[x]

the sound of gears and stoneborn in steel and clay
rising to press back the clouds
and scattering them with a wave
of hands and arms made for
other things

the sound of gears and stone
shifting and grinding
shifting and grinding
walking towards the edge
of the world

pocked with the mark of times
when hungry beasties fed
and took me to their bed
if only in their minds
not their hearts

the horizon is never closer
and entropy betrays me
but not yet, I say,
but not yet, I say,
and I move through the night

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

FarewellEs ist nicht alles wirklich
in diesem Zustand zwischen
Wachen und Schlafen...

" Wie du mir warst..." flüstern Türen
und Wände seit Jahrhunderten
in stillem Einvernehmen
dazu das Atmen des Holzes
ein- aus -ein- aus.

Der blinde Spiegel tut ein Übriges
und schweigt-
er hat schon zuviel gesehen.

Grünes Gezweig rankt am abgeplatzten
Fensterrahmen
und schlängelt entlang
der verblassten Tapeterie.

Einst blühten hier Rosen
sehr laut und sehr rot
und jeder Strauß weinte still
in seiner rostigen Vase.

Nun liegen Fliegenarmeen- beinoben-
an den matten Scheiben.

Ihr letzter Blick
war sicher ins Grün.

The Power of Wordsa gentle whisper on the wind,
carries across nations,
through homes and across cultures,
a simple play on speech pulling heart strings,
a gentle rhythmic lull in your ear,
even the sweet sound of silence calls to you,
"a pictures worth a thousand words",
yet a single word can tell infinite stories,
end wars,
bridge cultures,
and unite families,
a single word may change the world,
as can the neglect to say it,
a single word but once uttered,
can span the vast flow of time,
and carry on into eternity,
words speak to the soul,
and connect people in remarkable ways

Witch's BrewBubble bubble
toil and trouble
eye of newt
its the witching hour.

Its the witching hour
where the witches
are in a gitty mood
making new potions.

A dash of frog's lips
scale of dragon
wings of a gremlin
stir them all into a cauldron.

Witches just love making potions
they got so many viels on their shelves
you can find all that you seek
at the witch's cottage.

Make your true love fall for you
there's a love potion that'll do the trick
want to be a few inches taller
there's a growth potion to help with that
just be careful not to drink it all
that is if you want to be a giant.

Witches love the time of hour
making their potions with wick

Death's True KissYou fall in love with a ghost
And dream yourself an island
You take me for a home
But cast and torn apart

Fill me up with a whisper
Take me for a friend
Dead or alive
It all comes to end

Those visions I've seen
Oh, so many times
See me in dream
That only comes to life

You've known me before
So know me again
Like the diamond you once been
Light and inflamed

Slice me with silence
Shed tears of mud
Fill me my requiem
Take me for none

Outcast and dethroned
I will still hold my ground
Forbidden and alone
I too will brake down

No matter my saviour
Hold with dead lips
Those words that I whisper
Death's true kiss

With love there you fight m

Living :Conest Entry:To say man is sinful, doesn't seem to quite say it.
Because all that brings to mind is blasphemers, fornicators, God-haters--all of us.
But to say man is dead, is all the more accurate
Because a corpse can't feel sympathy, it can't hear cries for help.
It tastes not, hears not, handles not, it becomes as lifeless as the very idol it worshipped.
No, to say man is sinful doesn't seem to quite say
Because he who identifies as a cadaver can't hope to know who he really is.
That's why my endeavors are heavenly, and my ID is "Living Among the Dead" Because I know Christ gave me life so I could feel your pain even though find it pleasurable,
To se

Who I amWho I Am

&

Who I Want To Be,

are so far away from each other it hurts.

Twerping Birdies

I. not a morning person

Twerping birdies, chorping away at the day
As if I were supposed to be awake
At the crack of noon.

Cheerful construction workers obliterate
The restful silence, encouraged, perhaps,
By the bad example of the twerping birds.

There's plenty of rest for the wicked,
But none at all for me; let the early bird
Gorge itself on wormy guts for all I care.

