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Love is a PhoenixI have seen nothing more tragic,
Than watching love die.
Enduring it’s painfully fade,
At stubbornly clings to life

The slow death of a love,
That’s filled with years of life.
Or the sudden snap,
As it blinks away in a lover’s eye.

It doesn’t go easy,
And it doesn’t go fast.
It goes out fighting,
Because love was made to last.

It is a brilliant flame,
Drowned in water.
It clings to the air,
With all its dying embers.

Yes, I have seen no sadder sight,
Than watching love as it dies.
But I have been blessed to gazed upon no otherworldly scene,
Than watching love be born again, anew and free.

The Devil's WayMake a bargain, sell your soul.
Condemn it to the deepest hole
That ever came of fact or thought.
For such a price ought can be bought.
Just sign right here. This dotted line.
Cut the last ethereal twine
That ties your body and your mind.
Don't you wonder what you'll find?
Be free of all your earthly toil
And later you will surely boil
In tar as deep and thick as night
From which escapes no saving light.
So what's your choice? It's time to choose.
What will you gain? What will you lose?
Sign right here and you can say
"I lived my life the Devil's way".

Ocean's CallRays of the morning Sun tear the veil of mist
Ships slumber by the shores, waiting to be awoken
Ocean whispers while they slumber of her beauty unspoken
The wooden bodies by her waves are longfully kissed
The beacon closed her fiery eye, the Sun laid her to sleep
But the slumber of the ships will soon and slowly break
When the ships have spread their sails, then they'll be awake
Not because of the chiming bells, but by the Ocean's weep
And the arms of safe lands will not embrace them anymore
When they hearken Ocean's calls and her secrets hidden
One by one, they will leave their safest home - the shore
But perils lurk in dulcet calls of the Ocean so enchanting
Nevertheless, the ships will leave, for freedom is not forbidden
They shall sail forevermore, mesmerized by the eternal chanting

The broken cupThe broken cup does not signify much,
Other than I dropped it
and I ought to clean it up.

It is not an allegory
for my last relationship;
Just a gift from a friend
From which I liked to sip-

And there's coffee on the floor,
In the carpet, down my dress.
Does it have to be a metaphor
For me to be distressed?

Why can't we just drop
A damned cup of damned coffee,
Without it being a brooding realisation
Or a life-epiphany?

HeartHello, you’re new, shall I show you around?
You will feel at home here, I assure you,
You know this place, it is a sacred ground,
It may look cluttered but there’s room for two.

You will notice that there are just four rooms,
It seems ‘small’, but I choose to use ‘cosy’,
Left is cold, right is warm, by both life blooms,
Your bed is central, should you feel dozy.

You could stay forever, if it’s your will,
And I would like you to stay with me, please?
For now you are here to leave is to kill,
Keep my beating and fleeting heart at ease.

My Muse Has Left MeWhen she departs from my grace,
My palette dries in her wake,
Devoid of livelihood for now,
With dull words to fill my tray,
For now I paint a portrait,
With gray,

With no wings of my own,
I am yet to be grown,
For she alone floats me high,
She alone carries the brush;
Strokes colours unto the night,
Filling the empty artist with,
Her sweet kiss of silvery light.

So I lay now in wait,
Under rainbows left gray,
To taste the honey of her life,
Dripping like nectar from rose-soft lips,
Pressed tight as a clamp unto mine,
Breathing into me a laced love letter,
Sighed: To the artist; From: The divine.

Can't believe I couldI can't believe I could fall for you,
but I can't get rid of an impression,
you would understand meanders of my soul,
and take me safely home.

I can't believe I could think of you,
and I can't accept I could like your view,
but when it comes to the truth - I do,
and this complication is incredibly new.

A breakthrough giving rise to an new age,
before I fall offstage.

Gothic CreativityGoth Creativity is a very dark, amusing thing to have,
But you criticizing, using horrid language, makes my heart halve,
You see, Goth Creativity isn't always death, suicide, or depression,
It's almost always about love, romance, and the use of nonaggression,
But I apologize, we may not be friends, for you are stereotypical,
I already knew that, but ignored, that, of me, is typical,
You're probably contemplating, on what you will do next without me,
I do not care, now without you in my life, my creativity has been set free,
Looks like you are alone, now, and wish to have never done the deed,
So now, you just watch your wrists bleed,
Now look

The measure of the lost memoryAge is but a fraction,
But a story not yet told,
But a sentimental value,
But something we cannot hold.

Age impedes our victories,
Age stands in our way,
The young remain incapable,
And the old will seldom stay.

Age is not a birthday,
Not a frame of time from birth to death,
Not a number that can be ever told,
Not a number told on dying breath.

Age can not be measured,
For none can seem to find,
That age refers to the memory,
Of the thing within your mind.

And whence you forget what your mind holds,
The age is lost as well to the abyss,
And the hourglass drains the last grain of sand,
And the pure void, ensures pure bliss.

ArtistWhat skill with your hand you do lightly draw,
connecting lines to form dazzling dreams,
without being able to make a flaw.

Sparks fly in your magic, persistant eyes,
creating a new world in your image,
with confidence that reaches new highs.

Your efforts always seem unrewarded,
the public turning a cold, blind eye,
with nothing to keep your ego fed.

But what dif'rent message is seen in scribes?
Nothing but a meaningless textbook here.
A school's reading has no creative vibes.

A generation that does not read out,
only wants to see words in the pictures,
though there are those who read Poe's works about.

