ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
In A Blade Of Grass
by Tricia Pattinson
Blades of grass dance the wind
Higher than knees they cut into light
Jagged and slashing the moments lapse
And I wonder if I too am a blade of life
Motled hue of vibrant etching
Guided by an unseen hand
A heart dancing the beats and rhythms
Swaying with those hidden hands
That light might cast shadows
For colors to paint and please
Those souls with vision tuned
To blades of grass like me
by Tricia Pattinson
Blades of grass dance the wind
Higher than knees they cut into light
Jagged and slashing the moments lapse
And I wonder if I too am a blade of life
Motled hue of vibrant etching
Guided by an unseen hand
A heart dancing the beats and rhythms
Swaying with those hidden hands
That light might cast shadows
For colors to paint and please
Those souls with vision tuned
To blades of grass like me
Literature
Regret
A coarse lacquer of filth
Regurgitated, a bubbling froth
Splattered forth from cracked lips
Shame incarnate, disgust manifest
A voice so meek, atrophied and dry
The oasis of your name, a mirage
Entombed behind my tongue
Locked away so tightly
Coyly peeking through my memories
Tainted repose, restlessly wan in form
Smug in your defiance
Teased incessantly
By the eyes I'll never see again
Drifting alone in the chasm of sleep
Literature
To be honest
This pain is like dumping water into empty lungs and trying to have faith that it is air.
Painting the Mona Lisa in the dark, blindfolded, seems more feasible.
This mind shakes at the soft, pattering quiet that whispers nothing is worth being happy: rears its head on the best days.
"Hopeless"
is the
vicious
heartbeat mantra
-tied to my translucent pulse.
Choking on droplets and begging the water to birth oxygen.
Slowly drowning, praying the whole damn ocean will swallow me
if it's not going to let go.
Literature
A quiet strained voice
I want to write again,
Beleaguered eloquence rolling forth,
from lips too tired of empty platitudes to
So much as squeak.
I miss having big brassy ideas
And eyes full of hope.
Now sorrow scorched I lean to the side,
Wondering if gentle fingers will one day
Brush dust from my skull,
And ask in quiet voice ,
Why couldnt they save themselves.
The world burns with a casual violence
Too terrible to countenance
As the faces of men and women
Grow gaunt with unspoken
Omnipresent violence.
What sort of creature are we
Forever denying ourselves the truth
Digging deep into our well of stubbornness
To find one more reason to not save ourselves;
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2014 - 2024 LadyPleiades
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In