinner for it
cause i watched them bathe, too
stand around together in the shower
a hundred ladies in their beautiful skins
pink small ones
big blue proud ones
letting the droplets collect and residue
on their finery and shamelessly bare leaves
well that's my confession preacher
i watch the flowers strip and tease
Literature
You Don't Have to be Wonder Woman...
I think these walls are collapsing around me because I'm not smart. I don't think with my head, I think with my hands in terms of what I can make, what I can break, and how to put back together what was previously given up on.
No, I don't always have a steady grip on reality and sometimes my abstract sight, the only one I can really see with, wavers and I'm blind to everything around me. So I feel my way through the thorns and the storms and put my friends in poetry so that way, when they leave, I can still say we're gonna be best friends forever.
It won't really surprise any of you to know that I auditioned to be Wonder Woman. They told me
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
What kind of artist am I when I'm embittered by the fact that I can't own all the beauty? This is progress in poetry, my friends.
© 2012 - 2024 ThermadorianGrey
Comments7
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Why? How can you write such a good
l
love?
l
love?