Post by Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice* on Jan 12, 2010 9:19:13 GMT -5
Birth of the Beast
By: Deceit
The child walks this earth in ignorance,
What at first was bliss is now despair.
He has the answers yet questions still.
He has the power yet won't fulfill.
And in his breast he knows,
There's a sickness that flows,
Which he masks with bliss and hates this.
The child sits in the courtyard near the center fountain every day and he wears his mask.
The mask is cracked and torn, his heart is beaten and worn.
The folks around can see this plainly as the child smiles insanely
They bow their heads so that they cannot see in those moments which he becomes free,
Where he pulls off his broken flesh.
Thus the child hides again, and nobody sees, nobody hears
The child's sickness goes un-soothed, and his flesh turns pale with slanted eyes which tell his tale.
He hates his eyes. His look.
To cover his sickness he injects another.
Which changes his pale skin as it flushes red
And masks the genome
Turns his slanted stare into one that he can bear
The passion replaced by intensity.
The despair replaced by hatred.
The image of depravity replaced by a blood soaked monster.
And the man replaced by the beast...
The Diary of Life
By: Deceit
She tries so hard to stand on her feet,
Even though she is secretly crippled.
She tries so hard to make up her mind,
But damn it all she's filled with doubt.
She tries so hard to be like a brick wall,
But unknown to her no flesh was made,
To withstand the trials of darkness alone.
She's happy when she's sad.
And sad when she's happy.
An open book written in a foreign language.
There are trials and conflicts written,
But not a soul would ever know.
There is character within,
But too many to find a protagonist.
The author is never satisfied with her story.
She writes and writes, but doesn't like it.
She thinks she knows how she needs to be perceived,
But once she has it she can't accept it.
She says she is who she is, and to be happy with that.
Others shrug and agree, content with that.
She is happy that she avoids the question of identity; because she has no answer.
She wants to be seen but never known.
She wants the fruits of the tree, But she does not know which tree to pick.
She has the power to discover the answers to all her questions.
But when she steps out to claim the prize, She begins to realize,
The peoples are staring at her, and she feels naked; not in body, but soul.
And so she shrinks back into her comfort zone.
Where she can be understood but never known.
And once the girl chooses the plot of the book, she appears stoic.
But inside her gut she questions every page.
She questions whether it looks right or wrong.
Whether she wants the fruit of the tree or the vegetation of the ground.
And in her doubts the snake appears.
It wraps itself around her shoulders without her even knowing.
And when she finally think she knows the answer...
Standalone Complex
By: Deceit
There is a sparkling gem in a bed of rocks.
Around it, there are many hundreds of rocks,
clustered in as though deliberately attracted to the gem.
The gem has much to offer, is rich with things others could not have.
Yet there is something off about this gem.
Its surface hides the wealth within,
As if it didn't want the world to know what it was.
As if it wanted to be left alone.
As if it couldn't stand to connect with other things.
This gem was surrounded by rocks,
And yet somehow, the gem seemed so standalone.
As if it were one of a kind.
And truly it was, a rock that was so rare its value was above all others.
And yet at the same time, worthless, sitting there.
Nobody knew it was there.
Nobody picked it up and used it.
Surrounded but all alone.
The gem was truly just a stone.
Because its form hid its value from the world.
One of Many?
By: Deceit
One Thousand Dandelions sitting in a field
The picturesque image of beauty and delight.
And yet one dandelion was different.
Considered a weed among the fields.
It had no petals, and no vibrant color.
It was merely a sphere of delicate white.
The lone Dandelion wished to be strong and beautiful as the rest.
And it was, perhaps, the most beautiful of them all.
But it could not realize this, it could not realize its own characteristics that made it excel above the rest:
A tough and stubborn plant, which spread like wild-fires,
And underneath that strong attitude and appearance, delicate and lithe.
So sensitive was this flower, that its tiny petals could be depleted by a simple wind.
But every time the sensitive petals blew away, it managed to grow them back.
Stubborn as always, and spreading its wealth and joy.
This dandelion could bring luck and joy to peoples hearts in its own way.
Through comforting, speech, and superstition.
And yet the flower felt ostracized; sojourn from the rest of the dandelions.
It didn't know how uniquely beautiful it was; needed desperately to be like the others.
And so every night it would close its eyes really tight and wish itself to grow yellow petals.
One morning, it opened its eyes and saw what it had become; A yellow dandelion, beautiful as the others.
It blended in, danced, sung, and mingled with the others, but somehow it felt hollow.
As if it didn't belong.
There were many things it had to do that it didn't like in order to stay a dandelion.
Sometimes it did not feel worth the effort.
But it thought it loved being a real dandelion so much that it stoically pressed onward.
But deep inside it knew something was off, it knew that it was missing something.
So the next morning it found it was not a dandelion of any kind.
It still had yellow petals, but shining above it, there was also a beacon of delicate, white.
The flower was confused, it did not know what it wanted to be.
