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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.
Kristoff's Second Love poem to AnnaMy darling love shines like the bright sun when the morning sky is gray.
She is dutiful and still fun
she keeps me from dismay.
Her inner beauty may be hidden
yet her duty does suffice.
For her other men's gaze is forbidden
her beauty be more fair than ice.
In certain cases she's so hasty now
but in others she takes great care
Her faith and patience trust in God some how
she waits one day for her children soon to bare.
Can I describe this wondrous girl, or compare her to a dove?
Nay, I can not say much further but Anna has my love.
BoundThe world is a beautiful place
when you can enjoy his embrace.
He is the one who makes you thrilled,
who makes you strong and fully healed.
The universe shines like diamonds
when you share with her the silence.
She protects you gently in her arms.
You feel overwhelmed and charmed.
The dusk brings happiness and joy
when you no longer feel like a toy.
Your sweet love flows all around.
You both are softly to each other bound.
B x V POEM: Vegeta's PainYour touch I always
Thought I'd have
When you left
I didn't care
I just sat
In my chair
Then it hit
You're really gone
Think I loved you
On the bed
Your empty place
Makes me miss
Your happy face
So much running
Through my head
I should have said
Try to atone
You just ignore
It is me
I can't eat
And I can't train
All the pain
Thought I'd try
Still feel like
I wanna die
Drink in hand
Does it help?
It does not
What to do
Kind of wish
I just had you
Maybe if I'd cared
When I had the chance
I'd still have
The Bluebird (Poem)I want so desperately to love you
but I fear I never will.
I am just a little bluebird
outside your window on the sill.
Always I am loving you,
peering through the glass so thin,
so close and yet so far away
for you will never let me in.
Outside I sing a song of passion
the music makes you smile, Dear,
but the words, they never reach you
and chirping sounds are all you hear.
The world is full of little bluebirds
singing to each other, too,
but I can’t sing for other bluebirds.
I can only sing for you.
One day the soft wings of innocence are trampled by lust,
Broken, blemished and bleeding, discarded in dust.
But the promise of true love, comes wafting on the breeze,
Sacred, pure and profound, he gives the heart its ease.
In All HonestyWhose blinded eyes transfix, upon a heart
with which its love knows no limit nor pain?
The reckless, eager youth whose hope imparts
upon his lofty dreams he may attain.
In those little pursuits to find his love,
his prayers seemed to be answered, for he
had found a person fall from up above
of pure heart with love so boundless and free.
Yet such miracles cannot last for long,
for when he followed love with blinded eyes
he never saw when everything went wrong.
For love he dreamed of gave nothing but lies.
Though blind my eyes, the words spoken are true.
This poem never will I write for you.
I am hereThe stars above
Do not compare
To the love
That we share
Your eyes so bright
Your life so dim
You try to stay alive
You try to fight and strive
When gone is your hopes
You pull the ropes
I am here
To wipe your tears
And remove that frown
No matter how bad it gets
If you want to die
Sit in the corner and start to cry
I am here
To dry your tears
And no one knows
Wandering SorrowDeep within the woods,
there is a lady fair and cold.
For ages she has sung,
dancing through the years of old.
Long days are now past
that she has wished to find her home.
Yet her heart is wounded deep,
and her feet shall ever roam.
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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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