[x]

the sound of gears and stoneborn in steel and clay
rising to press back the clouds
and scattering them with a wave
of hands and arms made for
other things

the sound of gears and stone
shifting and grinding
shifting and grinding
walking towards the edge
of the world

pocked with the mark of times
when hungry beasties fed
and took me to their bed
if only in their minds
not their hearts

the horizon is never closer
and entropy betrays me
but not yet, I say,
but not yet, I say,
and I move through the night

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

SometimesSometimes, you feel like giving up. In your mind, you had given up all hope and all that’s left to do is to quietly disappear in a corner. Perhaps you didn’t have enough courage to continue moving on; afraid of failure, you stand still in the road called life, unsure of what to do next. Fear of being unable to stop what’s going to happen next, fear of being unable to prevent that same mishap from happening again, fear of falling again after that one thousand failures. Because of that fear, you’re moving further from me.
“Now all I want to do is forget this ever happened. Forget it all, go to sleep, and never wake

One Thing Leads To AnotherOne teachers bitterness
Can lead to this
Student that's struggling in the back row
A snide comment about a test score
And their whole world
Will take a blow

Little did that teacher know
The magnitude that their actions hold
That one comment, look or eye roll
Could tear that kids whole world

That kid leaves class
Without a second glance
At the teacher who was meant to enlighten them
But broke down their confidence
And shattered them

It starts with passing giggles in the hallway
To comments in the next class that their friends made
To their parents questions at the end of the day

To the very next morning that same kid
Is late to class becau

Witch's BrewBubble bubble
toil and trouble
eye of newt
its the witching hour.

Its the witching hour
where the witches
are in a gitty mood
making new potions.

A dash of frog's lips
scale of dragon
wings of a gremlin
stir them all into a cauldron.

Witches just love making potions
they got so many viels on their shelves
you can find all that you seek
at the witch's cottage.

Make your true love fall for you
there's a love potion that'll do the trick
want to be a few inches taller
there's a growth potion to help with that
just be careful not to drink it all
that is if you want to be a giant.

Witches love the time of hour
making their potions with wick

The Power of Wordsa gentle whisper on the wind,
carries across nations,
through homes and across cultures,
a simple play on speech pulling heart strings,
a gentle rhythmic lull in your ear,
even the sweet sound of silence calls to you,
"a pictures worth a thousand words",
yet a single word can tell infinite stories,
end wars,
bridge cultures,
and unite families,
a single word may change the world,
as can the neglect to say it,
a single word but once uttered,
can span the vast flow of time,
and carry on into eternity,
words speak to the soul,
and connect people in remarkable ways

Death's True KissYou fall in love with a ghost
And dream yourself an island
You take me for a home
But cast and torn apart

Fill me up with a whisper
Take me for a friend
Dead or alive
It all comes to end

Those visions I've seen
Oh, so many times
See me in dream
That only comes to life

You've known me before
So know me again
Like the diamond you once been
Light and inflamed

Slice me with silence
Shed tears of mud
Fill me my requiem
Take me for none

Outcast and dethroned
I will still hold my ground
Forbidden and alone
I too will brake down

No matter my saviour
Hold with dead lips
Those words that I whisper
Death's true kiss

With love there you fight m

Living :Conest Entry:To say man is sinful, doesn't seem to quite say it.
Because all that brings to mind is blasphemers, fornicators, God-haters--all of us.
But to say man is dead, is all the more accurate
Because a corpse can't feel sympathy, it can't hear cries for help.
It tastes not, hears not, handles not, it becomes as lifeless as the very idol it worshipped.
No, to say man is sinful doesn't seem to quite say
Because he who identifies as a cadaver can't hope to know who he really is.
That's why my endeavors are heavenly, and my ID is "Living Among the Dead" Because I know Christ gave me life so I could feel your pain even though find it pleasurable,
To se

Who I amWho I Am

&

Who I Want To Be,

are so far away from each other it hurts.

Twerping Birdies

I. not a morning person

Twerping birdies, chorping away at the day
As if I were supposed to be awake
At the crack of noon.

Cheerful construction workers obliterate
The restful silence, encouraged, perhaps,
By the bad example of the twerping birds.

There's plenty of rest for the wicked,
But none at all for me; let the early bird
Gorge itself on wormy guts for all I care.

