|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
One Wolf Among Many
She had been watching them for a while now. Always staying somewhere close by. Being near the pack had its perks. Whenever they had scraps of food left over from hunting, she would wait until no one was looking, then sneak in and take them. Sure, most of what they had leftover was almost always rancid, but she didn't mind. It was one of the few steady food sources she had available to her. She was also intrigued by the inner workings of the pack. She herself had never been in one. Her mother had raised her by herself in the mountains, never letting her stray down to the woods below, where other wolves would happily pray on silly pups. She used to love playing in the snow with her mother, their white pelts blending in with the mounds of snow. But unfortunately, her mother did not live long enough to see her pup fully grown. She ended up dying of disease in a cave, while a snowstorm raged outside. The steam from her mother's breath curled in the air as she took her last few
The Twelve Kingdoms: Prologue
You sighed as you looked out from your balcony, which was lighted by the moon. The beautiful gardens below were bathed in silver light, giving everything a ghostly glow. The fountain that lay in the center of the garden, bubbled merrily, despite the late hour it was. You looked over the gardens and saw a small lake that looked like it was made of quicksilver. You sighed again, while closing your eyes and feeling the light of the moon bathe your face. 'Tomorrow's a big day.' You thought to yourself. 'I'm going to see the ocean tomorrow...I wonder what it looks like?' You pondered this for a moment before your mind drifted away from the thought of the ocean and delved into the memories of your past. You had been left on your father's doorstep when you were only a few months old. Well, you say 'father' but technically he was your uncle. Your mother was your father's sister and she had abandoned you for reasons unknown. Whenever you asked your father about her, he would simpl
They say friendship is a give and take. And it’s very true, in fact it holds for most relationships. I want to be able to have a friend who’ll let me hug them. I want a friend who isn’t afraid to tell me their secrets, and won’t mind me giving them advice. I want a friend that will know that I’ll always be there for them, through good and bad. I want a friend who can tell me their problems and not be scared that I’ll judge them. I want a friend who knows they can trust me. I’ve tried to do this for most of my friends. I’ve tried to be someone they can rely on. But friendship is a two way street. My friends aren’t willing to listen to my problems; they just wanna talk about theirs. They’ve told my secrets and called me names behind my back. They’ve lied to me and made me feel guilty about the smallest things that I did wrong. My best friends were often my biggest bullies. I kept forgiving them because I was scared
*Past and Present*One hundred years ago
When summer cast golden glow
Weeping willows, river side
Cast gentle shade, punts could glide.
Mild, quiet summer day
Strawberry smell and smell of hay
Silken dress on a boat
Shaded by parasol, afloat.
Today loud music rocks river
Weeping willows really weep
T/shirt slogans, blue jean rule
Now we’re noisy but very cool.
The Guardians of Childhood (Poem)
The spirits of an innocent childhood, from long ago
Arise and always protecting, the innocent
Children who’s dreams are filled with hope, with belief
With happiness as golden sand, takes the shape
Of their deepest dreams, their deepest goals,
Their deepest desires, as the sand takes on these,
A small, silent golden man, sandman, who holds the magic
Sand, that fills the kids with dreams.
He is the childhood guardian, that protects children’s dreams,
Their innocence as they sleep, like soundly angels,
Smiling in the dark. This was the guardian I use to always be told
About, in my mother’s stories. His golden sand illuminating
The pitch black night.
Another childhood guardian, she is the one who
Protects a child’s memories, and will always hold them
Dear, whose little fairies collect their teeth without
A sound, she is Toothania, the guardian, that is as kind
And as silent as her fairies. Always letting them know
Where they can find the children’s baby teeth.
Poem for Lou ReedTruly singular, an outsider’s outsider,
He learned well life’s hard truths, and was walking proof that
Your thoughts are only as deep as your faults.
Subjected to psychic savagery in his youth,
His mind took on an ever-changing persona
Always shifting between fame and failure.
A misfit, a hustler, a rake, a transformer,
A rogue, but not a charlatan, an objector,
But not a coward, never a coward.
An expert spinner of verse, he possessed a knack
For feel, impact, attitude, style; he always knew
Which words were those worth the listener’s while.
His means and his methods were fittingly erratic:
He would spend his days crafting curiosities
Only to then neglect and forget them.
