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The Caged Lion of Wonderland/Lost, Lonely ShadowI followed the rabbit through the hole in the ground.
I lost myself there, in the place that I found.
How silly it is, to go looking for what is gone, only to loose what is there!
And I'm left here to wonder, "why did I follow that hare?"
I dined with the hatter, as mad as could be,
Driven to the ends and beyond what the mind can see.
But a truth he did tell, directed at me:
"The you that you are is not the self that will be."
His message imparted,
I bid him farewell and departed.
But the face of a cat stopped me before the night fell.
A cheshire smile of one who knows all, but might never tell.
In dusklight we stood, not saying a word, nor making a sound.
And as day turned to night, he faded away into the background.
One thing he did say,
As he faded away:
"My grin may be wide, but yours will be doubled,
Once you remove your mask of the troubled."
I knew what he meant, but I pushed it away,
The thought was all that kept the light at bay.
And as I recalled the light,
Gazing at the moon
The Wind is Blowing/ The Lion's WakeDream a dream of simple lies,
And weave a web of sly deceit.
Play your part, create your ties,
And pretend you can't be beat.
For in the end, your feeble flame,
Will be oust'd by the roaring wind.
Because the day will come the same,
When you shall pay for all you've sin'd.
Do what you will to best prepare,
Because the waking beast has started.
You can't deny, nor lie, that you're aware:
That you have stirred the Lion-hearted.
And so I stalk and hunt my prey,
I will tear him, like a wind-borne flurry.
The trickster Fox, both old and grey,
Prepare yourself for the Lion's fury!
Project "Ad Infinitum"An individual who shall remain anonymous recently asked me:
"What brought about the existence of the clones who are featured throughout your series?"
Read on, to learn the origins of the DUSC Replicas!
Our tale begins in another plane of existence entirely; in a world called Demoa. In its long history, Demoa has never been at rest from the savage nature of war. Countries rose and fell, sometimes in less than a decade, and the political systems were always in a state of upheaval. Of the multitudinous struggles, one group of people began to distinguish themselves from the rest: "Infusers."
With the ability to command the very elements of nature itself, these warriors quickly became the mainstay of military force. A country with more infusers to back its ranks could turn the tides of war in their favor, no matter the number of their enemy. But there was a problem: infusion was not a common occurrence, and those who knew its secrets often died before they could ever pass on their knowledge
What's InfusionA term I've been throwing around a lot is infusion. But what is it, exactly?
Infusion is the manifestation of one's mental psyche. Similar to chi, or auras, our mental psyche is an ever-present thing that leaves us only in death. Everything that lives is possessed of it. "Mental psyche" is our state-of-mind; our willpower and resolve, if you will. And just as chi and auras may be harnessed by those select few who are sensitive to it, so may one's mental psyche be employed. Among the many different planes of existence that span throughout space, infusion is possible in only a select few, making infusers (those able to harness their mental psyche) all the more rare.
When manifest, one's mental psyche takes on a form based upon an individual's "elemental bond." An elemental bond, as its name suggests, is a particular affinity an individual has for one of the many elements of nature. Someone who likes water, for instance, would probably have an elemental bond with water. This is not always
Secrets Revealed: Project DuskGENESIS ORGANIZATION:
Organization devoted to the scientific study of genetic copies and their uses. Contains many different sub-groups each dealing with different aspects of cloning, or other genetics-related material.
The DUSK CLONING GROUP:
A military division of the Genesis Org. dealing with the mass production of clones, their interactions within groups of "pure-breds" (normal people) and their aplications as potential combat operatives. Also, recently developed methods for producing half-bred semiclones, as well as made new advances on the theory of "gene splicing."
A small-scale cloning project that is being carried out by the Washington branch of the Dusk Group. DNA samples of three individuals were taken and cloned to create five clones of each individual and mark differences between behavior, as well as develop new methods of gene research.
