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I grew up in Smalltown, USA,
The middle of the tri-state rush,
New York always looming
Just across the water.
Many friends, they came and went,
A piece of my heart with each.
I guess, deep down, we knew
What was all around us,
What foul creatures loomed
In the shadows around the corner.
We walked in groups and laughed
Regardless of these evils,
Because growing up in Smalltown, USA,
We didn't have much of a choice.
We were kids then,
And by all rights of the word,
We are still kids now.
We grew up making jokes
About the carjack capital
And the drugs on the street.
We all took our turns
Hiding from those cops,
Hiding from the criminals,
And hiding from each other.
It was all a game then,
Back in Smalltown, USA.
In each face there was something more
Than what our backgrounds held,
Something more than race and religion,
Something more than all of us.
We didn't care who you were,
Or who you wished to be,
Because at the moment,
The kids we were,
We lived only for today.
I guess inside I knew
Tomorrow Will ComeTomorrow will come, I know this.
How, and when, and how fast...
I don't know.
But tomorrow will come.
Maybe tomorrow will hold more rage than today,
And maybe it won't... but I don't know.
Maybe deep down inside
I really don't care either.
But sometimes the rage is like a silk rope
Tied into a tight noose around my neck.
I can't loosen it,
I can't move my arms,
And my legs dangle freely from the ground.
But I keep on livin',
I keep on going,
And tomorrow keeps on comin'.
Yesterday might be in the past,
But it will forever be in tomorrow.
Will always follow me,
Will always be where I go,
Will always be everywhere.
Tomorrow might hold some more promise than today,
It should hold some more promise than yesterday.
Everyday comes, and everyday goes,
Everyday passed and I keep on breathin'.
There's no end...
A hundred more years of the same thing,
Over and over and over.
More things I think are ridiculous,
More things I think are crazy.
But I keep on livin' through
My Mother's Garden
Roses have lined everything
Since the day I was born.
Earliest memories... color.
Every since I can remember
My mother has had that garden.
Every year the things there change
But she has always had those roses.
Every shape and every size,
Every color you can think.
Never do I recall a time
When her roses did not bloom.
I remember my dog out in the yard,
A tradition she did start;
For every summer she chose a rose
To cut her little nose upon.
And when we moved some states away
It was the same type of rose
That hit the scar for fifteen years
She proudly opened anew.
And when she died we didn't stop,
On her grave went another rose,
My mother she always chose best
And planted a Mister Lincoln
To honor the oldest scar.
The gardens have been big and small,
Sometimes with vegetables, herbs, and fruits,
Others just flowers galore.
I remember the veggie garden
We planted together, I was only four.
We grew veggies for my pets,
And grew them well we did.
Then one day, among the vines
A yellow squ
The Ever Changing Book of LifeThe shelves are heavy with volumes
I have yet to read, but desire to,
And the time to read them is but fleeting.
They wait for me so patient and silent
Holding desires of their own to be held
And loved, looked at with want and pseudo-lust.
Spending my days lost in the world I shaped
And in the environment not really meant for me,
I somehow forgot to create myself, to mold me.
I have become what I have seen and was told to,
And I have lived a life that desired to pleasure
All the souls that came into my little box.
Those volumes there became an escape to a world
That was also not created for me, but so inviting;
They took hold of my heart and pulled me inside.
And I know, looking at those spines, bent and wrinkled,
And the spines still fresh and new, almost off the press,
That my escape comes on the boat made of newsprint.
But those volumes are my false friends, for it is they
Who have turned on me and made me forget,
And the lost memory made me forget who I really am.
I entered their w
Celestial InsightI close my eyes and see the sun,
Open them to see the moon.
Days and nights bleed together
As a celestial wedding night begins.
Walking streets I wish I knew
And meeting faces only seen in dreams,
I think long and hard on days past
And dreams lived during times
When new dreams were being made.
Your words cut like a knife,
Deep and continuous, always.
But sometime in the now,
Leaving behind the past,
I stopped feeling the pain.
It became like the beating of a heart;
It is always there, and keeps me moving,
Probably gives me a purpose to live.
But I don't hear it or feel,
At least not consciously.
So I close my eyes to see the sun,
Only to open them again to the moon.
Your words and thoughts like wisps of wind
Blowing through already barren trees.
SandSomewhere near the line you've drawn
I step my foot into the softest sand.
Eyes drawn down, mind wide open,
I step forward onto new ground.
Where will you be taking me today?
And how will I ever get back?
Maybe these are not the questions...
For maybe neither one really matters.
In the end I may not return,
I may desire the soft sand
To the hard cement world
And the hot, flesh melting asphalt.
Maybe here my mind will wander
And give birth to images I never...
Would never have considered before,
Nor would have thought up in dreams.
All I ask of you, my leader,
Is to take my hand and guide me.
Guide me where you feel it is
That I am now due to go.
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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