|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Cold DarknessWe fought the winds, the rain; the bitter ice,
Every moment a shallow march further into the unknown.
The blizzard winds whipped strongly at our faces,
And tore our clothes from our bodies to the wind.
'Hold your own!' Our leader cried out,
Pacing slowly towards our destination.
We followed behind, starved, cold and tired,
Constantly fighting the urge to lie down and be done.
Men, women and children trudged unknowingly forward,
Through days and nights of frozen hell.
Not one spoke a word, for fear held them back,
That the cold darkness would climb inside their souls for warmth.
The Poet Is A MurdererThe eyes of suspicion dive into my soul,
As though they were given highest permission,
To enter into my memories,
And harvest my soul.
They swim to every corner of my mind,
Searching crazily for the truth,
Needing to know my thoughts,
And every idea.
The eyes of accusation dive to the depths of my being,
As though they were given so high a priority,
To enter into my memories,
And harvest my guilt.
They build up an endearing case against me,
Pining insanely for my conviction,
Craving my lifetime spent in prison,
No hope of parole.
The eyes of the judge stare down at me,
As though they knew my very core,
To understand every motivation,
And guilty deed.
They bore a hole into my brain,
Relinquishing my innocence,
Replacing it with guilt,
Defendant found guilty.
The eyes of the jury fight terror behind eyelids,
As though I could kill them with a look,
To give them back the bad hand they dealt,
They take me to my prison cell,
Locking me up for life,
Fearing my violent ten
Black LimousineComfort in a deadened breast
The silent cries couldn't be heard down the corridor; they couldn't be heard in the separate rooms of her house, and nor could they be heard by the sleeping ears of her family.
Mother heard them though; she heard those silent cries calling strongly for a mother's touch; her embrace. She could see those hands through walls of concrete reaching out to her, drawing in her heart, and only her heart; for her body could not follow it.
The young infant cried silent tears; craving comfort in the arms of his mother; the mother that lay heavy and cold in a white bed down the hall; the mother with a now free heart; a soul that could always watch over her young son.
'Be calm my child' She would whisper to his ear; her soul singing his mind to sleep. 'Be still and know; I am here.'
The mother watched on always, as the days went by, and as her son grew older. Days passed, weeks, months. She remained the only shadow to hear his silent cries; those piercing shrieks that fe
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More