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Kindness exist still.This morning I was confronted with the image of a black woman condemned to poverty;
She wore worn down clothes down to the very fabric.
Pigeon shit stained her blanket freely as she hid in a doorway in the middle of the busy city.
She reminds me that people fall often, far from grace, beneath eye’s reach.
There was a certain beauty about it all, yet heartbreakingly sad to see her sitting there alone on the cold hard doorstep.
She sat there stoically, enduring judgmental eyes and remarks, as she finds comfort with her pigeon friends.
Perhaps she chose to be a recluse, perhaps condemned, fallen through the mazes of society.
It matters not to me how she got there, it mattered that she was there, alone, in the cold under a blanket covered in pigeon shit.
I’ve continued my daily routine unable to shake this image from my mind.
I've fetched my daily dose of caffeine from the local bakery and with cup in hand I made my way towards my office.
Only to see a bus stop 20 feet from her
CrystallineI’ll love you with crystalline kisses,
Harsh like thousands of razor blades on porcelain skin.
Your inner nebula contends against
The torrent of my supermassive black hole.
I am but demon, devoid of human emotion.
A path paved for me; A path I have not chosen.
I’ll kiss you fondly with blackened lips,
incapable to fill this void.
I’ll twist and bend, but my mind twirls out of control.
Longing for miracles does take its toll.
No one imagines that just like a shark, I need sustenance,
Yet no prey ever seems adequately voluptuous.
Have I too often craved miracles,
too often hoped to fill this emptiness with forged affection?
I find myself alone -- still…
True Freedom... Is to be forgotten.We are all 21st century slaves
Only in death does one find freedom.
True freedom’s cost is absolute and unending darkness.
We exchange the light that shines upon us,
trading sorrow, pain, joy, love and suffering.
For an all numbing everlasting embrace.
True freedom is not to exist at all, not even in the heart of man.
Yet we live forth in the memories of others.
Eternally like divine celestial beings.
A tragic malformation within their brain,
a malignant cyst, I must ordain.
We’re but a terminal ailment, no hopeful prospect.
Once they too depart -- we are forgotten.in the end
PandoraThe all-endowed, all-gifted, all-giving.
A beautiful evil -- moulded from earth.
By Aphrodite’s grace, Hermes’ deceitful ways,
She spoke eloquent speech filled with lies and crafty reach.
Without evil intent, curiosity did force her hand.
As she brought burdensome toil, disease, sickness, and death to man.
To stoneAlone in the darkness -- coiled up.
Facing off against insurmountable odds.
These shadows cling to the very flesh
that embodies my stigmatization.
I’ll endure this crown of thorns
Whilst stalactites freeze my heart.
I’ll smile the fakest of smiles,
hollowed out, devoid of meaning.
Till words no longer hurt
and heart turns to stone.
Miles DavisAs another Kind of Blue
Gave birth to a Bitches Brew
In a Silent Way, On the Corner
Just ‘Round About Midnight.
Surrealism sprouts from trumpet’s grace
A Novel Blackout: Pride and Prejudice I‘Tis said to be a truth universally acknowledged,
that there’s not a single man of good fortune
that doesn’t find himself in want of a wife.
the feelings or views of such a man..
be they so well fixed -- in the minds of the surrounding families,
that he is considered as rightful property for one of their daughters.
Today is a regular day for other people
4/13 is just a regular Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday
However, for us
For us Homestuckers
It's not just only a day,
But it's a day that we are all know.
A day when our fandom started
When it ran for a person's mind,
And jump on the Internet and stayed in our hearts
A day a certain boy and a certain girl was born
Which they became iconic
And kick start our random filled adventure
A day where we, Homestuckers,
Remember 4 kids, 4 guardians,
12 trolls and their similar counterparts
A day when we have parties,
Meet up, cosplay as our favorite characters
And join together as this special day goes by
And just because this fandom happen,
And another fandom blossom;
Which is only about fandoms
Is not just a regular day
This day is special
It was our first day as a fandom
And it maybe our last
However, we will show our respect
We will survive as long as the ever-lasting sun
We will go on and on
Today is not a regular day...
the atlantic ocean is big enough to hide secretsin that twilight period of summer turning to fall-
in that bend in the road from september to october-
i couldn't explain it but i so desperately wanted to send a piece of myself to you
so you would have something to look forward to
i said, if there's a force to change the tides and turn the earth
and people think it's the most essential force in this world,
then i know they've never met you.
