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Love is a PhoenixI have seen nothing more tragic,
Than watching love die.
Enduring it’s painfully fade,
At stubbornly clings to life

The slow death of a love,
That’s filled with years of life.
Or the sudden snap,
As it blinks away in a lover’s eye.

It doesn’t go easy,
And it doesn’t go fast.
It goes out fighting,
Because love was made to last.

It is a brilliant flame,
Drowned in water.
It clings to the air,
With all its dying embers.

Yes, I have seen no sadder sight,
Than watching love as it dies.
But I have been blessed to gazed upon no otherworldly scene,
Than watching love be born again, anew and free.

All I Will Ever BeThe fear that I let hold me back
Buried me in my shame
Desperately I waited for a second chance
But that chance never came

Small and helpless I glare at fear
As he stands looking down at me
If I let him continue to lead my life
This is all I will ever be

The Devil's WayMake a bargain, sell your soul.
Condemn it to the deepest hole
That ever came of fact or thought.
For such a price ought can be bought.
Just sign right here. This dotted line.
Cut the last ethereal twine
That ties your body and your mind.
Don't you wonder what you'll find?
Be free of all your earthly toil
And later you will surely boil
In tar as deep and thick as night
From which escapes no saving light.
So what's your choice? It's time to choose.
What will you gain? What will you lose?
Sign right here and you can say
"I lived my life the Devil's way".

Nice To Believe It CountsWith his run down eyes he looked at me
And asked with a yawn,
“What does one lifetime mean anyway
When we’re so quickly gone?”

“What is a single person?
In all those across the years
And what does one moment matter?
What’s one smile or one tear?”

“The world keeps spinning around
And nothing we do will make it stop
So why do we put so much importance
On the seconds on our clock”

“Time keeps ticking, without an end
Nothing we do will make it stall
So what’s the big deal about moments anyway?
Why should we care at all?”

I looked at the man, so much older than me
and said, with

Ocean's CallRays of the morning Sun tear the veil of mist
Ships slumber by the shores, waiting to be awoken
Ocean whispers while they slumber of her beauty unspoken
The wooden bodies by her waves are longfully kissed
The beacon closed her fiery eye, the Sun laid her to sleep
But the slumber of the ships will soon and slowly break
When the ships have spread their sails, then they'll be awake
Not because of the chiming bells, but by the Ocean's weep
And the arms of safe lands will not embrace them anymore
When they hearken Ocean's calls and her secrets hidden
One by one, they will leave their safest home - the shore
But perils lurk in dulcet calls of the Ocean so enchanting
Nevertheless, the ships will leave, for freedom is not forbidden
They shall sail forevermore, mesmerized by the eternal chanting

Knowing you...Knowing you was torture,
my patience was misplaced.
Your hands were not welcomed,
my body was disgraced.

You saw me as property,
your own personal pawn.
Gaining freedom was not easy,
you kept holding on.

So the game of life I did play,
turning black pawn to white.
Your threats and promises came,
but I continued with the fight.

The battle for freedom ended,
you convinced of your victory.
The truth came eventually,
revealing the contradictory.

You attempt to ensnare me again,
but I know what you're about.
You claim that you've changed,
but that's a lie beyond any doubt.

I will not allow you to come back,
I've learned my lesson w

My Muse Has Left MeWhen she departs from my grace,
My palette dries in her wake,
Devoid of livelihood for now,
With dull words to fill my tray,
For now I paint a portrait,
With gray,

With no wings of my own,
I am yet to be grown,
For she alone floats me high,
She alone carries the brush;
Strokes colours unto the night,
Filling the empty artist with,
Her sweet kiss of silvery light.

So I lay now in wait,
Under rainbows left gray,
To taste the honey of her life,
Dripping like nectar from rose-soft lips,
Pressed tight as a clamp unto mine,
Breathing into me a laced love letter,
Sighed: To the artist; From: The divine.

Can't believe I couldI can't believe I could fall for you,
but I can't get rid of an impression,
you would understand meanders of my soul,
and take me safely home.

I can't believe I could think of you,
and I can't accept I could like your view,
but when it comes to the truth - I do,
and this complication is incredibly new.

A breakthrough giving rise to an new age,
before I fall offstage.

Drifting among the Spheres...Descending the stairs to the top of the tower,
I stumbled and sank in the sky;
From Venus to Yuggoth I rose like a cork,
Through the æther of Space I now fly...

From the light of Andromeda, crystalline-bright
To the uttermost distant of stars,
I must drift evermore on this eternal flight;
Farewell to Jupiter and Mars!

The Big Bang was merely one drop in the pail
Of Cosmoses unnumbered and vast...
As Infinity drowns in Eternity's depths,
So long will my great journey last.

Hadal OblivionFrom vastest depths of the forgetfulness,
The wail of the banished memories
Resounds, bouncing off invisible walls of nothingness,
And their painful intensity – sonance, greatly varies.
Oh, millions of darkest memories cast out
To oblivion, gently caressing them and yet...
They are starving; on the edge of life; bleeding out.
Although kept alive in emanation of agony, grief and hate.

Many want to banish those shards
of their lives. In the end - banishing themselves.

