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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
February 9, 2013
Lament of an Atheist by ~alexiscaitlinking could be told no other way.
Featured by Nichrysalis
Literature Text
I cut candles straight down their waxy center
just by looking into the flame. Slick peels of
honeycomb melt into my palm and blister skin.
Then the world ricochets forward.
I plummet back into my body and there's
a thick distortion in audio. A constant pulse at
the back of my eyes, tuned to the rhythm of your
heartbeat. I look for traces of you, but,
God, you're lost.
Leaves fall as paper lanterns from wooden fingers.
Spiraling upwards on the breath of cosmos, back
to Heaven, lit like the sun on a marvelous azure
backdrop. I needed your wisdom, but all is gone.
Christ, you're dead.
Atheists are not meant to love. Realists are not
meant for passion. Idealists are the dreamers
of their own demise; only they can make it
happen.
A man once told me that the astute make terrible
lovers, but I'll fight that to the bitter end. Maybe
the irrational are so hopeful in their wafts of
hallucination they cannot come to mindful conclusions
of their forsaken love.
There's a poet under my skin, itching to get out
again. But he's wrapped so tightly in misery and
grief, he can't pull his fingers close enough to the
flesh tomb that surrounds him.
But a poet is no poet, if only one emotion is felt.
Likewise, no poet if only emotion felt. No poet, if
stone words fall on glass houses and lifeless birds fly.
Here I am, No Poet, dwelling on lucidity and broken
execution, failed thoughts and sorrow. Yes, I am
No Poet, and God, we're done.
just by looking into the flame. Slick peels of
honeycomb melt into my palm and blister skin.
Then the world ricochets forward.
I plummet back into my body and there's
a thick distortion in audio. A constant pulse at
the back of my eyes, tuned to the rhythm of your
heartbeat. I look for traces of you, but,
God, you're lost.
Leaves fall as paper lanterns from wooden fingers.
Spiraling upwards on the breath of cosmos, back
to Heaven, lit like the sun on a marvelous azure
backdrop. I needed your wisdom, but all is gone.
Christ, you're dead.
Atheists are not meant to love. Realists are not
meant for passion. Idealists are the dreamers
of their own demise; only they can make it
happen.
A man once told me that the astute make terrible
lovers, but I'll fight that to the bitter end. Maybe
the irrational are so hopeful in their wafts of
hallucination they cannot come to mindful conclusions
of their forsaken love.
There's a poet under my skin, itching to get out
again. But he's wrapped so tightly in misery and
grief, he can't pull his fingers close enough to the
flesh tomb that surrounds him.
But a poet is no poet, if only one emotion is felt.
Likewise, no poet if only emotion felt. No poet, if
stone words fall on glass houses and lifeless birds fly.
Here I am, No Poet, dwelling on lucidity and broken
execution, failed thoughts and sorrow. Yes, I am
No Poet, and God, we're done.
Literature
Dear Reader
on the roof
simpering with
the pigeons
i throw
sheen after sheen
from buckets of paint;
you do all
the work
getting
in the
way.
awnings
spattered
like lips
with the color
of kisses
shiver
and move.
and listen
to this:
the birds
open their mouths
in the rain
spread one wing
then another
and lean out
and over--
the river
opens
onto salt
as the moon
blooms
like a coin
in a fist;
lovers
part lips
while
friends
part ways.
the bartender
peels a lime;
the doorman
pulls at the door
while the waitress
clears the table.
i open
a window,
you open
your eyes:
work
is making space.
here and
i have
Literature
Choose Your Name
“John Brant,” I whispered, and a dashing British gentleman appeared in my mind, arrogant and suave as the slim-fitting Italian suit he wore. He sounded classy, not overly pompous. But there was just something about him. He could be the cool confident charmer I was looking for. But he could just as well be a stiff stocky soldier with his pride shoved far up his ass.
“John Chase,” The name rolled smoothly off my tongue. Another man took form, both the same and different from the first. He was just as charming, perhaps a little lower in class with a bolder tongue. And was that a little mischief I saw in his eyes? Undoubt
Literature
blasphemy
in a Heaven no grander than a forest, He sat upon a throne weaved of ivy and wild roses; it was there He first touched the Universe, and it was there He came to find the thriving rock He named earth. absent lives were flitting about in oceans deep and dark, and He sought to make company, entertainment, using His vast power to manipulate these beings' path. they grew until they resembled His intention, but before the first man thought of the savannah's cruelty or had any thought besides instinct, angels were birthed of the Lord's passing thoughts
He would breathe and exhale
lights that cuddled like sweet birds,
tucked close for warmth
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It's been a while... I apologize.
1. Any grammatical errors?
2. The piece has a very abrupt transition. Does it work together, or should this piece be separated into two separate pieces?
3. I'm not sure where else to go from this, how to diverge into something more, or if I even should. Any suggestions?
4. Any comments in general?
A critique would be GREATLY appreciated. I feel like I've forgotten how to write, and it's very depressing to myself.
Please, please, please, help me improve and get back on track.
For #theWrittenRevolution
[link]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT
I just logged on randomly to find I recieved a Daily Deviation!
Words simply cannot express the amount of gratitude I have for ^NicSwaner for featuring me.
My heart has been greatly lifted since this poem was first written...
For all the Atheists, as I am, I mean no offense.
Have you ever thought to yourself, "Maybe I'm just not meant for love?"
Seriously gracious to all of those who have helped me. I love you all, and thank you for your comments!!!
1. Any grammatical errors?
2. The piece has a very abrupt transition. Does it work together, or should this piece be separated into two separate pieces?
3. I'm not sure where else to go from this, how to diverge into something more, or if I even should. Any suggestions?
4. Any comments in general?
A critique would be GREATLY appreciated. I feel like I've forgotten how to write, and it's very depressing to myself.
Please, please, please, help me improve and get back on track.
For #theWrittenRevolution
[link]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT
I just logged on randomly to find I recieved a Daily Deviation!
Words simply cannot express the amount of gratitude I have for ^NicSwaner for featuring me.
My heart has been greatly lifted since this poem was first written...
For all the Atheists, as I am, I mean no offense.
Have you ever thought to yourself, "Maybe I'm just not meant for love?"
Seriously gracious to all of those who have helped me. I love you all, and thank you for your comments!!!
© 2011 - 2024 alexiscaitlinking
Comments176
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Wonderfully written!