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you could be happy by dork9368 you could be happy :icondork9368:dork9368 1 2
Literature
golden and green
      Father winter hobbles in slowly. He's archaic, and this year is making him tired already. His beard is the wind, and its strands are slowly choking the life from the trees, slipping into the cracks in my coat, and making my fingers hurt. The cars, like so many beetles, are greasy black under the streetlights. They come for what seems like hours, in an endless parade, and I wonder where they were all hiding. These beetles, these college insects, are clearly nocturnal. They've been hiding all day in some sort of underground burrow, or a parking garage, I'm not sure which. With night folding around me, I can almost see old man winter getting up from his rocking chair to dance. He invites me up to dance with him, to share in the joy that is the frigid and tempestuous night. I don't want to, but he is insistent, telling me that I have to. I owe him this, at least, because who am I to deny a friend in need. And so we do, we frolic, and dance, and play, but
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Literature
Her Curfew Had Arrived
  We stayed up all night. Do you remember? We laughed, we played, we made memories, and remembered old ones.
  Falling into your arms seemed like my only option. I silently wonder if you rigged this, my inability to conceive of anything outside lying with you, but chuckle quietly at my own insecurity. The sensuous curve between your hip and ribcage catches my eye in the moonlight flooding through my open curtains, as bright as a cloudy day. Nights like these are my favorite. I want to kiss that spot, my favorite, but I'm afraid to move as you've now turned away from me, and I think you might be sleeping.
  So, I settle for your bare shoulder. I kiss nearly the same spot, soft enough to not disturb you, over and over. I whisper my musings aloud, "I could get lost lying here, kissing you like this." I wouldn't dare say that to you, in fear of ridicule, but you can't make fun of me while you slumber. But it was to much, and you stir. "What did you say?", you
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Literature
Puddles of Hearts
The wind shakes not only the windows;
   But everything I thought was certain.
A storm has settled in, and it’s only a matter
   Of time until the water rises to my eyes.
Even now, with the building cracking apart beneath me,
   All I see when I close my eyes is her.
-
   Her name was Nicole, and even though she always asked, even begged, to be called Niki, I always refused. She wouldn’t stick out to many. In fact, a facet of Nicole’s personality is that she tries to be as mundane as she can. But to me, she was divine. One of the first memories I have of her is watching her eat a sour gummy worm. Her expression made me fall in love, as she laughed through her puckered lips. Thinking about that reminds me of the last time I saw her, though. She was crying, because I had to make the long trip back to school, and away from her. I don’t think anyone is really an adult until they’ve had to say goodbye to th
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Literature
Uncertain Writing
Her love is like a poem.
She is full of hidden meanings, and I constantly have to pay attention,
Or I risk losing the whole theme.      There will be a test.
She can’t be solved like a math problem, broken down to her parts,
Then put back together in to a more meaningful structure.
She can’t be assessed like literature, by examining setting and author,
Carefully considering plot.
Poetry is the only thing I can rightfully compare her to.
Symbolism, beautiful language, twisting and curved scansion and meter,
Mystique and intrigue, I’m enraptured by her.
If she were a collection of poems, I would be able to study her for hours,
I would feel her words crawl into my head to curl around my thoughts,
Then lie there and relax a while.
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Literature
People
My face hides in my hands while my head shakes disapprovingly.
I can’t control it, my brain is embarrassed.
Cold hands are something we’ve all known, by accident or on purpose.
Fevered sweats cannot be broken, even by the most objective of palms.
Atrophied muscles ache for use, but clamor like old machinery when roused.
“Bedridden, my ass!” screams all sensibility, but even then feet lack rhythm.
A dripping faucet, like a cardiac monitor, calls out the beat of this tragic waltz.
My mouth tastes of guilt and regret.
They say it’s just the nitroglycerin, but I know that my insides are in rebellion.
Maybe our parents didn’t lie; maybe we’re all meant to be afraid of the dark.
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:icondork9368:dork9368 1 8
Literature
sumptuous scrabble
Words fall onto the page in hurried,