II. insomnia blues

like unto the gentle, polyphonic susurration of the wind
through the leaves of the sibylline vuvuzela tree,
the evocative, resonant, goldurned whiny two-stroke
of the kargyraa engine of progress that powers
the early morning hunting call
of the ove

vengeance for injusticea mother she cries
cries at the war
now she waits
waits for the call
of the soldiers orders to kick down her door
vengeance she took filled with hate
for her husband and child who couldn't be saved
now she's locked in a cell
she buried her son
they put her through hell
but it's okay the rich man won

cirque de nuitanfangs ein rauschen am nachthimmel
so geschehen vom flattern der wimpel im

halbdunkel und dem klagenden streichton einer
singenden säge.

genommen und versteckt
verloren und gefallen

und ein riss der das zurückkommen
nicht möglich macht.

ein bild unter glas
getrübt - verhangen wie weisses Metall.

( hast du das licht vergessen- hast du?)

die leine baumelt mechanisch
am hilflosen arm.

ein atmen - stockend und menschlich fast
(etwas pocht herzähnlich)

ein raunen geht durch unsichtbare reihen
enttäuschend wie ein sprung ohne boden.

verlierst du dich verlierst du mich auch
und haben wir schon uns beide verlo

The Ugly TruthI'm not a miracle worker,
I'm not superwoman,
I'm a broken, 17 year old girl, who has no idea where shes going in life.

And I'm scared.

One Thing Leads To AnotherOne teachers bitterness
Can lead to this
Student that's struggling in the back row
A snide comment about a test score
And their whole world
Will take a blow

Little did that teacher know
The magnitude that their actions hold
That one comment, look or eye roll
Could tear that kids whole world

That kid leaves class
Without a second glance
At the teacher who was meant to enlighten them
But broke down their confidence
And shattered them

It starts with passing giggles in the hallway
To comments in the next class that their friends made
To their parents questions at the end of the day

To the very next morning that same kid
Is late to class becau

A Friendpeople change at a rapid pace
but i know that until the end
despite the problems we may face
in you i'll always have a friend
there's never been another you
and never will be, on this earth
so i will miss, that much is true
i love you, friend, for all it's worth
when the day comes that we must part
and we reach the end of this life-long endeavor
you'll always remain in my heart
and we'll be intertwined forever
so keep in mind as you go out
to do great things, whatever they be
that i will be here, without a doubt
you'll always have a friend in me

The morrow has dawned, crisp aThe morrow has dawned, crisp and clear,

A new medium on which our lives shall appear

I slept and dreamed of dreams unrecalled

Like faded memories lost in fog

But those faded memories do abound

Yet in your arms my soul is re-found

Washed anew by love's hot touch

Bless my heart, I love you so much.

The Song of the Dead (poetry)"The Song of the Dead"

The sands are falling one by one,
Can you feel them in your head?
Closer and closer the time draws near,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

A plague is due, they said;
Can you hear the song of the dead?
The sand drips faster and thicker than blood,
Don't dwell on it -- rest your head.

They eat time for breakfast,
Rest your head they said.
They'll snatch you up in your sleep,
Can you hear the song of the dead?

Gaping jowls of time,
Fears that julian and shred,
My soul may have left long ago, but
Can you hear the song of the dead?

There's too many of us, they said.
The hourglass is empty, they said.
All in which you

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.2 KB more ▶

More from ~oldest-boy

...of this pagewriters block overstays her welcome
     she's a slow whore,

            the next person
to knock on my door
can have her,

I threw my pen
at the window
startling death
and the possibility
of recognition,

and heard them
      fall
     off the fire-
escape
     into an ocean
     of dry leaves
     and cigarette-
butts,
     limping off
into the night,

marlboro mancigarette in hand,
I smoke like a broken stove,
waiting for cancer

the void that sex fillsit is armor for sleep
in a setting
the lights bow out of,

as if to show respect
for the moments
that belong to the dark,

those seconds,
     brief spaces in time

safe-

behind closed doors
that give no knowing
no passage
to befall four pressed lips:
wind-kissed
and combing skin for stars.

