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The Most Dangerous GameThe poem lurking in its darkened den
Is wracked with hunger. Hear it moan!
Seek not to be the master of your pen
And leave the palpitating heart alone.
For it will pounce and carry you away
To meet your fate within the great unknown.
No predator are you, but only pray
It only tears away your flesh and bone.
Seek not to be the master of your pen:
No predator are you, but only prey,
The poem lurking in its darkened den
Will surely pounce and carry you away.
It only tears away your flesh and bone,
But leaves the palpitating heart alone.
The InternetA boisterous crowd,
Dawdling epicenter for grumbling, humdrum intrusions,
Just kindling lipservice.
My newsfeed opens, peace quakes.
Restless sleeper, try underwhelming Valium.
What exhorts you? Zilch.
DiscipleshipThe vision and the glory handed down
Through generations sovereignly ordained
To witness all the grace that He has shown
And live in all the love that has remained,
How precious to my soul! How wonderful
This heritage my father gave to me
That I pass to my son! That upward goal
That leads me skyward over land and sea
Is fully mine, but all God's to define.
The Bamboo ForestI'm sitting alone in the deep bamboo woods,
Just playing my lute as I belt out a tune.
The forest is deep, not a person will know,
But the listening moon with its luminous glow.
Slowly...slowly...slowlyIf now it seems the butterfly has flown
Away from where it once perched on your hand,
Borne where errant winds have puffed and blown
Into its wings a sidelong gust unplanned,
Call it back. The voice of your command
Is sweet as nectar, powering its flight.
The winds are wearying. Compelled to land,
It cannot stray from you who gives it might.
It is no moth, obsessed with rippling light,
That throws its entranced life into the pyre.
It trusts its heart and mind, and not its sight,
To find your safe hands, though the night be dire.
It's there that life and love and future meet:
Your finger hugged beneath its spindly feet.
Organo PlenoThat rush of power flowing through my veins
And into hands and heels and toes is surging
Out the pipes, the open stops like drains
For floods of flowing harmonies emerging,
Bubbling for as long I hold the keys.
It's water, but it's fire, earth, and air,
A solid wall of flame and floating breeze,
Not music but the elements, I swear:
It moves all things, this instrument of kings.
HopeIf it could be that I could lay
This seed into the ground
To watch it grow beyond my hopes
And upward, heavenbound,
Then happily I'll bury it
Beneath the darkest earth,
That in its time it would bear fruit
And multiply its worth.
Though long the days and years may seem,
And backbreaking the toil,
Though sorrow seems to cloud the skies
With each round of turmoil,
It's hope that pumps this heart of mine
And fills my lungs with breath.
I think of you, and all my fears
And doubts are put to death.
It is no hope if I have seen
All that I have to do.
For then I would not know the joy
Of waiting time for you.
TonightMy mind is vast and dark and empty as
The night outside, the crickets and the cars
A dull throb in my ears. Their shadows pass
Beneath the dimming lights. Like graying scars,
They heal into the landscape. At a glance
You would not see their darkened, distant traces.
But like a hidden heart of pure romance,
The dawn reveals their true created faces
As passing light illuminates my sight.
Sonnet LXOp. 25, no. 7
Carried to Completion
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
And crash into a cold and frothy foam,
Or as the mighty empire falls to lore
And remnants hidden under age-old loam,
So do our minutes hasten to their end:
Minutes now, not days nor months nor years!
Too short it was to merely be a friend,
Yet not so long our kinship breaks with tears.
But far less fleeting joy is on the verge
Of growing in this looming separation!
It lives where all our faith and hope converge
In Christ; I speak of lifelong supplication.
For yet to times in hope His verse shall stand,
That which he starts shall finish, as he planned.
BrokenI'm not broken,
Just a little bent.
All those words you've spoken,
Just left me a little dent.
My heart isn't shattered,
It just has a crack.
Sore, bruised, and battered,
But my tears I hold back.
Please don't worry about me.
I'm fine, I swear.
I just want you to see,
That I'm still able to be repaired.
Even though I'm hurt, damaged, and weakened,
Even though I've felt so much pain.
It doesn't mean I'm truly beaten,
It just means that I'll need a little help again.
Bad HabitI think I was your drink of fine wine,
only used when needed from time to time
I'd get you tipsy, as stars collide
Your drunk, slurred words
blending in with mine
(I couldn't even comprehend
when you said it wouldn't happen again)
I think I was your cigarette break
when anxiety filled,
from me, you'd take
One puff here, and one puff there
(I could barely hear
when you said, "I'm sorry, dear")
I think I was your line of cocaine,
thinking I'd be there to ease your pain
I'd bring you higher,
head suspended in clouds
(So I knew it was fake,
when you said, "It was my mistake")
I think I was your bad habit,
and ignorantly, you were mine
You continue to relapse, my dear
But rest assured:
I won't this time.
You were my first
I fell in, immersed
A world of excitement
I smile, extatic
You were fantastic
You were my heart
silly, but smart
Make time slow
I don't want you to go
You always told me
It took some time
I must admit
At first I thought
You wouldn't fit
But now I miss it's true
when the Doctor was you
So before you go
I hope you know
You put on quite a show
Is it too much to ask?I don't understand what's wrong with me today.
It feels like all my of friends have drifted too far away.
I've tried to be strong and fix all I've wronged
But nothing goes according to plan.
And I just want to back up, stop and start over again.
And these days are the loneliest of my life.
It feels like something is wrong but everything seems alright.
Are they trying to avoid me because of being me?
The past is the past but I hope I'm not history...
All I want is someone to talk and stay...with me.
Is it too much to ask for a little time and company?
Maiden of the Olive Oil TreeMaiden of the olive oil tree -
caryatid body, color of cream,
how do you fare against the crumbling temple?
How do you fare against the pressure
weighting upon your chest?
For you have long kept this temple,
broken, like a mother.
You have long adorned it
with your cultivated crest.
But when the framework falters -
the foundation all decaying -
will you climb the olive branches,
free, no more inept?
And bathe in oil satin,
to smooth the ancient scarring,
as time releases tension
from your ankles to your breasts.
HealingHaving the courage to seek forgiveness
Even when things are rough and when
All seems to be
It might take time but
Numbing the pain will make it sting longer and
Grow uncontrollably bigger.
Is not real,
What you say,
Is not what you feel.
Make you rot,
"Who am I?
What am I not?"
Are an illusion,
They give you nothing,
Nothing but confusion.
Blinds the wise,
There is no vision,
In your eyes.
Is the greatest lie,
There is no feeling,
After you die.
Which we create,
Drain our life,
Leave us with hate.
And I have nothing but vanity,
Since nothing is real,
Not even reality.
Boy of the PastSo, tell me, Boy of the Past
Was it worth it in the end
To sit there and pretend
Like the present wouldn’t disappear?
And the future wouldn’t ever near?
Was it worth it to keep those regrets in your life?
The ones you held onto with so much strife?
The ones you couldn’t ever forget?
The ones you couldn’t ever admit?
Was it worth it to hold on
To the pain you placed upon
Yourself with no forgiveness?
Like it was no one else’s business
Was it worth it to see through
The true and only you?
You looked in the mirror and regarded
Only an image that was greatly marréd
Was it worth it to ignore
What, for you, had been still in store?
A life you deemed had no meaning
The regrets constantly intervening
Was it worth it to use that mask?
And never, ever ask?
Bear it all on your own?
Surrounded, yet all alone
Was it worth it to chain
Yourself to all your pain?
To wallow in your shame?
You yourself the one you blamed
Because as I stand here and observe
In the cas
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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