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My GardenThe Garden
Ah my lovely garden that grows in number every day every second
My garden of many colors of reds, yellows, and blue
My garden that grows as I sow the seed into the ground of the world
Waiting till the day that I can finish my in my garden
Roukia Sinname: Roukia Sin
Nickname: the forgoten one
clothes: black samurai kimono
eyes: light grey
Physical: normal healthy woman
powers: poison touch, telelpathy, rest unknown
weapons: samuria sword
Weakness: extreme emotions of others
pet: red colossal monkey
Pet powers: talks for roukia, can sense danger, changes into armor
pet peeves: rude beings
cares: for life
Nickname: light walker
clothes: white monk robes, metal armor under robes
Physical: the perfect human body not to big not to smaill
powers: heals others (not him self), gives energy to others (not to himself) and Aura blast
weapons: sword of light
Weakness: his powers uses almost all of his energy and if he touch anything of evil he falls to his knees
pet peeves: slobs
characteristics: he has a heart of gold
Voices: old english echoey
cares: all human life
Family: his twin brother
Zen Hayashi kimpochi LotulenName Zen Hayashi Kimpochi Lotulen
Nickname hand of death
Eyes it's colored weird, the white spots are black and pupil is yellow and the other eye is blue, An eye patch over scared eye
Clothes: wears all black like the old Victorian style,
Physical: strong, skinny, white, white hair, left eye scared but it's still there,
Power: he does not know he has powers yet to see through anything, see into the future, super: hearing, and see in the dark well with one eye The rest is unknown his arm
Weakness: women, happiness, loud sounds, silver, bright lights, and pure water
Weapons: Ginta the sword, Kyi the shield
Characteristics: left arm is dead looking, pointy ears
Attitude: a little rude, snippy, short tempered about height, never gives up, wants to be strong
Pet: peeves evil poeple
Care: for the lives of his friends and money.
Family Rengeko Lotulen
Eye color: golden stars
Race: English dragon
Nickname: Draco of the stars
Abilities: star fire
Physical: a full chest dragon with a long with tail and two huge beautiful glimmering silver wings and two X scars over his eyes.
Pet peeves: human that pollute the night sky with there lights
Cares: the stars of the night
Family: none know of last of his kind
oddName: Odd Westgård
Eye color: blue
Nickname: twin 1
Hair color: blonde
Clothing: black vest with a button up black shirt, regular black jeans with a Picsicio necklace around his neck
Physical: roman number 13 scar small under his right eye
Pet peeves: when people misunderstand him
Cares: family and friends
Family: Oddny Westgård twin sister a brother a mother and a father all back in Norway
OddnyName: Oddny Westgård
Eye color: blue
Nickname: twin 2
Hair color: blonde
Clothing: blue dress that goes done to her knees Picsicio necklace around her neck
Physical: roman number 14 scar small under her left eye, and as skinny as a twig
Pet peeves: when people make fun of her family
Cares: family and friends
Family: Odd Westgård twin sister a brother a mother and a father all back in Norway
To those who have saved the lives of someone who they have never met.
Hearts as pure as gold,
Souls living with the love of many,
Body heavy with the pain of the loved,
For all of those who need them,
Love for those in the warm embrace
That shall never die
Selfishly not thinking of themselves
Only of others
Giving out a hand
To the those who was have fallen,
Needing no thanks
Just happy to help
Out of the darkness the beacon of light
Lighting the way for hope
When we tear apart at the seams
They are the ones that reignite our dreams,
They make a difference
To those who have none
the cliffThe cliff
Hanging on the edge with no gear in hand,
With everything in mind.
Hanging on the edge with wife and children in mind,
With living friends and family in mind.
Hanging on the edge with dead friends and family in mind,
With the love of many beings,
With the hate of few beings.
Hanging on the edge with life and death.
*Past and Present*One hundred years ago
When summer cast golden glow
Weeping willows, river side
Cast gentle shade, punts could glide.
Mild, quiet summer day
Strawberry smell and smell of hay
Silken dress on a boat
Shaded by parasol, afloat.
Today loud music rocks river
Weeping willows really weep
T/shirt slogans, blue jean rule
Now we’re noisy but very cool.
