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Seven daysI killed Polaris, king of the night
snatched up his radiance, his brilliance, his light
I sailed the sea, on a column of ice
melted in fire, as everything in time
churning and burning, in a fiery demise
Believe what they say, it only took 7 days
just as easy for us to throw it all away
and one day the scholars will write
and the people will say
if only we knew, what we now know today
an egotistical lie, fed by the right
self-rightious and blind, engrossed in their minds
from this vantage, way in the sky
I think I'll manage, to pluck from the vines
a thing of such beauty, no words can describe
from the moon we're marooned, in an endless night
to float in space, and drift through time
that's why, that's why, I shine a light.
Marching themeI've spent these days, wide awake, and ready to move
And my daydreams they say, don't stand in one place, like the mountains, that are in front of you
And a wet wind blows, cold and through my window
And the sky unfolds like, the Sistine design, and it's all mine, it's mine, all alone
I've burned every bridge, I've ever been across
And my trail of stones, have become an unknown, and now my mind, my body, is lost
And if you keep on thinking you have the foresight
To see what will happen for the rest of your life
I hope you've got the gas money, and a ready swiss army knife, because honey, you're being taken for a ride
Now you're nursing your heart, like you're setting a bone
And no one's signed that cast, it's not your fault you're on you're own
But it wasn't broke, now not too long ago
is it a deadly sin, to want to start again
was it written in some ancient manuscript
that you must give up every limb for some pigs in a pen
I don't think it is, you know the pieces never fit
And as the
I am Red-ShiftedIf everything you touched, would just turn to gold
like King Midas you'd find, you are not as bold
when the walls all turn to glass, what good is to hide away?
when every thought that you've ever had, will make you the perfect prey and,
boiling water, how you love to bubble and spray
but in the winter you will freeze, and in the spring you'll melt away
in the middle of the sun, atoms twist and roll
like airplanes fall from the sky, like the strands of spirit in your soul
if I could play them, the sound oh, it would be so strange
I'd pluck all of your strings, and symphonies of detuned machines would, spit and fade
in a muddy meadow the sky, oh it seems to fold
like flower pedals time is wilting, and it seems to always go too slow
in cities made of rusted metal, and bodies made of murky mold
when the dust has all started to settle, all of our songs will be so old and,
spoiling sunlight, how you treat the world to your sovereign rays
but in the winter you will freeze, and leave your heat
Spoken in brailleWhere are my eyes, are they glazed over with ice
where is my skin, has it now grown paper thin
if I were blind, would I still feel the light
or would I speak in braille, and never sleep at night
her hands were so cold, then they melted with mine
her mind was so old, but her lips never lied
with hair spun of gold, for me to hold in my sight
I can't help but fold, for her beauty isn't mine
I can't lay face down, in the grass
when all I hear, is the sound of broken glass
when I kick my feet, I feel nothing beneath me
just the dreams in which I'm dying, trying to comfort me.
The perfect disguiseMy boy, now you're not so young
now you're the only one at fault
for the things that you've done
no mother to hold your guilty hand
and put the pill on your swollen tongue
but you've never need those drugs,
to make you feel like you were numb
this is your sentence, the gavel is down
so now how do you like, the piece of shit that you've become
red with the hatred of wasting away
blue with the notion of waking each day
white as the ghost that's haunting your fate
black as the ice, as you're turning the curb
you slam on the breaks, but it's too late to swerve
your life is all flashing, in front of your eyes
now's not the time to be questioning "Why?"
so, so long to the good ole days
it's just the ticking clock, on your antique microwave
the songs that you've written, and then threw them away
you might as well burn, every last god damn page
and when you open your eyes, in the dark of the night
and reach over your shoulder, to turn on the light
you know that it's over, and you never said yo
The Monarch, The DeceiverWhere are you my lone monarch, my deceiver?
Who knew something so beautiful, could turn out to be such a monster
Maybe she gets it from her mother, or perhaps she takes just a little bit after her father
But I was the believer
Cut out all the rest, had a cavernous chest, hollowed out like a cadaver
And I still taste of happier days, but their never so frequent, and the bad ones are clearer
and as her trumpets roar, and they roast her boar
over the flames, of her elite disdain
the rain it pours, the rain it pours, the rain it pours
So take this dream of you, and shut it in a cupboard
Dig a hole in the earth, and throw me down it
Because it's not worth the words, written on this paper
To give credence to you, all you faux who sayers
So self-righteous and wrong
What gives you the will to carry on
When you take what you know
From the books, so many dead poets wrote?
And now I've grown to be the monarch, the greatest of great deceivers
Learned to carve out your hearts, with a cutting board,
MygeetoThere are no more secrets to tell, that the bombs didn't say,
on the day they swept away, what remained of the liberty bell
and in Mygeeto, the angels sing, for the darkness, and the light it brings
and no more will men weep, on their knees, in the cold and cracking streets
no more will they die, no more will they need
hand in hand, brother and sister, together for eternity
and we will stretch up and into oblivion
much longer than this earth, and it's short lived historians
no paths are written, and no plans are given.