II. insomnia blues

like unto the gentle, polyphonic susurration of the wind
through the leaves of the sibylline vuvuzela tree,
the evocative, resonant, goldurned whiny two-stroke
of the kargyraa engine of progress that powers
the early morning hunting call
of the ove

vengeance for injusticea mother she cries
cries at the war
now she waits
waits for the call
of the soldiers orders to kick down her door
vengeance she took filled with hate
for her husband and child who couldn't be saved
now she's locked in a cell
she buried her son
they put her through hell
but it's okay the rich man won

cirque de nuitanfangs ein rauschen am nachthimmel
so geschehen vom flattern der wimpel im

halbdunkel und dem klagenden streichton einer
singenden säge.

genommen und versteckt
verloren und gefallen

und ein riss der das zurückkommen
nicht möglich macht.

ein bild unter glas
getrübt - verhangen wie weisses Metall.

( hast du das licht vergessen- hast du?)

die leine baumelt mechanisch
am hilflosen arm.

ein atmen - stockend und menschlich fast
(etwas pocht herzähnlich)

ein raunen geht durch unsichtbare reihen
enttäuschend wie ein sprung ohne boden.

verlierst du dich verlierst du mich auch
und haben wir schon uns beide verlo

The Ugly TruthI'm not a miracle worker,
I'm not superwoman,
I'm a broken, 17 year old girl, who has no idea where shes going in life.

And I'm scared.

A Friendpeople change at a rapid pace
but i know that until the end
despite the problems we may face
in you i'll always have a friend
there's never been another you
and never will be, on this earth
so i will miss, that much is true
i love you, friend, for all it's worth
when the day comes that we must part
and we reach the end of this life-long endeavor
you'll always remain in my heart
and we'll be intertwined forever
so keep in mind as you go out
to do great things, whatever they be
that i will be here, without a doubt
you'll always have a friend in me

The morrow has dawned, crisp aThe morrow has dawned, crisp and clear,

A new medium on which our lives shall appear

I slept and dreamed of dreams unrecalled

Like faded memories lost in fog

But those faded memories do abound

Yet in your arms my soul is re-found

Washed anew by love's hot touch

Bless my heart, I love you so much.

The Song of the Dead (poetry)"The Song of the Dead"

The sands are falling one by one,
Can you feel them in your head?
Closer and closer the time draws near,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

A plague is due, they said;
Can you hear the song of the dead?
The sand drips faster and thicker than blood,
Don't dwell on it -- rest your head.

They eat time for breakfast,
Rest your head they said.
They'll snatch you up in your sleep,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

Gaping jowls of time,
Fears that julian and shred,
My soul may have left long ago, but
Can you hear the song of the dead?

There's too many of us, they said.
The hourglass is empty, they said.
All in which you

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School is boring..

by ~Sazuki-Lockheart, Nov 7, 2007, 10:55:25 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

I sit here and sit here, I let out a sigh.
Where am I? Its school! I think I'm gonna die!
I shuffle my feet, perhaps cross my legs,
but nothing will take away the boredom this time of day!
I look out the window, the teacher he glares.
I return him a nervous smile and let out another bit of air.
I sigh and I sigh and I sit and I sit.
I can't concentrate on work! Its too quiet I say!
What can at I do at this horrible time of day?
"Its only six hours!" my mother tells me every morning.
But to me it feels like forever! I mean gosh its so boring!
I stare at my work, and I pick up my pen.
But within ten more seconds, I put it down again.

I mean really how could they? Makeing us sit here?
Its like a prision, there's not any freedom!
Do this! Do that! The teachers will say.
They don't care if we normally do it another way.
"Its wrong! Do it over!" They will shout.
And by this point my friend tells me she's going to throw herself out the window.
No doubt!

So why it like this I ask? Are we really learning things like this?
I think not!
I think we should change the way we are taught!

Oh my school is boring as I'm sitting here, but for I must go,
I have to go to the bathroom I fear.

School is boring..by ~Sazuki-Lockheart

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

Just some fun stuff written at school becuse I have a spare. : P

(c) to me.

~niknare Dec 11, 2007 Photographer

i like it.
it fits at me, especially on this time when i have a lot of fucking exams...

~spark4771 Nov 11, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Poems are fun to do : D

~Sazuki-Lockheart Nov 11, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

xD> And tis HAPPY!

~spark4771 Nov 11, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

orly?

~Sazuki-Lockheart Nov 12, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

Yes rly. XD

~spark4771 Nov 12, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

No wai!

~mirina-fox Nov 8, 2007

Omg this is amazing! <3 I love it. It's very well written, keep it up

~Sazuki-Lockheart Nov 11, 2007 Hobbyist General Artist

xDD. Thanks Chantal. :3. I'm good at storys, so I've been giving shots at poems. :3

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