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Clockwork WidowClockwork Widow
I lay in this chamber, far from my home. Coal burning nearby keeps me warm. Strange, this feeling of warmth when I've been so coldly displaced. The escape is locked, bolted, there is no way out.
A young man sat up, heart racing. Cold steel surrounded him. Towered over him. His eyes traced the metal more carefully, trying to make out the shapes and patterns. Insects? Gears, bolts, lenses and mirrors were dispersed throughout the interconnected metal rods and plates.
Suddenly a memory of the preceding night penetrated his mind. Thrashing, crashing, tinny echos and metallic clamours. Wrenched from a makeshift bed and threadbare covers, rigid claws grasping his bony shoulders. Craning his neck, eyes widening in terror, vision blurring as an image of mechanized creatures faded out and a throbbing in his head took over.
That same throbbing made itself known to him again as he deciphered the scene in front of him. These dormant metal figures were his captors, now guard
The midday sun was clouded over by dread and discontent. The land was as colourless as Fret's bleak eyes which calmly surveyed the scene. Without its light-giver, the day was devoid of all which made it beautiful, but still two friends walked through the dismal scape.
"Shame it's such a wretched day," Fret noted, "though I suppose there hasn't been a ray of sunshine in several weeks."
"Wretched? Why, not at all!" the girl replied from beside him. "Just look at those buds awaiting the sun! And peer hard between the cracks in the clouds and you'll see a gateway for the light!"
"Well it should hurry up and find its way out of that maze, soon enough we won't be able to see the rocks in front of us."
The girl looked at him sideways, saw the clouds reflecting on his eyes and decided that his heart had gone for too long without feeling the warmth of the sun. Her eyes glinted as she removed a case from its place on her back, all the while watching the boy's eyes for a spark of interest
Asphalt Onlooker Warm lamplight reflects off of the empty, rain-washed strip of pavement. The night is in its prime, but pedestrians had long since abandoned this old side-street to rush to their next destination or to amble back home. Underfoot, the paved street records no imprint of the rubber treads which so frequently pass over it; the people come and go as quickly as the lamplight above forgets their shadows.
Snowflakes begin to drift from the sky; aimless. I watch them dance briefly in the wind, but they are soon found lying in the street, only to melt and be forgotten. I forget them as they blend into one. A single snowflake catches on the tattered scarf of a young boy as he walks, holding his mother's hand, passing on its way his downcast eyes and flushed cheeks. For a moment the crystal clings, then like the rest it melts away.
The full moon is high but blurred by gathering clouds. A girl pauses in the street, lingering strangely. Most passersby I see walk s
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
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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