The feel of steelSo I see you sleep on a bed of lies, sir
I can feel it in your tired eyes
but haven't you heard, oh what's the word?
is it a catatonic dream, are you still in that deep sleep
or do you hear me in reverse?
and everyone else is, so clean
in their skin, your reflection is, so bleak
and as you rewind your life on the microfiche
do you ever seem to think, of stopping on a single scene?
you've blurred the line between life and death
just like the day that we first met
inside my mind is running thin
out of ideas, how to start again
and now black holes fill your skies
to suck what is left of your waning time
you hold the brush for your design
just remember you can paint, even if you're blind
and now you're just as real as the feel of steel
as your blushing body needs time to heal
and the whites of your eyes, have turned a timid teal
under the salty tears, of your magnetic fields
to keep away, the stray rays of hope
that pass your way, when you're alone
and everything is not real
the air you br
Rosa Belle StoryI love the way you make me feel, like everything I've ever felt, none of it was real
In the back of your mind, you must see me every time
In the front of your lungs, they must hum with my sighs
What's become of your life, what's begun, cannot be right
When you sum up the time that we were in each other's eyes
Does it not come up to line, with the answer, we are in love?
Is it the gravity? Or the lack of it?
Is it the travesty? That you and I aren't with
50 years later will you still remember me?
Will you still write me letters, when my body's frail and weak?
I love the way you make me feel, like love's the only thing in this life that's real.
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
Beyond LoveYou say 'beautiful' like a mistake -
like it slipped out unwarranted
from those dark parts of your mind
that you don't want me to go to,
you say it like that.
You caress like it's worship -
like if you pressed too hard
or took too much, you'd pay the price
and I love those urgent times when
you're willing to pay it.
You teach me love like I'll die without it -
like if you don't defrost me
and my frozen image of myself,
then I might stop breathing
and extinguish beneath my own icy damnation.
You kiss me like you have to -
like we're sharing an oxygen tank
in a toxic, broken-down universe
and you are trying not to breathe
to save me.
You kiss me like that.
You love me, like that -
how am I supposed to resist
a man who loves me beyond his own sense
and senses - beyond love ?
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
Stereotypical SuicideSuicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a family,
Nobody who lives for their care,
Nobody who wants them around,
Nobody who helps them through life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has friends,
Not a person there for a simple hug,
Not a person existing for a reassuring look,
Not a person around to leave the words,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a home,
No place to live and feel happy in so,
No place to live without leaving again,
No place to live to avoid the truth,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a love,
Nothing there to hold them in warm arms,
Nothing there for a kiss to remember,
Nothing there to be a greatness in life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a someone,
"Don't do it - for your family
They mean nothing to me anymore,
"Don't do it - for your friends"
Friends? What friends? They don't exist,
"Don't do it - what about home
sunset soon forgottenin a single moment all her greatness collapsed,
her soulfulness small and full of absence.
i am wild
with infinite shades of yes -
and a careless smile
so kiss me quick
under the sun
(just until the pain leaves)
DunesOut on the dunes, you could be walking on the moon
Maybe you are, maybe we are; see that planet in the sky?
How much more can be said about body heat, about
Sucking the marrow from bones in a vain attempt to quench?
Disheveled by dust-storms in an ocean of sand, we walk
Blank-window eyes searching for what, some sort of life?
Our feet are heavy, the ground wants to eat them; no moon, this
Now the sky is the color of sand, and there are no stars to wish on
Sweat and dead weight, we wait for the coolness of night
Fatigued, delusional, we see a rusty car approach; we get in
Beautifully BrokenA tidal wave crashes
Hard against the front of my skull,
Spewing fountains of hate into the air.
They are not beautiful.
A shot glass in one hand,
A pen in the other,
I drink alone in my room
As everything about me falls apart.
I can't heal mistakes.
The higher I am,
The prettier the fountains become,
But they really still look the same.
The world sees such strength,
A stoic warrior in a landscape of corruption,
But inside is a black, charred heart,
Shrouded in secrecy.
I am not beautiful,
Because hate is not beautiful.
PompeiiI will lay my body at the base of your columns
Waiting for the flaking of your warpaint;
This could make all the difference.
The whore-babble language of your oracle
Heard from the great taproot
Tastes like sodden wool in another's mouth
This is what I have to say in the dark
With your hand smothering my hip and side
Like a cloud meant for Pompeii,
And the fires are never drenched.
I have collected your warpaint
Swept and scooped from the base
In flakes no bigger than glitter
To adhere to myself
Like sticky snails to leaves.
The eternal tremors will knock them free.
elizabeth essexelizabeth how you taught me these lessons
to which i would aptly listen
and how you would always have questions
but i never would chance it
for so long i've tried to encode you a message
oh, how i have been so tempted
but now when i recite this passage
these secrets i must tell then
this casket now you've buried me in
beneath this stone, with rose and emotion
but my heart still beats, though underneath it
and when i die, i'll still be but a reflection, in her eyes
way in the farest heavens
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More