| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
Edges EdgesEdges by ~tsaranger
Bouncing around the edges of life
I glance around at the formations
Of other edges made by others
Whether blunt or sharp are all edges.
The sharp edges, enemies, deaths,
The blunt edges, pockets of serenity
Those peculiar shaped ones formed
By parties in history are all different.
All different as are our paths
Among them maybe loving the
Soft bunt of a quiet night or
Wishing for a spike of surprise.
But as we bounce we must all
Move on never staying impaled
On what we think might be the
Sharpest edge.
Moving around life,
Bumping into corners and others
Wishing we were elsewhere
Or in harmony with our own.
Thoughts From Solitude Thoughts from SolitudeThoughts From Solitude by ~tsaranger
A blank cartoon bubble becomes filled
with yellow polka dotted zebras.
Life. The second song,
like a red flannel shirt: best when worn.
The smell of fresh cut grass after
listening to the thud of rain against the cabin roof.
Such idea clashes with that of a lonely tree;
completely in solitude from the surrounding field.
All of these ideas become earthy feelings.
Earthy feelings that dance to the background music.
Make your own music. Lean your face
on your fist and imagine.
Watch the pine tree grow.
Eons of ions can be expressed in one notion.
One notion can be slowed by a sign.
The sign is yello
Oblivion OblivionOblivion by ~tsaranger
It's not just the solitude.
Perhaps it's the silence of the crickets
or the punching bag that spills its beans.
No. It's the quietness of the bubbling brook.
It is, after all, supposed to be bubbling.
The disappearing locked door won't open.
I guess I'll just have to wait for it to disappear to walk through.
A furry rat runs through a hall.
A burly, fat cat chases it up the stairs.
But there are no stairs. They too, have disappeared.
The reminiscence of his life is too short.
He had his 15 minutes of fame.
There is no more to tell about his life.
It is a torn comic strip at the back of the hefty comic book.
The m
Sta.sh
--
--
That bag of money was like a baby to me. Except it was made of gold instead of useless baby meat.
- Sabre
--
"I've never had a humble opinion. If you've got an opinion, why be humble about it?"
- Joan Baez
Now that all the pleasantries are outta the way, if you have any probs or need to ask anything, feel free to ask.
Keep writing that abstract poetry.
--
Sleeping is an art. That's why I'm going to sleep now. Oops, I meant meditation.