Hidden TreasureHidden Treasure
Men seek treasure below the sea
They dive far below the waves
They travel far and away
Spending all hours of the day
Searching in mountain caves
I climb mountains just for fun
I sail the seas for pleasure
I spend my time in other ways
I don't need to hunt for my treasure
Because she came to me
GatekeeperDrawn by a single angelic finger
As white as cotton clouds in morn
The flesh a child's in innocence
Where all its grace is well adorned
Veins of blue as bowl above
Where overflown the rain descends
A healing joy hid by that cloth
To ask for time to make amends
Fabric flown in wind through sky
Two halves crack the door
And all is seen in sightless peace
To feel a moment so implored
Expend an energetic wave
The site where there is shown
From inside out exuberate
Touched by one's own
There is a line now held in place
Behind which mirrors shine
Reflect back the present gazes
Who drive to ask before their time
Only be a part of passage
Depression's saving needed
When pouring gifts lie mouldering
And oldest wisdom unheeded
When eyes are rivers in themselves
Come in the loudest spike
And silent yawn the gates awake
To coo the crying souls alike
Imagined paint will always be
The master's tools to colour all
The mind a much creative being
That needs some help after a fall
So come and pierce the
Tracks in DuskGrandeur fall
Where the light reflects
Swayed to awe
As the day injects
With a burning ray
The smallest track
Of the smallest shade
Once her breadth is plain
To a naked claim
From the shed of night
Where the sun aligns
Shown to be
Where no face detracts
All the ink enacts
Left is harsh
Under heatless flame
A single mark
With a single name
World in sharpest phase
To extend the blaze
Save the prints they make
In time they share
But a single fate
Lives they felt
In the safest days
All to know
Has long since escaped
Time will pass
And a history played
By size of acts
And their shadows made...
Vulnerable YouthPaper hearts from bright pink tissue meant for presents,
fanciful butterflies from orange dashed cardboard,
five petaled flowers danced around the sentence
of simplicity, ultimately to discard.
Tender thoughts from censored, guarded minds,
boldly do the simple stubby fingers strive to hide
the gift from Mommy, so that she can't find
the secret depth of the darkest snide.
The gentle pressure of acknowledging gestures
even the meaningless thank you cards
meant to send you on an emotional adventures,
only to be shredded on cynical hearts' shards.
But it is the thought that counts,
those sweet little eyes haven't yet been renounced.
Self-EulogyYour winter’s hammock has a seam of snow
from when your cloud-capped head weaved crystal webs.
Poetic imprints, angels inked in cold
are memories etched in your paper corpse.
You left some things, but words were not your force.
Figuring it out was the breeze. Your folds,
however, soiled your time and what is left,
your ash bed I bought, is a seal of slough.
In dreams, you draw the sewing of slain narwhals
to constellations. I console them. Have
you solved your ode that flails with paradox?
I’ve found your fields of ice, but I was lost.
In summer, you’ve stolen my voice when half
your winter’s hammock is a seal of slough.
The ConductorMy body is an Orchestra,
He is the conductor.
Like a chemist with a formula,
Or architects with a structure.
The brass knocks me off my feet,
as he grabs the strings of my heart.
Throws me in a front row seat,
and takes the stage like Mozart.
Flutes and Clarinets,
Speak soft like warm dreams.
The French horns and Cornet,
Create subtle running streams.
He cues the drum,
However none play.
The hands to numb,
Lack of words to say.
Never once have you seen
Never once have I saw.
When love comes between
The Conductor and his Orchestra.
NeedlesThe meat is cold from bloodless lust
My organs are damaged
Path be taken down range-
-And end with chilling wall
Forest of needle spires climb
My height cannot ask
Deem the stars they point-
-For reverence physical
Destroyed as winter comes
Invested into my stock
I am bought and brought home
With no escape from the lock
Needle sew a coat of iron
Black with the char left by
Remembrance make me a scion
And kindle a soul inside
Lids have shut and no key breaks
I cannot see between blades
Cut the night to ribbons-
-Now banners to losing way
Imposing in my blindness wait
My feet are icy cold
The forward march is death incarnate-
-Though I am numb to catch
A fabric stolen mask and clothe
The boundary pointed shed
Once streamers bleeding dry wove
The semblance of disjointed ends
No try can match the mind at work
For ochre has my pallor drained
This raiment bears a doubting murk
Through glacier impassive face
My asking wanes with setting freeze
The armour frozen bites
A pleading body already w
metaphors for myselfMetaphors for myself
If I were a season, I would be winter
For the darkness that lives in my heart
For the need of warmth I bring to others
For being different like every snowflake of winter
If I were two colors, I would be black and white as they are two sides of a coin
I am two different people from school to home
The white is as bleak and cold as nothingness
Black is as all the color in one of fear
If I were two actions, I would be thinking and watching
For this is all I do
I watch to learn then I think and learn more.
If I were three sounds, they would be the wind through the trees
moving quietly and calming
nothingness for it is what sound my parents hear of me
the sound of the heart for its calm and steady beats.
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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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