|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
It seems...It seems that now those wilted flowers in my garden
(the ones trampled by the coarse feet of winter)
have blossomed once again.
It seems that now those orphaned children on the streets
(the ones trampled by infection)
have finally found a house and are waiting for a home.
It seems that now those words I have sprayed on a wall
(the ones trampled by glancers' hands)
have been washed away and I give the washer my never ending gratitude.
It seems that now those days I wrote down
(the ones trampled by bad memories)
have been misconstrued by others as art.
It seems that now those hazel eyes of yours
(the ones trampled by mental scars)
have had their colors washed away by tears and look as if they have "aged".
It seems that now those sunsets once awed at
(the ones trampled by cold nights)
have been replaced by videos and skyscrapers.
The Monsters in Hanwell- WIP She walked across the rubble. The bricks of her old house. Red dust and tan wood spread across the field. Withered grass shaped into a misshaped square trembling in the wind. She sat atop the tree trunk of her old oak tree. Her feet resting atop her old rope swing. Feeling nothing. She heard the sirens blaring through the dirt road. Just dirt and and more dust blowing through the air. Carried by the whistling wind. The wind that once danced across the front yard's flowers. Flowers of reds, blues, and pink. So many colors that she would dream of a day that she herself could be a flower.
As they drove her to an unknown place she drew a withered misshaped heart in the grime of the window. Missing the days that she would run around the yard, and her mom would run around with her too. Throwing her into the air that smelled of cherries and blooming love. Dreaming an impossible dream. A dream of eternal happiness, but of course that horrid day would
A Mother's LifeIt seems that for days now monsters have crawled out of my son's bedroom closet
And tip toed to his bed to snuggle with a very warm child
Where he snores like me
To feel a sense of closure
It seems that for weeks now butterflies have flown through my kitchen's window
And flitted down to the dining table
Where a toddler prods his food
To die in innocence's grasp
It seems that for months now birds have walked through my front door
And glimpsed here and there aimlessly
Where little feet skip and hop
To venture into a field of titters and whines
It seems that for years now my child has grown into independence
And hasn't needed me to tie his shoes or read him stories
Where once there was an infant is an 'adult'
To find out who he really is, without his mother
It seems that for decades now this home has withered
And gotten emptier day by day
Where boyhood stories were is now a knitted blanket
To comfort me instead of a loving child
It seems that for centuries now I watch my child'
Keep in Touch!
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