A dandelion, or the dandelion.
By: Deceit
The child walks this earth in ignorance,
What at first was bliss is now despair.
He has the answers yet questions still.
He has the power yet won't fulfill.
And in his breast he knows,
There's a sickness that flows,
Which he masks with bliss and hates this.
The child sits in the courtyard near the center fountain every day and he wears his mask.
The mask is cracked and torn, his heart is beaten and worn.
The folks around can see this plainly as the child smiles insanely
They bow their heads so that they cannot see in those moments which he becomes free,
Where he pulls off his broken flesh.
Thus the child hides again, and nobody sees, nobody hears
The child's sickness goes un-soothed, and his flesh turns pale with slanted eyes which tell his tale.
He hates his eyes. His look.
To cover his sickness he injects another.
Which changes his pale skin as it flushes red
And masks the genome
Turns his slanted stare into one that he can bear
The passion replaced by intensity.
The despair replaced by hatred.
The image of depravity replaced by a blood soaked monster.
And the man replaced by the beast...
The Diary of Life
By: Deceit
She tries so hard to stand on her feet,
Even though she is secretly crippled.
She tries so hard to make up her mind,
But damn it all she's filled with doubt.
She tries so hard to be like a brick wall,
But unknown to her no flesh was made,
To withstand the trials of darkness alone.
She's happy when she's sad.
And sad when she's happy.
An open book written in a foreign language.
There are trials and conflicts written,
But not a soul would ever know.
There is character within,
But too many to find a protagonist.
The author is never satisfied with her story.
She writes and writes, but doesn't like it.
She thinks she knows how she needs to be perceived,
But once she has it she can't accept it.
She says she is who she is, and to be happy with that.
Others shrug and agree, content with that.
She is happy that she avoids the question of identity; because she has no answer.
She wants to be seen but never known.
She wants the fruits of the tree, But she does not know which tree to pick.
She has the power to discover the answers to all her questions.
But when she steps out to claim the prize, She begins to realize,
The peoples are staring at her, and she feels naked; not in body, but soul.
And so she shrinks back into her comfort zone.
Where she can be understood but never known.
And once the girl chooses the plot of the book, she appears stoic.
But inside her gut she questions every page.
She questions whether it looks right or wrong.
Whether she wants the fruit of the tree or the vegetation of the ground.
And in her doubts the snake appears.
It wraps itself around her shoulders without her even knowing.
And when she finally think she knows the answer...
Standalone Complex
By: Deceit
There is a sparkling gem in a bed of rocks.
Around it, there are many hundreds of rocks,
clustered in as though deliberately attracted to the gem.
The gem has much to offer, is rich with things others could not have.
Yet there is something off about this gem.
Its surface hides the wealth within,
As if it didn't want the world to know what it was.
As if it wanted to be left alone.
As if it couldn't stand to connect with other things.
This gem was surrounded by rocks,
And yet somehow, the gem seemed so standalone.
As if it were one of a kind.
And truly it was, a rock that was so rare its value was above all others.
And yet at the same time, worthless, sitting there.
Nobody knew it was there.
Nobody picked it up and used it.
Surrounded but all alone.
The gem was truly just a stone.
Because its form hid its value from the world.
One of Many?
By: Deceit
One Thousand Dandelions sitting in a field
The picturesque image of beauty and delight.
And yet one dandelion was different.
Considered a weed among the fields.
It had no petals, and no vibrant color.
It was merely a sphere of delicate white.
The lone Dandelion wished to be strong and beautiful as the rest.
And it was, perhaps, the most beautiful of them all.
But it could not realize this, it could not realize its own characteristics that made it excel above the rest:
A tough and stubborn plant, which spread like wild-fires,
And underneath that strong attitude and appearance, delicate and lithe.
So sensitive was this flower, that its tiny petals could be depleted by a simple wind.
But every time the sensitive petals blew away, it managed to grow them back.
Stubborn as always, and spreading its wealth and joy.
This dandelion could bring luck and joy to peoples hearts in its own way.
Through comforting, speech, and superstition.
And yet the flower felt ostracized; sojourn from the rest of the dandelions.
It didn't know how uniquely beautiful it was; needed desperately to be like the others.
And so every night it would close its eyes really tight and wish itself to grow yellow petals.
One morning, it opened its eyes and saw what it had become; A yellow dandelion, beautiful as the others.
It blended in, danced, sung, and mingled with the others, but somehow it felt hollow.
As if it didn't belong.
There were many things it had to do that it didn't like in order to stay a dandelion.
Sometimes it did not feel worth the effort.
But it thought it loved being a real dandelion so much that it stoically pressed onward.
But deep inside it knew something was off, it knew that it was missing something.
So the next morning it found it was not a dandelion of any kind.
It still had yellow petals, but shining above it, there was also a beacon of delicate, white.
The flower was confused, it did not know what it wanted to be.
A dandelion, or the dandelion.