|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Well-worn WingsWell-worn wings are what we wear
To navigate skies of despair;
Breaking ties from what was sworn
Our fledglings fall, their souls reborn.
Well-worn wings are what we need;
Shed and frayed in times of greed.
Like sails upon forgotten masts;
They are reminders of our pasts.
Well-worn wings will travel far
Lets soar away, land on a star!
Lets fight the urge to speed away;
Lets save our flight for another day.
From well-worn wings well take our scars.
Gifts tied with strings, but not labeled as ours.
joeyi want him unpoetic and graceless and impossible, rawboned and alive with the thrum of stubborn, stupid strength, arrogant and cocksure and good, with a roughscuffed heart of gold that longs for home and loves whole and pure and hopeless with a wanting that makes the words all tangle and catch in his throat but flow warm and willing from fingertips that know me better, with a rogue's twistlipped lightning smile and a laugh that rings echoes of the child he wasn't long enough, and eyes always, always burning fire-under-glass: brighter by the weight of the world on his shoulders or my dreams between his lashes, gold whispers blinking slow by dawnlight.
The SongbirdA man once asked me
What do I wish?
Is it boxes, or pudding,
Or death-defying fish?
Is it rainbows a-plenty,
Or cabbage and glue,
Or maybe a toaster
That when it pops would say 'moo'.
But I just shook my head
And I sat for a while.
All of the right words
Were lost by a mile.
I bid him good day
With a melancholy tone,
Then up from the park bench
And back home I did roam.
I tossed and I turned,
Still thinking the words,
When finally at last
They came with the birds.
I searched for the man
That very next day
Then again did he ask me
And at last I could say:
'It's nothing of nature
That I wish for myself,
Not the dogs or the paper,
Or a hundred books on the shelf.
I don't want my children
To grow up without fears,
Without fear is for traitors
Who aren't allowed tears.
If I asked for a fortune
I'd only give it away,
So that wish must be saved
For some sunnier day.
What I want came softly
To my window this morn
On the wings of the birds
Calm as a new born.
So listen, my darling,
As I tell yo
Name CallingGalloping roundabout down the mountain,
Bareback on that stallion you would give
No name because to name something is to
Own it and you never believed in possessions;
But lover, listen, once you called me your
Sun and moon and the ripples in your river.
You gave me many names and when you
Left you couldnt just take them away.
You were more cut-throat than Id imagined;
But listen, gunslinger, I'm not dead yet.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More