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Hawke the brokenShe's given up, she's given in.
She tried to fly, and lost her wings.
Snow white hair and moonlit eyes.
With every smile, inside she dies.
She forgets the wind, forgets the sky.
The once free Hawke, forgets to fly.
My reflections fatherIt's hard to believe that my reflection
And her father...
That her father raised her.
My reflection loves her father.
Truly she does.
But he make her so mad!
She can't see what traits they share
That make her his kin.
He says he knows suffering.
He say he knows her.
But he still thinks only of himself.
He calls her foolish
For daring to dream.
He throws guilt on others.
To cover his own.
The only reason she haven't left;
Is because my reflection has a Mother.
Who somehow fell in love
With my reflections father.
Fell in love with her.
My reflection has two siblings.
She loves them
Even though they fight.
And once she stood up to her father.
She was yelled at
My reflection is afraid
Of her father.
But I will tell you a secret.
My reflection and I
Share more than appearances.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
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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