ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The piano still plays, but the guests are gone,
we are still here, I guess I'm still here...
the tiles have grown green,
moss has invaded and branches have broken the windows,
this is my home
the loneliest ballroom I know,
we used to dance just me and you,
to the music only we could hear,
but now I know I'm on my own,
all I can do is swirl through the dust and the smoke,
chasing shadows of the past,
they're just puppets and the puppet master laughs and laughs,
I am not graceful, but I am desperate,
I am somber, I, am, hollow,
as hollow as this empty room,
knock on the door and hear it echo through to the ceiling,
I am the same, my heartbeats are the palpitations of reverberations,
they are call and response,
they are minor keys ringing out into an open space,
for no one.
-
I will slow dance with the ghosts,
how I revel in your acronyms anymore,
my voice is careless, you do not listen, I do not sing,
I've grown mute, to you at least,
I miss you,
but I understand we could've left this room ages ago,
and now it is just me,
and I can't just seem to leave,
even as sunlight pours in beams through the broken ceiling,
signs of the outside are all but escapable,
but ignorable,
I close my eyes, sleep, dream and I feel us again,
it is cozier to live in this lie than face what has gone by,
but I blink, and the bright lights turn to broken floorboards and cracked windows,
I waft at the dust, and just look out the window.
we are still here, I guess I'm still here...
the tiles have grown green,
moss has invaded and branches have broken the windows,
this is my home
the loneliest ballroom I know,
we used to dance just me and you,
to the music only we could hear,
but now I know I'm on my own,
all I can do is swirl through the dust and the smoke,
chasing shadows of the past,
they're just puppets and the puppet master laughs and laughs,
I am not graceful, but I am desperate,
I am somber, I, am, hollow,
as hollow as this empty room,
knock on the door and hear it echo through to the ceiling,
I am the same, my heartbeats are the palpitations of reverberations,
they are call and response,
they are minor keys ringing out into an open space,
for no one.
-
I will slow dance with the ghosts,
how I revel in your acronyms anymore,
my voice is careless, you do not listen, I do not sing,
I've grown mute, to you at least,
I miss you,
but I understand we could've left this room ages ago,
and now it is just me,
and I can't just seem to leave,
even as sunlight pours in beams through the broken ceiling,
signs of the outside are all but escapable,
but ignorable,
I close my eyes, sleep, dream and I feel us again,
it is cozier to live in this lie than face what has gone by,
but I blink, and the bright lights turn to broken floorboards and cracked windows,
I waft at the dust, and just look out the window.
Literature
Nocte
Hiding from the beast,
From tree to tree,
Running in the dark,
I tell myself such things,
Slow- so it won't find you,
Breath.
These fires have scorched far and wide,
Leaving the scent of my former cinders to linger in my head,
Like some bad bender,
Warped memories encircling grey,
The ground is made of shattered glass,
Broken dreams.
No lilies remain,
To any kingdom I run,
In mirrors of liquid glass,
Surrealist battles are won,
And like fear,
The spider crawled from my mouth.
They are sedating everything,
Brush pixilated,
Focus changing,
Leaving me to run in the dark,
Caught in the eye of the storm,
Hiding in the calm.
Literature
apocryphal
so cunning and seemingly honest
at times there is nothing but wit
yet not quite real on the inside
but nothing we care to admit
Literature
Always
Alone upon the hill,
you stand.
Winters hand,
grips your limbs,
cold wind ripping,
at your core.
Just a shadow of yourself,
stands before the world.
But fear not,
soon winters hold,
will be burnt sunder.
Once more the light,
will fill your core.
Once more you shall bloom,
once more the beauty,
in you shall shine.
and know this,
alone you shall never stand,
for no matter were,
no matter what.
Be it light,
be it dark.
You shall always,
have a freind,
in me
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Part of a new arc I'd like to make into a book/poetry compilation called "Come to the Window" eventually.
I feel like I'm going to go back to my roots in series writing.
I feel like I'm going to go back to my roots in series writing.
© 2012 - 2024 TheCharacter-K
Comments6
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I'm excited as well. This is beautiful if not telling. Please continue. Send me a link or someday when/if this works out.