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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
August 31, 2014
Nervous Movement by joeyws91 dances to finger-snapping rhythm as it questions the significance of individuals in a "sea of billions"
Featured by ShadowedAcolyte
Literature Text
You're a dime a dozen in a sea of billions.
Individuality has no significance in numbers so vast.
And while this fact may make looking forward hard
we can't keep living in the past.
You're a nervous movement in a freeze frame scene.
Steady hands won't help hold up such a fragile act.
And while you take your time keeping character
you fake what you can't take back.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
You're a song I can't name stuck in my head.
I've listened to you before and probably will again.
And while I can hum the melody all day long waiting
for it to hit me I still won't know where you've been.
You're a gust that has never changed direction.
Nothing can touch you you're only felt as you brush skin.
And while you can't be stopped, nothing lasts,
nothing can escape an end not even the wind.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
Individuality has no significance in numbers so vast.
And while this fact may make looking forward hard
we can't keep living in the past.
You're a nervous movement in a freeze frame scene.
Steady hands won't help hold up such a fragile act.
And while you take your time keeping character
you fake what you can't take back.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
You're a song I can't name stuck in my head.
I've listened to you before and probably will again.
And while I can hum the melody all day long waiting
for it to hit me I still won't know where you've been.
You're a gust that has never changed direction.
Nothing can touch you you're only felt as you brush skin.
And while you can't be stopped, nothing lasts,
nothing can escape an end not even the wind.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
Literature
we shouldn't be so afraid of death
i waited for death to wrap his
frail hands around my neck and
feed me to the unknown
but he just took my hand, fingers
laced between my own
and smiled
Literature
They say the one who prays
They say the one who prays receives much more
than whom we pray for, shaping what we want
to what we get. We find a way to pour
the outcomes into candle molds we can't
have fashioned for ourselves. But then we light
the wax and sniff the scent and call us blessed
by blessings in disguise. For what is right
in contexts so complex we cannot test?
For those who say that praying contradicts
free will or undercuts the will to change
injustice, fine. You have no wax, no wicks,
no blessing and no curse, you are the sage.
I pray to sculpt the candle and the mold
and scent with pity earth and heaven's hold.
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