'who me? little old me?'
yes you, little old you,
you have enough resonance in the beats of your heart
to make armies march,
you have enough light in your smile
to make a blind man see,
you have enough magnitude in everything you do
to cause earthquakes to destroy the world,
or maybe just me:
i would die in your hands if you would only let me.
the beginning of october is stunning when the colours
are like fire engines and fireflies and fireworks.
bright flashes of everything that is beautiful and nothing that is hurt.
but after an immense burst of light;
The Story of a Boy. [An Original Poem-thing]
The Story of a Boy.
This is the story of a boy.
Who had lost his mother.
He had a father.
Who did not a care.
The poor little boy.
He never had friends.
All alone in a town.
Which was almost a barren land.
At the age of seven.
Something new happened.
A family moved in.
Into the barren town.
They had a little girl.
With her lovely dark curls.
And new friends they became.
The lonely boy and the bonny gal.
But the boy, he wasn’t.
What he seemed to be.
In his head there were demons.
Demons, waiting to be unleashed.
When the day arrived.
And the boy lost his mind.
He tortured the young girl
to her death.
Oh, it was such an evil crime.
The girl she returned
in her reincarnated form.
She was only four,
while the boy was eleven.
Shocked at her resemblance
with the girl he once met.
He tricked her yet again,
and again, she was killed.
Again she returned,
as her soul never rests.
her mind doesn’t remember
but her spirit deman
An Infectious DiseaseSome will say hope is a killer; an infectious disease that plants shitty pipe dreams in the mind, but hope is a good thing, sometimes the only thing that keeps us going. And it comes not from the pipes that won't play or the dreamer's gaze, but from the inside. All you have to do, is find it.
A Priceless FutureA Priceless Future.
Pretty soon we'll need to make payments
Just to be able to walk the pavement.
This added to the taxes on our bank statements.
Proves that any sort of personal attainment,
Will be shared with the government agents.
It’s blatant, we‘re a part of a money laundering arrangement.
Of which there is an infinite number of replacements.
Who are praying and waiting for your disengagement.
Longing for the day that you will become complacent.
Because a filled position in this day in age will always be vacant.
I call this, the reincarnation of enslavement.
Mr. FrostThe cellar, is far more suitable than the attic, but if they prefer the attic, let them have it. It makes no difference to me. Even when they come rattling down the staircase after dark, running dried chalky fingertips, along split cracked walls, or standing motionless behind closed doors with only blackness in their eyes. As if salvation lay on the other side. How amusing they are in the beginning, but their echoes become fewer and fewer as the days grow long. Until they no longer speak the name, Mr. Frost and I know, it's time to kill again.
Ragtime StreetsCrowded city streets
breezes turn to wind
winds to storms
and all that I can see
are strangely foreing faces
falling upon my lips
in misty shadowed eclipse
like drops of acid rain
and all that I can hear
are echoes of their voices
vibrating within me
like eyes of the hurricane
Crowded city streets
unkind ruthless walls of concrete
drapes of gray and halls of steel
no shapes, no trees, no air, no feel
only those strange foreign faces
ghosts of smiles from faraway places
I´ll never see
vibrating within me
Crowded city streets
and light is just a rare wishful dream
and night is just a trick
of neon quiver and toxic plasma gleam
only strange unfamiliar faces
of ghosts from distant forbidden places
blurred in the void
in emptiness of crowd
Crowded city streets
there is no reason for me
to stay to walk
to pray to talk
no place for me
in this crowds of colour and gaze
in this void of awed and amaz
Attainting EqualityKill the horse
Leave the man there
Steal his shirt
Leave nothing to wear
Kill his pride
Leave his guilt
Steal his voice
Leave him to wilt
Kill his future
Leave hist past
Thrust your knowledge into him
Ignorance can never last
DevotionHow a vast solid rock, can turn into numerous little pebbles.
Pebbles, cast into the sea,and how ripple by ripple it transforms reality.
How life is a record studio,
and we a movie who's been set to motion a long time ago.
And how do you justify your devotion,
The willingness to go on, to go forward, untill death shouts "Cut"
An abrupt ending of this adventurous film.
Where every scene still needs to be filled in with
background speakers, flowers, and wall decoration.
And then when only our head is a sunken vessel,
filled with the useless things we came across.
And our hopes where already tossed.
Is it than that we realize, what we have lost?
Is it so, that you find the strenght to go on,
to rely fully on your own devotion, to keep the film rolling,
and the captured images in motion.
Are we not like a solid rock, who can turn into numerous little pebbles,
little pebbles who can make the vessles on the ocean rock?
And is it not so, that we posses the strenght, to bend, to imagine, to dr
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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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