[x]

Under a Witches SkyAnd lo there he said: "I am darkness rising"
— ‘an apparition bleeding into a dreaming sky
Distilled in the timbre of windswept voices,
black feathers enchant earth in fevered-song
Magick ebbs & shimmers thru earthen veins,
seething like a migration of hungry wolves
Silvery eyes peer, drinking the ether of souls;
watching the spirit world fold into the mists
And where Shadows and Witches conjure,
— myriad talons beshrew Winter’s prayer

For eons I hath wandered in forgotten lore
— a sleep walker thru ash & fire, hunting ..
Beneath Moon solemn and drifting,
I covet thy ghostly figure velvet, undressing
Pools of

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

SpeakeasyI can feel you like a phantom,
sensation without touch,
like breath in winter
or a misty mountain morning
that stays with me
until the stars fall in evening.

Your eyes contain the secrets
your lips would dare to betray,
but your body tells the story
and I am trying
to read between the lines
of your paperback smiles.

A grazing touch, a covert glance,
the memories remain
as skin grows warm and red
beneath lying fingertips
that claim incidental contact
a thousand times a day.

Of course,
it's not the kind of thing we say
when we are speaking
without talking and feeling
without touching
and thinking without knowing...

all of the things

Dandelion QueenI dream of the ocean;
that paper-thin line where
the current swallows the stars
and the water churns violet

(you tell me to be
quiet,

dandelion queen, we've
heard all these words before)

tonight
I will sleep heavy
and wake a few hours before dawn,
only to forget my name

my wave-weathered heart will cry,
I will cry (my biggest fear
is drowning in too many
of my own weighted words

you tell me to be
quiet
so I can hear the world breathe)

I want to go home

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.

I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze

like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.

Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;

safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.

We Can't Be Together.Every kiss you plant on my lips,
Takes a little bit of my soul away.

You're stealing the passion,
You're invading my heart,
And killing what emotion I've left untouched.
Stop this.
I can't love you.

I've tried to before,
Oh my god,
Have I tried.

Tried to unlock the doors to myself,
Tried to open up,
And let you in.
But as soon as I took one look,
Negativity took it's opportunity,
And struck the hot iron I'd been molding.

Every word you mutter
My knees falter under
You're killing me

You're my kryptonite
I'm your paradise
But in this odd peace that seems to be approaching
I can't find happiness.

We aren't meant to be together
But this

Poet as PainterThe world
Your dusty palette,
The pen
Your muddied paintbrush:

Dip into
The impossible
Colour
Of imagination

And stain
The pristine slate
With an
Image distilled.

BoyfriendI thought you were good.

You WERE good.

You played with my hair.

You held me when I cried.

You were a gentleman.

You made me laugh.

You kissed me.

You loved me.

I loved you.

It was then that I learned the truth.

The dirty, rotten, stinking truth.

About you!

You cheated.

You played with her hair.

You kissed her.

You loved her.

You made her laugh.

I saw you – don’t you dare deny it.

I saw you giving her that love.

That same love you gave me.

I break up with you.

You don’t even seem to care.

Did you ever love me at all?

Or was it only ever her?

Much later, you’ll realize what a mistake you made.

I

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

Dry Spell I am immobilized by time.
by the idea that it is somehow slipping,
fleeting,
evaporating
through the cracks of
my fingers and high

above my head.
I am terrified by the incessant notion
that no combination of thoughts,
words,
silences,
or actions
could possibly satiate it.

