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Persephone, To Her Husband.
The rivers all run stagnant here
and cold and dark and deep.
No merry little tinkling streams
to sing me off to sleep.
The fields all lie asleep in here,
where many tears are shed.
Even the grass lies bent in grief
and reverence for the dead.
The shades live on, live on down here
in glory or in shame;
with no one but their fellow dead
with whom to share their fame.
But for all the silent shadows
and all the lifeless air,
I will always cross those rivers
and learn to call them fair.
To your kingdom I bring starlight
in the glowing of my eyes,
and you will always welcome me
as your glory, not your prize.
I'll Tell You Who You Are.I realized too late that I had lost my voice
between the strings of my guitar,
playing for faceless crowds
invisible in stage light and
of cheap beer and cheaper love
saying can't you do any better than
I lost my sight to blinding fever
rising too high to come down
it has to get worse
before it gets better, but it never got
and so we cry for voiceless birds
that fly high
to fall fast
circling frozen earth that buried the last of civilized animals,
and the first of our ancestors
taught to talk
and walk on two legs,
the trained beasts
we slowly became a car crash
broken glass reflecting
(reflecting more broken glass)
the flashing lights
of blue and red
so try again
we'll try again
dites-moi qui vous
et je vous dirai qui vous êtes.
we know who we are but we can't tell
who we love,
a conditional statement deconstructed in its sorry reverse
but at least when the last laugh is over, I can stil
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More