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Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls
chipped away by the wind;
cobwebs align them
like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in a broken window,
gathering in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic)
My eyes seek out the sermon,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
(beneath nick and scratch)
as light needles the shade,
breathes new fire over candles,
measures the weight in these empty rows,
breaths that haven't ceased being prayer.
Shaping CloudsThe sky is always a fixture over oceans,
another cliched postcard;
this is a place where the only distance is upward,
and I lose myself in the memory of shapes
as if your foam fluked tide
stretched as high as it could
and decided to stay.
A horse's gallop
is slowed through the blue
before a piece of his snout breaks off
and drifts away;
as the sun sinks
into the depth and contrast--
heaven over the clothes line,
and corrugated metal,
I realize no one ever mentions clouds in a sunset;
only their absence in a clear sky,
where the light spreads thin into nothing,
and no one notices
lest it be over oceans.
Observing SilhouettesTheirs is still,
arms linked in the face of a sky--
overexposure and time
unlike the the herd
that comes together, and comes apart,
the brief romp of a pair of wings,
the crane's arch to the pond,
the strand on the down of a feather
that knows how to be alone again,
the leaf, the blade of grass.
To Earth, The Parts Of YouAt oceans I feel the sulfur of your hand
spinning shadows into shoals
your allotropic breath
in the sky
going every which way--
bones shifting in your axis,
I feel the indifference of your breath
shifting along tree tops,
the age of you
there are crowds to be heard--
protests and rallying cries.
I want to climb to the highest point of your horizon--
closed like a lid,
away from the beating heart of you
coaxing me to lie upon the ground
Unopened LettersPulled ribbons
fall around the ephemera
like disbanded sails.
I knock around with envelopes,
too close to discern
a shape in the ink
like scrawled twigs
drawn from the slow,
lost to the grip
And yet the kettle on the stove
because we need it to remain the same,
even if in novelty--
like the doddering, ghost
of an old hand,
gesturing for time to slow.
The Stubbornness Of Homethe canopy
parts from its roof,
to the sky
with no memory of blue,
the tired wave length
sinking into the brown and gray
that can no longer hold its red;
in the last heavy wind;
the distended metal
shoved upon the beach,
with the memory
of its place in the world.
Veil Tail GoldfishAs the vein
runs through the fine
you have the light by which you glide,
the current that moves beneath you;
fragments of lamp lapped up
in the shadows of a room
while my feet try to pick apart a pace
in the metronome of
day to day
whose time has all but buried the satellite
of where I need to go
between bits of brick and mortar
and so I leave the window open
the memory heavy in a lifting curtain
as this room sits like a sunken ship
in the waltz of light and turning earth.
I curl up in the womb of it,
leaving the sky as my glass,
feeling the heaviness of Heaven's eye.
IntegerI tried to think of colors,
or a place that would embody a poem
one day, in the event that I lose
the chance for words;
a tree seemed too simple,
but a worthy candidate
as the forest thinned its limbs
to the sun
like futile arms
in the sighs of future buildings.
And then it was too complex,
and green sufficed,
or maybe blue, or whatever color
broke out into the sky.
I tried to walk without a beat,
and summon what feeds
on every bit of youth it could get
from our bodies
like water to a desert-fiend;
tried to think
of what a minuend would be
if not the razor backed edge
of a number,
but the crumbling of cells
piece by piece to the elements
of time as it sorts infinities,
and I am nothing but the breath
that escapes me.
EveI remember when time was time,
when Eve fell into the sea, eyes burning--
her great arm unraveling from the night.
Her breath made its way into
the path of sun.
She became the long road, arriving;
for me the cradle of Winter,
a quilt of windows and hills.
It was a beginning.
She walked with me,
our pace measured in the length of buildings
as she sighed into the wood, textures,
and the joints of stairs.
I almost remember when the thick oak of doors
only ran beneath my fingers
long enough to explore.
This was a beginning too,
and I know that it was here that time began to bleed,
and Eve died young.
Today thoughts almost seem to
in the melted snow of windows,
falling away into Spring.
I watch the spaces emerge in the fence,
the transparency of glass.
Her vision now rests in the pool of sun upon my floor.
She is almost better suited without a form,
as shoveled roads and time wait for me to carry on,
the world cracking beneath an unforgiving sun,
nails rusting in
MaskShe wears a mask like it’s nothing.
Sometimes I forget it was made by demons.
I forget there’s a person living behind it.
Raspy Hill"I don't quite feel like myself."
I haven't for a while now.
My mind seems displaced,
Like it's wandered too far away.
"I've been having strange dreams lately."
Images of strange creatures dance in my sleep.
I don't know them but I know they are malicious.
What do they want?
"But now you're here and I'll make you feel right at home."
My saviour, my protector.
You'll guard me from this evil.
"Welcome to Raspy Hill."
This is my hell.
And you'll join me.
I'll make sure of it.
"Enjoy your stay."
Roses and barbed wireThe beauty of the roses
Right there for me to see
So colorful and vibrant
A sight to behold
But I can't get any closer
A fence surrounds them
Keeping them safe
Keeping me away
Away from their colors
Away from their scent
Trapped in this grey world of mine
Behind the barbed wire fence
Where Lover's Dream DarklyFor it is not a fable; — that which bleeds..
And her soul may whisper obsidian,
— But I am the sea of Darkness she craves
O’ long I hath bathed in these ravenous winds,
Watching shadows weep across river’s dreary
Upon nightscapes that plunder our souls —
A bouquet of crimson shall enchant thy lips;
Where slowly we fade into requiem
Drink me naked in the abyss of hungry wolves
Among demons and insanity, I thrust and fall
Ravaged, eons of lust spill from mine eyes,
And behold the Forests sing of murder!
In a sombre kiss, we shall undress the skies
Time will yield to the treasures of melancholy
I covet thee, unto this blood-filled Moon
O’ thou art beautiful decay upon my skin,
A ghostly visage dripping wanton & darkly ..
We are Lover’s haunting deaths lullaby;
Assassins brooding in a bewailing fairy-tale
She is mystic poison; & elixir immortale
Seek you me, in the mystique of necromancy
For I am the dream of Serpents fea
Sweet darknessDarkness, my dear
Darkness, my element
With your cold embrace
And keep me hidden
Hiden from the world
Hidden from my past
You are my ally
You are my friend
The only one I can trust
Vanquish the light
And cast your shadow
All over this world
Bibliophilia --C.To all the books I haven't read:
I have become your bookshelf
of dusted titles and busted spines
with arms that are full of fantasy
and romance and a head full
of memoirs I haven't written,
their lexicon curling my tongue
around five dollar word-plays
just behind the sheaf of my teeth.
With definitions straight to the point
and description airy and lofted
a dictionary defenestrates pages
that whirl into the night, petal
papers gliding like elegant
prose in a blank journal.
There is no table of contents
to map your way; follow the veins
ink leaves in the margins of my palms
because the books I've read tell me
if they give you ruled paper,
write the other way;
you are someone else's collage,
all the worn sad evidence of humanity,
stirred and sorted by a poet
because good books,
like bad people,
don't give up all their secrets at once.
To The Girl In BlackThere is a kind of light
you should know--
the russet the sun leaves in our hair,
that strains the gold from the color
like a sieve
as we stand in the noon
or through the everyday autumns
it is a light that crawls inside of us
and walks our shadows
to the plank,
that's how I know it is you.
You walk through the day
with a tentative glow
that hovers around you
but never sinks inside,
as if you harbor something.
Your presence is the lamp of Diogenes
against the sun,
worn like a life preserver,
your shadow trembling in the half of you
as if you would drown in the day.
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