                                                         mauled,
                                                             and twisted shapes.
My body is naught but a conductor,
Personality impossible with poetic schizophrenia.
Whishes of washing my hands of things like love and comfort are abstract clouds, floating idly by.
Birds cling to the branches of the biggest
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Literature
freewrite.2 10.14.08
Curved lines and victorian artistry
could keep my attention forever.
Lace patterns and eloquent speech
enrapture me.
Tumultuous seas, filled with
energy and anger, threaten to
drown me. As noisy as the
water is, the only sound
that is clear is that of my
own labored breath.
Bubbles reach the surface,
'Save', pop!, 'Me'.
The water is cold, but somehow
I feel welcome. Davy Jones
invites me to relax, but I
insist, 'Really, I must be going.'
My only chance is the lighthouse.
The cool water that once welcomed
my presence now demands it.
The only sound I can hear is that of my own labored breath.
Finally, it fades away
and I can hear other sounds.
The surf, constant and weary.
Gulls, jealous and outgoing.
I found myself saved on the
shore, with nothing but the
mysterious sounds to thank.
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Literature
freewrite.1 10.14.08
The yellow leaves fall, heavy, like so many footsteps.
She entered my life quickly and unexpectedly, transitioning my way of living and crushing old memories.
I lust after her much in the same manner as a poet for the curves of letters.
I could study her, surreptitiously, forever.
Like the changing seasons, our relationship grows, blooms, withers, and dies.
A brilliant shade of yellow turns to orange, then brown,
Signifying how I feel for her.
Her very steps seem on the verge of become a ballet or a waltz,
bouncing,
beautiful,
and bright.
Soft skin, like porcelain,
reminds me of her artisan beauty.
Saying 'I love you' refuses to lose its novelty, even now.
:icondork9368:dork9368
:icondork9368:dork9368 1 6
Literature
a letter to my lover
Dear Fall,
Why must you always rush?
My invitation to tea and cake is always open.
We could relax and sip cider in the setting sun, relaxing on rocking chairs.
The dry leaves whisper forgotten summer stories softly,
Until their color drains and their story ends.
Cool winds and the bluest skies clear my thoughts,
And always bring me back to you.
Even as you stumble into my life, I worry about when you'll be leaving again.
I suppose that modern fashionista, Winter, will be here soon.
She’ll be upset and angry with my longing for your warm arms.
As for now, I’ll be signing off..
Just remember,
I’m always yours.
Your crooked admirer,
  a poet
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Literature
for her
A shadow, weeping silent in the night. Unnoticed, unloved, she begs to be held.
Her whispers will not fall on deaf ears, as long as I’m around.
Pushing toward something better, something full of color and movement.
She lies there on the exposed bed, lost in her thoughts.
Much like a broken doll, tossed to its fate, her expression breaks my heart into twelve pieces.
‘I promise you, I promise.’
Our deity-devoted parents couldn’t prepare us for this, didn’t warn us to be wary.
Flaws become meaningless, when we’re so deeply enamored.
‘Don’t ever leave, won’t ever leave.’
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Literature
self examination
misprinted typeface, with ink-stained ceilings.
remnants, all, of writers-block-frustration.
sweating into the night,
  wishing that the words would come.
  letters seem resilient.
smudged, craggy, and torn sheets
  lie like broken warriors;
  forgotten until desperation.
creativity builds steep stairs,
  twisting, rickety, and malicious.
  watch your step.
a beautiful orange beacon shines above.
  above the stagnant blue-gray-purple
  of obscurity.
the words fall onto the page,
  a hurried, confused, emotional jumble.
  poems are our secret thoughts, and hushed prayers.
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:icondork9368:dork9368 0 4
Literature
merely midnight
‘Back, back’, your thoughts whisper,
While your heart screams ‘Forward!
Nothing you can do will protect you, you fool!’
No wall can stop love from pushing through.
Cracking apart carefully constructed walls
Constructed of abuse and neglect,
Powerful feelings flood in.
Wanton destruction ensues,
But the burning defenses are certainly pretty;
While they last, anyhow.
:icondork9368:dork9368
:icondork9368:dork9368 2 8
screenshot much. by dork9368 screenshot much. :icondork9368:dork9368 0 5 eye wish eye were clever. by dork9368 eye wish eye were clever. :icondork9368:dork9368 0 22
Literature
Jeremy III.V
Jeremy can’t see.
He tries and tries, but he just can’t.
Fumbling at his face, he discovers the bandage.
Clearly, telling a surgeon their flaws is a bad idea.
:icondork9368:dork9368
:icondork9368:dork9368 2 7