I realize only now that it can never be filled:
all which is tossed into it is swallowed in haste
or stretched
so far
that it dissolves into non-being.
I find that I am caught within its furrows
much like the words it devo

untitledGold abundant at your feet,
Heart ripe and pumping on your sleeve,
And eternal admiration;
To say happiness has evaded you
Would be asylum-esque lunacy
For you have nothing to lose,
Fate is on your side,
The odds are in your favor infinitely
Do not waste the gift you’ve received

You Don't Know ItYou don't know it, but you kept me sane
I nearly went over the edge
With a knife in one hand and a gun in the other
But you grabbed me
Pulled me back on my own two feet
Emptied my hands
And when you realized that I couldn't stand on my own
You hugged me
Like a mother would do for her child
Like a friend would do for, dare I say, another friend

You don't know it, but when you saved me
I felt free
I felt wanted
I felt needed
I felt, dare I say, loved

You don't know it, but when you showed me kindness
I fell in love
In love with your kindness
That same sweet kindness you saved me with
It felt like I found a new home
One that I could be, dare

Pull Her Hair/Stare At The StarsThe ghosts have crashed their ship
on the other side of town,
you can see it from the second floor
all the way over here.
You can see the white clouds
rising from the wreck
and a nova of heat, a big bright
nova of warmth pulling the moths and wolves
out from the woods (with their noses up and searching).
You can smell the yearning like bees
leaving the hive, like the grizzly brown bears
on the jagged white mountains (concrete and imposing).
They call it fear,
but I see these ghosts
scrambling up into the sky
and I like to think it's
something different entirely.

clicheTo those who hold bird bones
on the edge of their limbs,
there are dissipated lungs
filled with skies
longing for pillars of fire
rather than bottled souls
kept in the brink of captivity
too big for sparrows.

To those with the cancer
of building and rebuilding
their minute sentences
into salt-shaken metaphors,
sometimes a whisper
trying to be a rhapsody
will never be the same as
a declaration,
an aubade on it's own.

To those who empty
their ash trays
like cremated dust onto
salivating pores and
two cents of syllables weeping
by your windowsill,
there's sand in your mouth.
sand so red that oxygen
will mistake it for blood
so your words wi

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HemeraEndless glades of sand, immobile for millions of years, surrounded the large agglomerate of domes that was Hemera.
The sky, black for those who loved light even when it was time for darkness, revealed to the eyes of whom was more used to darkness and didn't refuse it, the huge sight of the Milky Way: a sprinkle of countless stars and worlds that offered his dim light to the city, otherwise lost in darkness.

Hemera was hidden in a circular overhang, an old scar of a large impact, set in a huge basaltic plain, among the beds of ancient rivers, where lava had rushed before, shaping the whole area. They were incredibly ancient, but they seemed

The correctorMy job consists in changing lives. Wow, I'm already pompous and I'm just writing on a napkin. Well, this time there won't be space for the exaltation for what I do, as in the past; this time I'll be completely sincere with me.

But, damn it, it's true, my job really consists in changing other's lives!
I guess I need to explain.
Maybe it never happened to you, but have you ever heard of those experiences, sometimes extreme, sometimes apparently common, that make a person completely change his mind on some aspect of their lives?
Well, from that moment on, they are different people.

A single unexpected choice, a tiny change of mind, since th

Fame«I need help, dave/null. I know you will read me. You are there, somewhere in the net. A person has disappeared. Without him, I couldn't endure life. I want you to find him. Of him, only the nickname and some blogs are known. I'll give you advices to help you in your pursuit. This is a challenge, I'm sure you like challenges. Contact me, please.
DieAnn
dieann@dieann.com

P.S.
I count on your goodwill and I hope that you will forgive me, but I'm desperate. I know things that could lead to your real identity.
If you don't want me to divulge them, help me. I don't want to be forced to blackmail you, but I'm ready to do it.»

It was

Icarus' apologyPerhaps you were right,
I dared too much,
But a life spent without going beyond the limits
And common thought
Would have been my real labyrinth,
Father.

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Submitted: July 7, 2012
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The end of the escape

by ~KwatzHeWrote, Jul 7, 2012, 2:10:21 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

I was barely fifteen
when I used to say
"I wanna die young".
You know, it's not just
that being old sucks,
it's that responsibility
is the mask of a huge loss:
you'll be never more as free as a kid.
I have been coherent,
I have spent all my life
escaping adulthood.
But now, she is coming, closer than ever.
I sense her, right beside me, waiting.
I courted her for so many years
that she has started following me wherever I go.
This time I guess I'll kiss her.
I observe the needle,
knowing that it's not me
who controls the hand
that drives it into my flesh.
As she starts to hug me
and the world to fade,
I murmur to my lover
"And yet twenty is so soon..."