legs tangled
in fleeting white sheets

draped over what once
were dreams
   and will again
        be dreamt

tonight,
the walls
have no say

but bleed
through wall-paper
with a suspended gaze

where
  limbs disavow

but I don't driveriding the elevator
     down,

with the red
and clear
bags of waste,
evidence of
the dead
or hardly living,

as several
women
dressed in blue
stepped on
all smiling
but one,

pretty
young
nurse

who smelled
of soiled linen
and raspberry
chewing gum
before it's
drained of flavor

she stared
helplessly
at the floor
as if she
didn't believe
her designer shoes
were upon it,

or she
could still see
the blood
long washed away,

the smiles
loaded
and unloaded
the flesh
and bone
that carried them

I took notice
  of her hand
    shaking

View Gallery · View Prints

Featured in Groups:

Not currently featured in any groups.

Details

Submitted: September 1, 2008
File Size: 1.2 KB

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 18
Favourites: 7 [who?]
Views: 218 (0 today)
Downloads: 6 (0 today)

[x]

What have i done?

by ~oldest-boy, Sep 1, 2008, 2:34:06 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

Every scar
tells a story.
Torn glory
with NO
Fore warning,
Horrible
memories,
Asleep in
a Ocean
Of my own
Blood.

Abrupt? Sure.
These thoughts
are rough.
"Jumped from
the Frying Pan,"
into a field
of nails, and
I'm stuck.
Perhaps i was
Brainwashed,
Just Enough.

However,
Perfectly Strange,
Vision Blurred,
Fantasies Engaged.
I Vow to ruin
the falseness
You've staged.
Crumbling
every sand castle,
You Arrange.

Rattling the cage,
Heating the
Cold blood,
Within your
still, somehow
Living veins.
Jaw stuck in that
Dropped position.
Could you refrain
from embracing that
permanently
painted reaction
on your Unforgiving Face?

Alive, thanks to
My Imagination.
Corrosive voltage
Slow motion
Notions of "Make it stop!"
I Rattled your cage
For fun,
Days after I had
Picked the locks.

What have i done?by ~oldest-boy

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Urban & Spoken Word

This scar is from........

~cordieb Nov 7, 2008

We are bred to think that the worst disappointments are those with no forewarning . . . But actually all disappointment hurts; whether forwarned or not. In reality forwarning only prolongs misery. I often simply remind myself not to stress for answers--for many times there really are none; as everyone has the right to change their minds. . . . and every thing must also die. . .

The only thing I know in this world that's permanent is change. . .

Great poem . . .

~oldest-boy Nov 8, 2008

thank you.

~oldest-boy Sep 11, 2008

:d thank you.
and this poem has had several interpitations.
i'm curious as to yours.
You can send me a note,
we'll discuss it?

~Jenealia Sep 11, 2008 Writer

I love the imagery and the feeling of the poem... but I can't decide what it's about....

~TheObviousChild Sep 11, 2008

OK I am going to seem like a stalker, but dude, you are freaking awesome. There's such a strong voice in this piece, and so many brilliant lines. I love "jumped from the frying pan into a field of nails and I'm stuck", "crumbling every sand castle you arrange" and "corrosive voltage" ... and the last couple of lines blew me away. You're a slam superstar, methinks!

~oldest-boy Sep 11, 2008

This is the best comment
i've recieved in quite a while...
You don't sound like a stalker
at all, wich is dissapointing.
i always wanted a stalker.

Thank you for the watch,
and the fave,
and most of all this comment.

<3

~wellwornwings Sep 3, 2008

oh now this is quite a stunning piece.

i shall be reading you often.

thanks for your comment on my collab with -youinventedme ("hidden")

xo.

~oldest-boy Sep 3, 2008

thank you.
truelly appreciated.

~CabernetBard Sep 2, 2008

I sure can relate to this, well done

`YouInventedMe Sep 1, 2008 Writer

Could you refrain
from embracing that
permanently
painted reaction

xo!

More from ~oldest-boy

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

What have i done?

What have i done?by ~oldest-boy

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style