Stripped of those shards of glass, containing memories,
We are nothing – especially not humans. Without identity,
We may find ourselves lost in the overwhelming wor

Just scaredYour words were scaring me,
What can i say?
Whatever it is, is nothing to stay,
Let me walk for that i shall,
I wont ever even be found.

ArtistWhat skill with your hand you do lightly draw,
connecting lines to form dazzling dreams,
without being able to make a flaw.

Sparks fly in your magic, persistant eyes,
creating a new world in your image,
with confidence that reaches new highs.

Your efforts always seem unrewarded,
the public turning a cold, blind eye,
with nothing to keep your ego fed.

But what dif'rent message is seen in scribes?
Nothing but a meaningless textbook here.
A school's reading has no creative vibes.

A generation that does not read out,
only wants to see words in the pictures,
though there are those who read Poe's works about.

Though literature can on

The Imperfect LineWritten by Josiah Shockency (JCS)

Life is an imperfect line,
We all have ups and downs,
Positives and negatives,
And even smiles and frowns…

It’s a pleasure to be born,
And your life’s a treasure,
But there are stains that won’t budge,
While having all pleasure…

ANGER! DEPRESSION! SADNESS!

Life, what is life anyway?
With all this love and hate,
Mixed together into one,
A huge stain on your plate…

JEALOUSY! STRESS FROM MADNESS!

With bullies in life of school,
Mugs and thugs in cold streets,
With enemies that lurk on,
Seeking for one’s defeats,

FEELING IGNORED! LOSING HOPE!

Bills to pay, mone

Sexual AwakeningMy heart kept pumping
But it drowned in its blood
Waiting for someone
To save it from its flood

Yeah, I did that once
Now my patience is dead
I waited and waited
As my heart just bled

Now my patience is dead!

Now I paint the town red
With that sexy new paintbrush
I just met instead
To rephrase what I said
I paint it in my head
When I picture the masterpiece
We can create in my bed

I’m awaken by perfect chaos
Of tranquil vividness
I believe that this is the outcome
Of my restlessness
In silent chaos I’ll hunt down
The prey of exquisiteness

I’ll lure them in
As I prepare to entrap
Then go for the kill
And begin

A Pretty Little Box For YouI ~hehe~ have a little box
I think it's about the right height
To fit little you inside
And shut you in there tight
So when you feel you're ready
I'll be waiting ~hehe~ in my place
To make you a box so pretty
I'll make it frame your little face
It would be so fun to measure you
But little one do not fear ~hehe~
What a sad thing it would be
Should laughter disappear
~Hehe~ I will tell you anything
There's many things that I know
All I ask in return ~hehehehe~
Is to make me laugh, you know
It's the greatest gift, it is
In the whole entire world
Laughter's the best medicine
I am ~hehe~ sure you've heard
But when your laughter decides to cease
I have this box for you
And ~hehe~ If you really want
I'll ~hehehehe~ make you two
i can't imagine this world
Without smiles, laughter, cheer
What a sad thing it would be ~hehe~
Should laughter disappear....
~Hehehehehehehe~

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Eshe groaned a little. None of the items on the list would be incredibly difficult to procure. Well, the fairy perhaps, but he had enough faith in his own cleverness to firmly believe he could manage to capture a fairy. It was more the actual thought of getting the gift to its intended recipient that was giving him trouble.
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DFC 20: Light and Shadow                    Yin
          passive feminine
  shadowing hiding destroying
cold darkness, heat illumination
   kindling revealing creating
        aggressive masculine
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Bona Dea: DFC2012 3

by ~MadPrinceFeanor, Dec 4, 2012, 10:24:46 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

The wine would make us dizzy, so we spun,
not at our looms, for this was time reserved
most strictly for our freedom of expression.
Our rites had gone too often unobserved.
We spilled the sow's blood once ours had begun;
in taking life, we kept all life preserved.

We did not notice Pulcher's jealousy
as we danced in the moonlight, wild and free.

107

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Bona Dea: DFC2012 3by ~MadPrinceFeanor

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day 3: Ottava Rima.

Ottava rima rhymes abababcc, and numerous medieval and
Renaissance Italian poems were composed in this stanza
pattern. Notable are the long narratives of Bocaccio, such as
the Filostrato, the source for Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde.
It is traditionally done in iambic pentameter.

December 3rd is the Bona Dea, "the good goddess", an ancient Roman women's festival that was strictly kept secret from men. As the writers/historians of the time were men, not much of the mystery of Bona Dea aside from it being the sole time that strong wine and blood sacrifice were permitted. These were otherwise taboo to women in Roman festivals. The rites remained a source of male curiosity and speculation for as long as they were practiced.

Incidentally, this is probably the most feminist piece I've ever written.

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=wist-aria Dec 12, 2012 Professional

"The wine would make us dizzy, so we spun,
not at our looms, for this was time reserved
most strictly for our freedom of expression."

Absolutely loving the construction of that sentence.

~D~

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~MadPrinceFeanor Dec 12, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you, I was particularly fond of this poem myself, especially the opening.

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*TheDorsai Dec 5, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Good lord. Keep writing, good poet.

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~MadPrinceFeanor Dec 5, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you!

Your encouragement means a lot to me.

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