The end of the escapeby ~KwatzHeWrote

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Something that popped out my mind this morning, along with the song "Injection", by Rise Against.
I'm not entirely happy with it, maybe it is banal.

Edit:
I noticed that, due to an (un?)fortunate word's place choice, some of the readers understand that "she" is the adulthood. Originally, though, it was meant to be the Death (see explanation below). I haven't thought to it, but I find that it is an interesting alternative. So, choose the meaning you prefer.

The main argument against drugs is often "they kill you before your time comes", but it doesn't work with some people, because they answer "I don't want to live the time beyond my youth, because that will probably be the only happy period in my life, so I want to spend it trying all the entertainments that I can, without worrying about the future". My thesis is that it is easy to have these kind of thoughts when you are young and your death seems so far away, but when you grow up you change your view of life, your opinion about what really is happiness: you accept being adult and all what it implies because you start wanting it, not because of an external imposition.
The protagonist chooses to live the "extreme", and in this sense courts Death, but when she finally comes, the day of their overdose, they realize that they still like too much life to die, but it is too late.

love 1 1

joy 1 1

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

*semi-surreal Aug 15, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

By coincidence, my YouTube channel's feature-video is "Die Young" - which I just set up a few days ago - so I was playing that song as I was visiting your page! I'm also pleased that WitWitch appears below, in your comment section; since she & you had quite a profound - and eloquent - discussion on her recent Wiccan forum, which I just got thru reading!

Proponents of Carl Jung's "synchronicity", and the similar "Law of Attraction" would be delighted by all this!

~KwatzHeWrote Aug 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oh, what a nice coincidence!
However thanks, even though I'm not very familiar to Jung's doctrine...

*semi-surreal Aug 16, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You should google Jung's "synchronicity" and the similar "Law of Attraction" - it will help you appreciate WitWitch's perspective.

Ironically, although it's not technically "hard science", it is a very interesting "unifying theory" (for lack of a better phrase) to 1) probability theory + 2) chaos theory + 3) human psychology [the most important component of the three]!

After all...we are all ultimately subjective creatures. For example, the Favourites you chose on dA weren't analyzed by you for their objective "angstrom" quantities or their standardized "color-charts" etc. - they simply LOOKED GOOD to you, haha!

~Millisecond Jul 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This piece flows nicely as free verse. You picked near perfect places to start and finish your lines and it reads very smoothly. I think I guessed that 'she' referred to death (not sure if you edited the story after you posted, though?) and it's a fascinatingly destructive concept. I like how this focuses more on the 'why' of hedonism rather than the outworkings; it's clever.

~KwatzHeWrote Jul 20, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks, I'm happy that you liked it. I didn't edit it, though.

~Millisecond Jul 21, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Ah good, that means your original idea was spot on

~witwitch Jul 19, 2012 Student Writer

The poem communicated to me that the speaker felt as though he wanted to live in never-never-land, though, I never got the drug reference. I didn't realize the needle was intended to reference a drug until I'd read your comments.

Even so, the piece does communicate the feeling of regret for dying young, despite it being what the speaker wished for.

~KwatzHeWrote Jul 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks for the comment.
The reference to a drug was meant to be these lines:
"I observe the needle,
knowing that it's not me
who controls the hand
that drives it into my flesh."

~witwitch Jul 19, 2012 Student Writer

Ahh. I was a bit confused by that line, thanks for clearing it up.

~intricately-ordinary Jul 12, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It's so clever how you described age as a person, of interest especially. And I've gotten this feeling before (or something close.) I love it because of the way you spun the story.

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