|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Two PoetsWriting a poem
with TWO people
and nothing fits.
This NightRescue me, my knight, this night
Rescue me from my heart of sin
On your snow white steed come forth this night
Rescue me from this hell I'm in
Through the window, my knight, this night
Through the window you come to me
Stealthily come in the dark, this night
Through the window to set me free
Into your arms, my knight, this night
Into your arms; I'm safe, I'm sound
Kiss my lips and hold me this night
Into your arms; here I am found
I open my eyes: no knight, not night
I open my eyes to the light of day
My eyes are opened, but my heart is closed
I open my eyes and keep the dream at bay
Waiting for my knight, this night
Waiting for the sun of day to part
With shining armor, dulled with the night
Waiting for he who holds my heart
Together, AloneIs there such a thing
it used to be wonderful,
like a song in the night,
existing only in my mind.
There was a pulsing,
a live wire surging between us.
Call the power agency;
the electricity's out.
But the bills haven't been paid;
they're lying on the counter,
and I can't bring myself to care.
Me in the bed,
and you on the couch.
one rent to be paid,
one coffee machine,
and one television screen.
But there are two hearts tonight,
two broken hearts.
A Match Made in HeavenShe was so wrong for him, she thought,
she couldn't get it right.
She looked into the mirror,
and she shuddered at the sight.
It's not that she wasn't pretty,
that her looks weren't up to par
Only that her heart was broken,
and her eyes like lifeless stars
Every time she saw him
he told her she was wrong
He said that she was beautiful,
that her words were like a song.
He told her all she meant to him,
he told her without regret
But her doubt in him grew bigger;
she didn't believe him yet
She looked into the mirror,
and thought of all her flaws
In terms of beauty and perfection,
she was breaking all the laws
Her boyfriend was the perfect one,
a gentleman through and through
Who held her door wide open
and meant every 'I love you'
She, however, was ugly,
because of those memories inside
The past which came back to haunt her
forcing her to run and hide
She couldn't be perfect for him,
what she could give him had been taken away
And though his arms were open to her
she thought that she cou
Give a Dead Man CoffeeShe wakes up in the morning three hours before the dawn
Hurries downstairs with just her night clothes on
Rubs the sleep from her eyes
to give a dead man coffee
Jumps in her car without fastening her seatbelt
Drives down the highway thirty over the limit
Got to go real fast
to give a dead man coffee
Then she spends some time digging up a grave
and wishes for the flowers that his family never gave
Sweat, tears, and blood
to give a dead man coffee
Her grandpa always told her coffee was his life
He said he loved the stuff, slightly less than his wife
He said it would always wake him up
so she gave a dead man coffee
She's just sorry
get it to him
She's sorry that this time,
enough to wake
I'm sorry, Grandpa.
I hope there's plenty
Es Dificil Para Ti ComprenderYo quiero más de lo que tú puedes darme.
Yo quiero más de lo que tú tienes.
No se bastante sobre la vida y el mundo
para decirte de mis emociones
y como yo te quiero,
pero no soy quien tú necesitas.
Will You Pick up the Pieces?The only way
I'll let you
is if I'm sure that
whenever you break my heart,
you'll be the one
who picks up the
Innocence Will Be LostWhen I was a little girl, I loved everybody in the world. And everybody loved me, too. Because I smiled wide, as children do. But I got older and I learned that as time goes by, the tables turn. I walked downstairs and saw the news. The tears and blood made me confused. My eyes then focused and on the screen was a girl my age just trying to scream. The reporter said that she'd be fine, but the word 'raped' was still going through my mind.
And from then on I knew that goodness
was scarce and hard to find
And I knew that hate and cruelty
Lived in the heart of all mankind
I grew up scared and bitter
I let other people be
I could never show yself
I couldn't just be me
And then you walked into my life
Your smile made me start
Your eyes were soft and genuine
And I quickly lost my heart
You told me you'd take care of it
And I believed you, too
And though I used to be so scared
I put my trust in you
The first time that you dropped my heart
You swore you didn't mean to
And if in my life you pla
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.
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spires
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
Poem for My 2nd Semester English Teacher(Short v.)You stapled these words to the page.
Like a modern day tyrant,
You denied them the little humanity
You trapped their souls into
And threw them to the curb,
I understand that certain things
Should be left Inhuman
But we even give hurricanes names.
You taught us to separate the person from the art,
But if the art is about that person, you can’t pull them apart
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."
FlamesThere are flames where
his head should be -
a poem left in the fireplace,
a dressing gown, a pipe,
forty pieces of silver.
This man promised you a winter
so warm and bountiful
spring would be ashamed.
He called you by name -
not the one that father knew
shoved under his bible.
But the one left behind
in the branches,
in the bucket of brambles,
and the columbines
buried at your feet.
Stones on the battlefield,
surrender in the grass.
What did his face
even look like behind the curtain,
counting those coins
and loosening the damp earth
from your shoes?
a love poemlike a dictionary ripe
with salted, sun spotted
words that emanate power
and splendor, i am unable
to describe you.
FriendshipFriendship is a tapestry
Woven through the years
With threads of joy and laughter
Happiness and tears
It's a work of art so priceless
It's shared by a precious few
Yet so easily created
By a loving friend like you
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only one
to walk like there are
who looks both ways
before crossing the road
"knew a girl who";
you are alive
and you will experience
hurt, and you will
be so thankful
for every painful breath you take
because it's better than when
everything goes quiet
and all you feel is exhaustion.
there is more than just
one cold snap
before you enter
the winter of your life.
there are spells
of sadness and rage,
hate and denial
of all that you know
and all that you deserve;
and you are not the only one
to fight for everyday you are here,
alive and breathing
and striving to thrive
on such an unforgiving planet,
in such a world
that births emotional deserts
in its people;
you are not the only one
five.Five is the number of times you worry he’s stopped breathing, as the surgeons carve around his heart, twisting away the plaque ridden arteries, and pulling a vein out of his leg. Five is the number of heart wrenching hours you and your family were waiting in the hospital room, worried that your lives would crumble, that there would be five members of the family instead of six, that five days out of the week he would not come home for dinner, that five kisses from him would no longer be given to his wife and four children. Five was the amount of fingernails you bit off while watching people enter and exit the waiting room, and the amount of minutes your mother spent on the phone, explaining that something was wrong. Five is the critical difference between holding a father’s hand as your mother cries into his heart shaped pillow. The difference between rejoicing and smiling weakly because he’s okay or carrying your father’s American-flag-covered-casket and watchin
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More