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HallelujahI give praise to a guy,
who lives up in the sky.
He's a great mentor and helper,
for He knows all there is to know.
And all that I can do
is carry on and sing;
sing praises about His glory.
He is and He was,
and his presence is holy.
I love Him, for He loved me first.
He's been there for me
and He always will.
He is a loving God
The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
And what better way
can there be to praise him?
Other than proclaiming,
Unconditional is a fact
it's an absolute value and existence;
unlike high school mathematics
Example: x-value doesn't equal fifty six.
Unconditional is a truth
and it doesn't need you to be
fake, slick or smooth.
Unconditional isn't filled with deceit.
In fact, it's more like a white light;
a shimmering, astonishing, bright sight.
Unconditional feels so warm;
and it's as calm as
the eye of the storm.
And most or best of all,
unconditional is love
and love is unconditional.
HateElectricity runs all around
in and outside of my body;
anger is building up
with in the depths of my soul,
while making the most
unrecognizable and delirious sound.
It burns with a fiery passion
growing wider and as vast as
an Batman's empty mansion.
Although it's a great burden
and hurts like a raw,new open cut;
to shoulder it and satisfy
the feelings that are within,
it's almost worth the price
to make them suffer for their sins.
Stand UpStand up!
all you who feel oppressed.
Break out of your cell
and make a name for yourself.
all you who feel weak of heart.
Divulge into new interests
and make it your art.
all you who feel broken.
Clean up the mess and rebuild,
in order to forge a new shield.
all you who feel lonely.
Dismiss all feelings of dismay
so you can go out and seize the day.
Or will you continue to stay down
and be treated like a clown?
so you may live with no regrets
so that people may confess
all your glory and success.
FailureThe feeling of failure
hurts us deep inside.
Because no matter
how hard you try
you can't possibly hide.
Failure is a label,
a word, and also a feeling
that's hard to shake off.
But what do we do
about it though?
Do we give up and not try?
Or say, "Damn it, I wanna die!"
Stop feeling so down
and pick yourself up.
If being a failure is so hurtful,
then you might aw well get up
and fight the opposition.
The Queen In the SkyThere is a queen, who lives up high.
A queen that lives, up in the sky.
She graces me with her presence,
and her very sight has no comparison,
in contrast to earthly presents.
The queen's arrival can be seen at night.
You can tell when, by her heavenly light.
But at one point or another,
even beautiful things must come to an end.
But I shall see her on another night,
the beautiful sight, of the moon in the sky.
I watch the raindrops
hit against the window softly,
as I try to reminisce about
a better and happier memory.
But I know that it'll never happen
at any place place or time.
I walk in a drunken manner
all around an empty manor.
And all that I can see
are empty hopes and dreams
that never worked out.
So all I can do for now,
is try and get some sleep.
'Cause maybe in the morning,
I'll have a new hope.
A New Day
by Sniper Q
The sun up high,
in that blue, blue sky
we get up daily.
The fluttering butterflies,
see past through the lies
and bring us a surprise
of a new-found hope.
Everyone and everything
that we've ever encountered
can understand how and why.
And we wake up daily,
to a new day
towards a new life.
And because we are who we are,
we'll just continue to SMILE.
They say that revenge is,
a dish best served cold.
But does that mean
to simply act as I've been told?
For I'd rather become
masqueraded from those,
that I am enacting my
bloody vengeance upon.
And after it is done,
I'll continue to carry on,
so I can live my life,
the way that I want to.
But just remember that
revenge is a curse,
'Cause there'll always be
someone that'll want you
to end up in a hearse.
Shel SilversteinI might have been friends with Henry Moore
I visited near his studio and garden once
We might have had tea
I could have helped Ziolkowski with his Crazy Horse
All I needed to do was show up in the Black Hills
All I needed to do was put my hand out
Just be human, be honest
We three, Moore, Ziolkowski and I would have been buds
Talking about women and monumental sculpture
The Dalai Lama might want to be a pal of mine
The Buddha would smile on us
We could sit out in front of Five Brothers
And drink Cuban coffee and laugh
His Holiness loves to laugh
But Shel, this presumption…
This one-sided dialogue…
It has been in my head since you died
We didn’t meet, but I am sure we would be friends
You and I would talk about pirates and politics
We would dis the local royalty and cuss
You would be shoeless and grinning
I would be happy you were my friend
The Dance.You and I dance as life and death,
unbroken and ever going,
circling and never ending.