Abnormality Factor XI:
One of the DNA samples used for the production of five clones was submitted by an individual who's a
"TH1RTE3N": Revised 1-4"One story. Three lives. This is
CH.1: Perspective Overview:
Jay heard it, the sound of rain pounding against the window. He turned his head away from his work and looked out of the window. He could see the gray of the sky, looking ominously dark; the clouds were thick; not a single ray of light penetrated them. He got up from his workbench and walked closer to the windowhoping to see a flooded stairway. Sure enough, the ground outside near the steps was soaked and about an inch of water flowing off of them. Its a good day, he said to himself, smirking.
Weekends when it rained were always the best for Jay. April rain during a weekend meant it was time for the annual camping trip. The same each year, after the first storm of April it was time to go camping. It was a curious ritual, but the beauty of a gray sky always enhanced the trip, that is why it had to be raining. Colors seemed more vivid, grass was like a comfortable pillow for the fee
.just try not to
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
gossamer loveyou will love a woman
who uses the word
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,
his ragged clothes soaked
through to his creaky bones.
He grips his beggars cup
tightly, but instead of coins it
overflows with rain water.
Passersby pass by without
giving a second glance, brief
cases clenched in swinging
hands, Bluetooth plugged into
their ears. A little girl dressed
in pink polka dots prances
to his side. Her mouth moves
quickly and his takes time to
form words. She giggles,
drops coins into his cup, and
gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He laughs a crooked grin.
CatatoniaShe scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writing ink into her shadow, there -
melting behind the lidded stupor stare of dreamless minds
it stirs and wakes,
invisible monsters sleeping in her chest
they bare their teeth and bleed
pain naked in the light of morning
ugly and beautiful in the honesty of strangers unable to turn
from a car crash in the dusk.
walking in darkness
searching for touch.
To the one I forget to loveSunshine girl,
your feet are itchy for the miles
between your sighs
and hunger scratches
at your throat
but you have a smile
that swallows oceans
and your heart
into the Marinia Trench.
this heaviness in you
is a dandelion
coming home to rest
Cigarrete Smokesometimes you want to
kill the world inside you,
but you can't
because you're too worried
because you can't see the consequences
because you don't like modifications
because you can't make up
well you're excused,
excused from giving a damn,
for the cigarette lighter
(I'm too tired to stomp out the ashes
and blow the smoke away).
A Daughter Now BegottenIf reason could challenge the knowledge of infinity,
the blindness of justice;
should we not call ourselves Gods...
And Gods are we not, for if justice were truly blind,
it would hold the same fate for rich and poor alike...
Under the celestial heaven that shines above,
the beggar's crying face and the rich man's arrogant gaze...
So of The Creation we are, living in throngs of solitudes....
Each solitude made torturous by the lust for more money,
yet eased by the kindness of strangers and the love of God...
Which power of change is made,
unto glory from a prisoner down trod,
to a man of faith, who helped a dying woman in need till loving eclipse.
A daughter now begotten, of starry eyes and golden sun ray locks...
Cherished by God and adored by both parents,
though mother soon to be with the Creator Almighty,
this daughter grows up knowing the brittleness of mortality...
...As her lips of red rose blossoms,
her heart aches as the mourning moon that hides behind the bosom of clouds...
Broken Glass/The Void Between HeartsWe are possessed of the tools which might guarantee we are never alone, yet we all lament in silence. Our solitude comes when we are at our weakest, while our friends embrace us only when we are at our best. We are all fragile and afraid of being broken like some small porcelain doll. And so we lock ourselves behind glass, that none might ever lay a finger on that most precious possession so central to our lives. It is safe, without pain, but also filled with suffering, because that glass separates us from those we care most for. It is only an act, that we falsely claim to be happy, because behind that glass, there is nothing. Only ourselves and the inevitable darkness and fear that reside in the heart of a hermit. Loneliness is not mitigated with age, it is amplified, so that one day it may drive us mad. And in our frenzied state, we shatter the glass cage we meticulously built around ourselves and run headlong into the world, driven by fear, madness, desire, and the all-powerful real
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More