What was important, though, wasn’t his works or quirks,
Nor his talent for causing a storm at a stroke,
But what he and his friends set in motion.
They would, unwittingly, forever change the way
We’d hear the sounds the mind thought it already kn
The Beginningons ago, before time and space,
Was born a set of twins who took its place.
One had eyes of daybreak and hair of sun,
The other, hair of night and eyes of blood.
Born to Laelia, Singer of Light and Love,
Husband to Laelius, God who rules with a fitted glove.
‘Twas a difficult birth, screams echoed through the empty world,
But Laelia was never alone or so the story told.
Lucifer was first, life entered with hollow cries,
Laurentius was next, his smiles greeted by butterflies.
Both welcomed with joyous celebration.
Excited Laelius, humans, his creation.
The Twins then never left each others sides.
Except when heavy choices caused morals to collide.
Vulnerable YouthPaper hearts from bright pink tissue meant for presents,
fanciful butterflies from orange dashed cardboard,
five petaled flowers danced around the sentence
of simplicity, ultimately to discard.
Tender thoughts from censored, guarded minds,
boldly do the simple stubby fingers strive to hide
the gift from Mommy, so that she can't find
the secret depth of the darkest snide.
The gentle pressure of acknowledging gestures
even the meaningless thank you cards
meant to send you on an emotional adventures,
only to be shredded on cynical hearts' shards.
But it is the thought that counts,
those sweet little eyes haven't yet been renounced.
NeedlesThe meat is cold from bloodless lust
My organs are damaged
Path be taken down range-
-And end with chilling wall
Forest of needle spires climb
My height cannot ask
Deem the stars they point-
-For reverence physical
Destroyed as winter comes
Invested into my stock
I am bought and brought home
With no escape from the lock
Needle sew a coat of iron
Black with the char left by
Remembrance make me a scion
And kindle a soul inside
Lids have shut and no key breaks
I cannot see between blades
Cut the night to ribbons-
-Now banners to losing way
Imposing in my blindness wait
My feet are icy cold
The forward march is death incarnate-
-Though I am numb to catch
A fabric stolen mask and clothe
The boundary pointed shed
Once streamers bleeding dry wove
The semblance of disjointed ends
No try can match the mind at work
For ochre has my pallor drained
This raiment bears a doubting murk
Through glacier impassive face
My asking wanes with setting freeze
The armour frozen bites
A pleading body already w
The Day She Falls Off Her ThroneToday she stands tall
On a mountain of deceit
But one day she'll fall
She'll be tossed off of her feet
And when this day comes
The day her reign is put to an end
She will have nothing left but crumbs
Nobody to attend
And whose fault will it be?
Her Mother's, Father's, or her own?
Perhaps all three
On the joyous day that she falls off her thrown
Death's LoveHe obtained a frightening manifestation
And held the power of creation
Without creating a new individual but becoming something with a strong relation
That kept a sturdy foundation,
As his cells connected, broke apart, and were destroyed during his formation.
Before me he stood, light lurking within his eyes, speaking of temptation.
Then, the déjà vu was overpowering, a suffocating and heartbreaking sensation.
Death played with an individual that people see as a cremation
And how I see as a pure, devilish damnation,
Where I can only vision the house it lived in, being eaten in a conflagration.
The appearance, however, delivered me into salvation,
That, alone, was enough to wash away any frustration.
The longer I stared, the more I studied, there was an alteration
In the depths of my concentration,
Where I began to piece together an understanding of admiration
That Death had somewhere in preservation.
His corpse-like figure had the power of reincarnation
And how he changed for
The FoundationWorld peace, hunger, war, disease.
There are many who wish they could change these.
But in order for us to heal those things,
We must first take a look at our stings.
From our much smaller cuts, we bleed,
And if we beg and if we plead
Maybe, just maybe we will find
Those bigger problems will be on the decline.
Most of our problems are close to home,
And can't be solved by a dusty tome.
They can only be solved with kindness and love,
And these things don't have to come from above.
You can show people compassion everyday,
In everything and in every way.
At home, at school and at work too
And people everywhere will thank you.
The one thing that I want to change
Is how we deal with each other, and it isn't strange
To show people that you really care a lot.
You really only need one shot.
So without much more stalling or delay,
Don't bottle up your feelings or keep them at bay.
Show the world what you can do.
I believe I can change, how about you?
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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