As the music dies,
and the song stops,
where our dance is paused.
My sight goes gray,
the light in my eyes dims,
and I fall down forever back.
Your face is the last thing,
I saw and remembered so I take great comfort,
that you're forever there before me as I fall down.
So the music revives,
and the song restarts,
where our dance is unpaused.
The music is all around us and surround us,
like the lives we make and take,
and the dance is going faster to bring life and disaster.
Passage to the Catacombs of TimeWhen day becomes empty
In the dusk,
When time without pictures begins,
Lonesome voices combine –
Animals are nothing more than hunters
Or being hunted –
Flowers are only fragrance –
When everything becomes nameless like in the beginning –
You will go down to the catacombs of time
That will open to those
Whose end is near –
There where the heart seeds grow –
Deep into dark contemplation
You will sink –
Already passing death
That is only a windy passage –
And freezing from the exit
You will open your eyes
In which already a new star
Has left its reflection.
RevolutionChains and chains of hopeless bind the system together
No one feeling like they can change the world
No one feeling like our very existence is just vanity
No one feeling like there is anything to live for
Millions and millions of confusion in the air tonight
Fills the blue skies and enters into our hearts
Confusion and vanity is what the world runs by
Be this, do that, give this, believe that; all I can do now is raise my fist in the sky
As I raise my fist high in the sky, I shout a battle cry of life
There is only one voice that still stands out through the generations
I shout a battle cry with my fist in the sky; words that brings the world to life
Words that brings light back into the hearts of people from young to old
Revolution; time to end the misery
Revolution; time to show the world the true meaning of life
Revolution; time to show the world that true love exists beyond our understanding
Revolution; time to cry out into the heavens for love to come down
Revolution; time to rise
The Memory of a Dead Man Walking
Suchlike the will of brimstone beasts,
Is the will of a dead man walking,
In each step is left the prints of carelessness.
Holding the half empty glass with a crack in the side,
stumbling around the dunes in the long wait to become
a savage before the credits roll.
A happy ending was for another tale for another man way
off back in the mirage of the desert that harbors those
dunes as he lies six feet under with a smile by rigor
mortis and a silent song in the beatless heart, there
beneath a tombstone that read,
here lies a memory.
Come Hell or high Heaven, the dead man walking
walks on without a goal or care for the world,
a bottle of dried up whiskey hanging loosely
in hand, gathering sand from the winds of that
coming storm. Illusive would have been his
laughter to sober eyes in that wasteland.
The Memory looks on as a shade beyond the grave,
staring straight at a man of woe, watching those
apathetic trails disappear. The glass fell into
the bosom of those lands beyond greener pastur
baby stepsit was probably
celsius met fahrenheit
in a sloppy french kiss on frozen ground.
after all the walking,
the skin of my hands started to crack and bleed;
silence, i decided,
was the solution and the cure. i dipped
my hands into its glowing broth:
warmth suffused my body struggling
to sit still.
on marched the sun,
You're just a puppetI am everything,
I am nothing.
I am everywhere,
I am invisible.
I'm in your head and won't let go.
You beg for my approval,
I am light,
but you will never see me.
But you will never know me.
You don't know yourself.
You are lost.
You know what i allow you to know.
You're just a puppet, who thinks he's alive
You're just a puppet.
Message to Gaia.Time have passed above my head
I remember when from my diary I read,
I used to look into your eye."
My dear, is the only thing
That still keeps me alive.
Can you recall
Which we call our own,
Where you and I
Used to hide
To become one with All?
I still cry them back
When I stargaze and look above,
When I hug your precious love,
When you give me companions
To forget the sadness of a lonely heart.
I amI am a merchant
and she is the sun.
Something so far
yet radiates the gold
that I long to feel.
I am a Knight
and she is the war.
The impending doom
of nautical decisions
that only death can incur.
I am a God
and she is the oblivion.
A desire for power
that only it holds
just to feed the greed.
I am the forever nothing
and she is the truth of life.
That I will never get to breathe
under the circumstances
of a love never getting.
When you die,
how do you want to
reach that destination?
Will you arrive there
having served your purpose,
for some kind of awesome cause?
Will you go down in history with shining
honor and glory?
Or will you end it,
halfway through your story?
Will you spend your time,
serving and dying for your country?
Or frowned upon while you're dead,
because you created chaos for it instead?
The way I want to die
is by doing something worthwhile.
And that little something
is serving as Jesus Christ's child.
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More