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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 13, 2013
Phantoms Of Another Universe by ~Iceotter effectively employs different poetic devices to create a final product that is haunting and strangely resonant, the suggester praises.
Featured by Nichrysalis
Suggested by LadyofGaerdon
Literature Text
Look.
I'll tell it like it was.
black.
cold.
wretched.
Static clung to the air
like ornaments on a Christmas tree
and we were graced with the odd arced lightning.
Oh, it was cold.
so cold.
I remember not seeing,
my fingers frozen off as
feeling receded from them
like waves on a beach.
how could I even be sure
they were.
still.
there?
the forgotten memory of a sunset
lay imprinted on my brain,
and its absence made the night
emptier than ever.
we waited.
we waited for the moon to rise,
for the clouds to shift,
for the e-lec-tri-ci-ty to stop
(like lost travelers stumbling
in the desert waiting for an
oasis mirage to shatter their
re-a-li-ty)
we waited, questioning our existence,
questioning this formation of
carbonnitrogengalaxy,
questioning the light that remained
unseen.
(like questioning "how in the world did
I lose that!" and it turns out you hadn't—
you'd been waving it, flailing it, even,
(incredulously) in your hand)
we waited.
and one year later,
one eternity later,
one immeasurable,
indefinable,
moment later
we lie transfixed
as we
heartsofsteel,
heartastefeel
the bang that starts it all.
And then we are nothing more than
blasted bits
&
forsaken fossils
of ignorant bliss.
I'll tell it like it was.
black.
cold.
wretched.
Static clung to the air
like ornaments on a Christmas tree
and we were graced with the odd arced lightning.
Oh, it was cold.
so cold.
I remember not seeing,
my fingers frozen off as
feeling receded from them
like waves on a beach.
how could I even be sure
they were.
still.
there?
the forgotten memory of a sunset
lay imprinted on my brain,
and its absence made the night
emptier than ever.
we waited.
we waited for the moon to rise,
for the clouds to shift,
for the e-lec-tri-ci-ty to stop
(like lost travelers stumbling
in the desert waiting for an
oasis mirage to shatter their
re-a-li-ty)
we waited, questioning our existence,
questioning this formation of
carbonnitrogengalaxy,
questioning the light that remained
unseen.
(like questioning "how in the world did
I lose that!" and it turns out you hadn't—
you'd been waving it, flailing it, even,
(incredulously) in your hand)
we waited.
and one year later,
one eternity later,
one immeasurable,
indefinable,
moment later
we lie transfixed
as we
heartsofsteel,
heartastefeel
the bang that starts it all.
And then we are nothing more than
blasted bits
&
forsaken fossils
of ignorant bliss.
Literature
the invisible wounds of war
home is so different when you're
standing behind the wall;
i wonder of the people who
live/will live in that house now as i
stand yonder on the neighbor's
yard,
my face illuminated in a yellow
light.
i wonder if they'd listen to my winding
stories; the nights i'd scream
back at my parents as they screamed
at each other -
the tornadoes and storms that ripped
through the back yard, leaving us untouched
but devastating others -
the christmas and easter mornings, good
times and bad, dreams and heartbreak
and so much cigarette smoke staining
the walls and my lungs.
(we were a good american family with
good american values and traditions,
we
Literature
Dreamers
She reminds me that she's a dreamer
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the
Literature
Reflections on the Metro
The population of the Metro car is sparse at eleven in the morning; people talk. The mother with her baby and young son, talking to her friend or sister or cousin sitting down. The young man and woman speaking exuberant Chinese, a language like a song. The group of students in floral dresses and Converse that my mom says look European because of their scarves. They're rapidly spewing French in the way teenagers do, only I've only ever heard it in English. It's comfortable, each of us with our companions, more like a restaurant or a museum.
But at five thirty, at L'Enfant Plaza, when people are going home from work in their button-downs and s
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Imagine. Before our universe, before our time, living beings -- like us, perhaps. Obliterated, but for their ghosts, unable to do anything but watch. Watch our universe begin.
--
Wrote it starting out with a phrase I had stuck in my head...evolved with the theme "beginnings" in mind and then eventually grew into my entry for #theWrittenRevolution "One Year Later" contest.
feedback: does it seem contradictory? is it understandable? too abstract? do you suggest i add/cut some stuff?
--
Wrote it starting out with a phrase I had stuck in my head...evolved with the theme "beginnings" in mind and then eventually grew into my entry for #theWrittenRevolution "One Year Later" contest.
feedback: does it seem contradictory? is it understandable? too abstract? do you suggest i add/cut some stuff?
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