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deviantID

dork9368
Tyler Cross
United States
i'm a writer. plain and simple.

Current Residence: BGSU
Tonight I spoke with a man who truly believes.
We spoke of love, of laughter, of times past, of the future, and of faith.

First, we started with love. I spoke of my trials and tribulations, from my first romance, to my first heartbreak, and the hopeful feelings I have for my future. I told him of all the great things that love has brought me, and the maxim by which I lead my life, which I have inscribed on the very same wrist that used to bear the wounds of that very love. I told him how I can't wait for the day where I might wed a beautiful, deserving, and wonderful woman and how I would want that day to be simple, yet beautiful. I told him how he was probably the only person that I would want to be there for me, regardless of who else might like to come. He forewarned me of the pitfalls of love, using his past experiences as examples. He told me stories that enraptured me for minutes that piled into hours, and slowly taught me lessons about love.
This transitioned into the love of material, and how we share our opinion that too many people focus far too much on material things. A wise teacher once told me that everything in your life can be taken from you but your education, and the feelings you have for other people. Those words were not wasted on me, as I fear they may have been on many of my peers. I can only hope that one day I'll be able to say that I hold the love of a woman, and that I love and treat her the way she deserves in return. To say anything of what material I may have would be ridiculous and presumptuous.
We talked about how we should always strive for self improvement. He taught me to never underestimate anyone, or look down upon someone for doing something I, myself, would not do. We related stories that seemingly are very different, and came to understand that our experiences weren't that dissimilar. Understanding this, we began to glean knowledge of the combined human experience, and touch on things only philosophers and poets should concern themselves with.
Lastly, we conversed about faith. I have never known a man more devoted to his faith. No matter what blasphemous, harsh, and rude question I might poise, he would respond with clarity. You could hear him capitalize god's name. He refused to push his religion on me, instead wishing that I might never have to find it, the way he was forced into it. He told me of the horrors he had faced, from wanting suicide, to planning homicide, to even struggling to buy himself food. He told me that all those things weren't why he had obtained his faith. He told me that it took the plight of someone else, and his inability to help them for him to find god. He told me of how god lifted weight from his shoulders, and made his burdens easier to bear. He told me of the light that now fills his life, and uplifts his spirit.


His name is Edward Harold Cross.
He is my father.





Talk with your parents, you'll be surprised at what you might find out.
  • Listening to: lets go dancing-teitur
  • Reading: donald millers blue like jazz

Comments


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:icon1inxile:
1INXILE Featured By Owner Jun 20, 2010
Hey man long time no speak hope your cool :)
That webcam made me laugh :D
Reply
:iconmyth22:
MYTH22 Featured By Owner May 4, 2010  Professional Traditional Artist
:thumbsup::D:megaphone:THANKS YOUS!!:thumbsup::nod::horns:
Reply
:icon1inxile:
1INXILE Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2010
Hey man just wondering how youve been long time no speak :)
Reply
:icondork9368:
dork9368 Featured By Owner Apr 12, 2010
livin', you know. how about you man?
Reply
:icon1inxile:
1INXILE Featured By Owner Apr 12, 2010
Yeh not bad thanks just been chilling with school and crap really :/ Stay well man =] Peace!
Reply
:iconbear48:
bear48 Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2010  Professional
Thank you for visiting my page
Reply
:iconmatthewforte:
MatthewForte Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2010
Thank you 4 the fave:D
Reply
:iconroosterstencil:
RoosterStencil Featured By Owner Feb 23, 2010  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Gingers all the way!! Thanks for the watch!!
Reply
:iconroboprez:
roboprez Featured By Owner Feb 15, 2010
Thanks for the :+fav:
Reply
:iconbufa:
bufa Featured By Owner Dec 14, 2009  Student Traditional Artist
thanks for the vote.
Reply
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