[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

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More from ~HiddenShadowSpirit

To Whom it Doesn't ConcernHello.
I've truly realized how none of you care.
You act as if you do, but in the end, you are concerned with no one but yourselves.
I had never asked for much. A simple kindness was worth too much to give, it seems, but I understand.
I wasn't the person you were looking to give it to.
I learned that I've never wanted to be.
Never wanted to breathe, never wanted to live.
Mostly because, there is nothing worth living for, not even myself.
Why must I suffer? Why do I let myself face this agony and this pain?
You say that this is selfish, because it'll only inflict pain upon others, but there'll be none.
Because you don't care.
It i

The Face that Stares BackI lie to the face that stares back,
To retain its false happiness
and though it never lasts,
the dreadful satisfaction
is all that keeps it
breathing.
I turn away from its cold stare,
and run, but it follows,
yearning for my love.
Shatter the mirror.
It mocks me.

The Time Has ComeThe time has come.
I've prepared
I've listened
I've pondered
I know that
my choices are limited.
Don't stop me, your efforts are futile
This is how the story ends.
Goodbye.

I DreamEyes shut against the light of the universe,
I dream,
Standing in the center of the world,
As the Earth gently breathes,
and weeps,
yet dances freely.
I cry
Yet there are no tears,
And where is the pulse that is to pull life
throughout my veins?
I've searched, but there is none.
And I am left without a soul,
because I sense none.
All that I possess is emptiness.

My PainThis pain is nothing but my desire
Nothing but my wish
All that I want, and all that I wish to be
It is who I am
And I want it

ComaI've fallen into an endless pit of fury and despair,
I stumbled- I'm sorry, do you hear me- I stumbled and fell in,
Head first, arms tightly tied behind my back,
wrists held together by the ropes of confusion and burning hatred
of all that I wished never to have done.
I am mindless, a slave to you all,
nothing but a spirit restlessly lurking in a world, unloved and alone,
had wished for nothing but another to walk along my path, the both of us, hand-in-hand,
as we watch the sun take its cache behind the world.
The breath of life slowly flows through my arms, then seeps out of my fingertips as I struggle
to take another breath, jus

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I don't care

by ~HiddenShadowSpirit, Dec 11, 2012, 2:36:03 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I no longer care
It's just a mere wound,
just another drop of blood,
and just a little sob.
It becomes routine,
part of the coldness of your hearts.
Please tell me why God has chosen me
to live on this planet.
Somberly, along this oppressive path.
I wanted nothing.
And you got everything.

I don't careby ~HiddenShadowSpirit

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Pretty bad. At least I tried.

~BittersweetObsession Dec 11, 2012 General Artist

"Somberly, along this oppressive path.
I wanted nothing.
And you got everything. "

Ahhh my gosh that ending, I actually really like this.

I myself have fought the internal battles of emotional poetry. There are just days where I want to sit and write about people who have wronged me, everything that has ever oppressed me, angry, sad, cathartic poems. Oh my gosh

I wish you didn't have such low opinion of yourself, you truly are not a bad poet at all. I would just recommend that you expand vocabulary a bit and explore a variety of subject matter.

There are awesome writing prompt websites that can give you ideas if you're looking to keep yourself from writing depressing poems (unless that's what you intend to write, which is fine, hehe) I went through an enormous phase/writer's block sequence where I would just write every negative thought choking me at the moment. I have tried to digress from these as much as possible, I feel much more fulfilled knowing that I've covered lots of things

Anywho, vocabulary is yo' best friend. Once you can find creative words to substitute universal words such as sobs, wounds, etc., your wriitng will improve tenfold. Slight rearranging of words can cause grand outcomes!

I am definitely going to read more of your lovely work, despite what I've said you have an interesting style~ :3

~HiddenShadowSpirit Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks for the advice.
And I'm glad you think that I'm not too bad of a poet.

~BittersweetObsession Dec 11, 2012 General Artist

Of course not, m'dear! I think you have much skill.

~TMMvocaloid Dec 11, 2012 Student Writer

no. not bad. you wana see bad, look at the poems i wrote at the begginingof my deviant art account when i was reading twilight and my friend helped me write so i do not take all blame. (please dont read them.they are soooo stupid)

~HiddenShadowSpirit Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Lol.

~TMMvocaloid Dec 11, 2012 Student Writer

i just got 4 watches. IDC about stupid watches! I ven deleted them from my profile because while i may have alot, there are so many talented artists out there who arnt recognized.

~HiddenShadowSpirit Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I'm trying to find more. Neeed more poeeets.

~TMMvocaloid Dec 11, 2012 Student Writer

yeah. i luv poets^^. but i just dont believe that its fair. one of my friends has 30 watchers and ZERO deviations.

~HiddenShadowSpirit Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

That makes no sense. XD

~TMMvocaloid Dec 11, 2012 Student Writer

I know!

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