Though literature can on

Hadal OblivionFrom vastest depths of the forgetfulness,
The wail of the banished memories
Resounds, bouncing off invisible walls of nothingness,
And their painful intensity – sonance, greatly varies.
Oh, millions of darkest memories cast out
To oblivion, gently caressing them and yet...
They are starving; on the edge of life; bleeding out.
Although kept alive in emanation of agony, grief and hate.

Many want to banish those shards
of their lives. In the end - banishing themselves.

Stripped of those shards of glass, containing memories,
We are nothing – especially not humans. Without identity,
We may find ourselves lost in the overwhelming wor

Sexual AwakeningMy heart kept pumping
But it drowned in its blood
Waiting for someone
To save it from its flood

Yeah, I did that once
Now my patience is dead
I waited and waited
As my heart just bled

Now my patience is dead!

Now I paint the town red
With that sexy new paintbrush
I just met instead
To rephrase what I said
I paint it in my head
When I picture the masterpiece
We can create in my bed

I’m awaken by perfect chaos
Of tranquil vividness
I believe that this is the outcome
Of my restlessness
In silent chaos I’ll hunt down
The prey of exquisiteness

I’ll lure them in
As I prepare to entrap
Then go for the kill
And begin

Just scaredYour words were scaring me,
What can i say?
Whatever it is, is nothing to stay,
Let me walk for that i shall,
I wont ever even be found.

The Imperfect LineWritten by Josiah Shockency (JCS)

Life is an imperfect line,
We all have ups and downs,
Positives and negatives,
And even smiles and frowns…

It’s a pleasure to be born,
And your life’s a treasure,
But there are stains that won’t budge,
While having all pleasure…

ANGER! DEPRESSION! SADNESS!

Life, what is life anyway?
With all this love and hate,
Mixed together into one,
A huge stain on your plate…

JEALOUSY! STRESS FROM MADNESS!

With bullies in life of school,
Mugs and thugs in cold streets,
With enemies that lurk on,
Seeking for one’s defeats,

FEELING IGNORED! LOSING HOPE!

Bills to pay, mone

A Pretty Little Box For YouI ~hehe~ have a little box
I think it's about the right height
To fit little you inside
And shut you in there tight
So when you feel you're ready
I'll be waiting ~hehe~ in my place
To make you a box so pretty
I'll make it frame your little face
It would be so fun to measure you
But little one do not fear ~hehe~
What a sad thing it would be
Should laughter disappear
~Hehe~ I will tell you anything
There's many things that I know
All I ask in return ~hehehehe~
Is to make me laugh, you know
It's the greatest gift, it is
In the whole entire world
Laughter's the best medicine
I am ~hehe~ sure you've heard
But when your laughter decides to cease
I have this box for you
And ~hehe~ If you really want
I'll ~hehehehe~ make you two
i can't imagine this world
Without smiles, laughter, cheer
What a sad thing it would be ~hehe~
Should laughter disappear....
~Hehehehehehehe~

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TraumkindInsgeheim schleich ich mich
durch Regen und Licht
verberg mich in weltfremden Räumen
Ich träume bei Tag
Ich schlafe bei Nacht
So werd ich mein Leben versäumen.

Wilder MohnIch bin woanders
bin doch da
Ich bin mir fremd
und doch ganz nah
Ich bin erwachsen
winzig klein
Bin kalte Nacht
bin Sonnenschein
bleiche Haut
und heiße Wut
geduckt vor Angst
und voller Mut
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renn davon
zarte Rose
wilder Mohn

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Naturgedichte

by ~maradeux, Oct 19, 2012, 12:57:38 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

In jedem Herbst gilt wieder die Marotte,
dass jedermann ein Herbstgedicht sich bau.
Der Zuckmayer erwähnte schon im Spotte
"der reinen Wolken unverhofftes Blau".

Auch dass die Blätter, die vom Baume fallen,
die Farben wechseln, gilt es zu erwähnen,
dass Sturm und Regen auf uns niederprallen
und sich die Menschen nach dem Frühling sehnen.

Naturgedichte sind so alte Hüte
und dennoch - jedes Jahr zur selben Zeit -
erleben sie in Reimform ihre Blüte.

Ich bin dieses Naturgesülzes müde
und werd in dieser Angelegenheit
nun - ebenfalls in Reimform - einmal rüde!

75

3 5 2

Naturgedichteby ~maradeux

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Zitat "der reinen Wolken unverhofftes Blau" in der ersten Strophe aus Carl Zuckmayer: Der Hauptmann von Köpenick. III. Akt, 16. Szene, der damit seinerseits aus dem Gedicht "Komm in den totgesagten Park" von Stefan George zitierte.

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Submitted on: October 19, 2012
File Size: 734 bytes

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~Hygroskopika May 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Ich stimme dir zwar nicht so ganz zu, da ich Naturgedichte mag (außer, sie sind extrem langweilig, aber das kann auch bei anderen Gedichten passieren)... toll geschrieben finde ich dein Gedicht trotzdem

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~maradeux May 16, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Dankeschön.

Ich mag gut geschriebene Naturgedichte sehr gern - habe auch selbst schon so etwas geschrieben. Aber wenn man in Literaturforen unterwegs ist... April - Frühlingsgedichte, Sommer - Strandimpressionen, Oktober - fallende Blätter, Dezember - überall Weihnachten. Nun ja, es ist zuweilen sehr ermüdend (und schwer, da noch die Geduld zu bewahren, die Rosinen herauszupicken

)

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~Hygroskopika May 16, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

So unterschreibe ich das

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=Wortakrobatin Oct 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

hat mich amüsiert

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~maradeux Oct 27, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Danke dir.

Auch für dein

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