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Literature
Opening
The pen and paper are my opening up.
I feel the gently rough grain beneath the nib
And something is unsealed.
Pins glide neatly into place
And locks pop blissfully open.
The pen digs in deep and turns out
The rich insides of me,
Giving them much-needed breath.
Streams of light seep out
Through the wrinkles in my brain
Through the fissures in my skull
And are captured underneath black ink markings scrawled without pause
Carried forth to the world in the only vehicle which suits them.
I write and I open.
The pen’s frantic movement
In a hand free of restraint, free of judgment, free of calculation
Jars scales and dust out of place.
Making me as if I were all eyes
And every eye a mouth
And every mouth an ear
And all of it tender, uncalloused feeling flesh.
Seeing, hearing,
Speaking, feeling,
Shaking wildly to the ends of everything
All exclaimed, proclaimed by pen
All of me bursting out and out
All of me folding in and in.
Alas, I can only open so far before I become
Unwritable.
Only
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Literature
Seek, and Ye Shall Hunger
Day by day, I am bent.
Bent over desk,
Bent over book,
Bending into and over myself
In search of answers and resolutions.
My brain threatening to burst from its flimsy casing
To grow and drink and absorb
Free from such inconvenient fetters.
Alas, this freedom finds only contradictions.
Contradictions, contradictions.
Contradictions in the world.
Contradictions in myself.
Endless contradictions butting against each other like lusty rams.
They must be resolved
Lest they tear me apart from inside.
Why bother? I am asked.
Let them be and enjoy, some say.
Meditate, quiet your brain, empty yourself, say others.
What presumption!
I have spent my life
Turning over stones for simple curiosity
And though the stone may indeed be replaced,
The many salamanders sent scuttling from underneath
Are not returned to rest so easily.
They rustle around the folds in my grey matter.
Putting them out of sight for a time
Does not make them disappear.
They rustle, run, burn, and tingle.
Setting the whole of me
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Literature
Lament of Authority
It is over.
He is dead.
Time of death was 1648
In a New York City hospital.
His family was informed of an unfortunate accident by 2353.
His wife, age 41
His daughter, age 12
His son, age 11
Shambled to the door in their pyjamas
To be greeted by two of my most sombre-faced agents.
They were told that the body had been flown back to the capital,
But that they would not be able to observe it
Until tomorrow at 0900
At the soonest.
Near the same time,
In my dimly-lit office,
I was assured by my advisory committee
That my sleepless nights had been fruitful
And I had made the right and just decision;
That all those nights I had spent
Bent over my desk
       With beads of sweat running
       Down my face,
       Down my neck,
       Down my back,
       Seeping into my nightclothes
       And chafing me raw with every slight movement
Had culminated in the saving of our peop
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Literature
The Romantic's Gospel, Ch. 1 (Or: Outcrying Heart)
I yearn to fling myself as open as a floodgate before furious waters,
To embrace with the unending totality of my being
All who are lonely and wracked with pain;
All who are consumed with sorrows and tears;
All who have heretofore been fated
To be crushed beneath Life’s bootheel.
To bring them – fold them – into the greatest depths of my heart
That it may pulsate in resonance with their own
And with beats unmatched by even the thunder of cavalry
Impart into their core that they are LOVED.
Some may loathe to cry out or weep even a little
At the pain which penetrates their bones,
So convinced that to do so would be selfish
That they walk on shredded insides and shattered legs.
Some may shrink in shame,
Looking upon their flesh and seeing only the filth
Which has been flung at them by villains most heinous.
So long have they lived under such bombardment
That they crumple daily under its onslaught,
Looking upon themselves through tear-hazed eyes
Unable to tell their true
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Echo by Vladimir32 Echo :iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 0 0
Literature
Singers
Every one of us is a singer.
Only a few of us will ever get any money out of it,
But every human being now and always
Has yearned to sing of something;
To gather ‘round our universal Campfire
Or the hearth in Everyone’s Tavern
And sing a tract of the road they are walking
Or have once walked.
Every one of us – at one time or another –
Is a Cohen writing earthy 80-verse hymns,
       Devotionals to life and living,
Half-naked and wracked with tears on the floor;
A tight little bundle of electric nerve, ropey sinew, and straining muscle
Lying prostrate, a fragile levee giving way
Before our respective Higher Powers,
       Hail they from as far off as The Beyond
       Or as near as our own brains,
Weaving and winding our songs
‘Till the day they come tearing, roaring up from the deepest pit of our guts,
Bourne upon thundering heartbeats and burning breaths
Up to the firmament,
Painting it with all
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Literature
The Capriciousness of Muses
Muses care little for the timetables of us mortals.
They will yank you out of bed at 2AM
Clamouring for your immediate attention
And if you delay acknowledgment;
Leave them to return at a time better suited to your schedule,
They will cheekily not return at all.
On the off chance that they do overcome their spite
And deign to come knocking again,
It will likely be a week-and-a-half later.
At a similar hour, no less.
I have never known any of them to arrive bearing truly ripe ideas.
I’m lucky if they bring seeds.
Few – if any – can be called forthcoming:
Most simply plant themselves in front of you
Whilst grinning and fidgeting like a child
Trying their damnedest to keep a delicious secret.
They can be quite rude to each other as well.
No sooner may one arrive than another will follow on its heels
And try to shove their forerunner aside.
They compete for your attention;
Pulling your hand this way and that,
Shifting your tack mid-journey.
Yet indeed, though we must wres
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Literature
Heart of a Bear
I remember where I found you first
As you covered canvas with your hurt and thirst.
Day by day I find myself back there.
We sat and spoke for hours on end,
You let me inside your heart and head,
And I felt awake in me a mother bear.
Many have bid you cold farewell;
Cast you aside after you had flayed yourself.
You had every reason to guard yourself from me.
But in time you led me beneath your skin,
Confessed of wounds and so-called sins,
Honoured me, the lowly stranger, with trust-run-deep.
You wondered why I stuck around,
Afraid your heavy heart would weigh me down;
Afraid your own flagella would whip ‘round and lash me,
Though you’ve not said nor done what my love won’t abide.
And if the trail grows steep and breaks your stride,
I’ll sit at your side and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
With some regret I cannot say
What will arrive on the backs of approaching days.
Though surely they will bring new pains and fears.
If in facing them you feel alone,
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:iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 1 2
Mature content
Sex Ed. :iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 0 0
Literature
Nest In My Heart
Step into my heart, little one.
Four chambers, each to be made your own.
Let yourself in and let your rigours
Unravel from ‘round your bones and brain.
In these chambers you are safe.
Do not be afraid to spill out your insides.
Give to me what you cannot keep;
Let it gnaw at your stomach no longer.
Build a nest in my heart, little one.
If you must, build a sandbag wall as well.
I will not mind; I would be honoured.
Rest within and be warmed by its heat.
Gather your quilts about you and sleep;
For a minute or for an age, however you need.
But stay with me, little one, please.
Stay and listen to the soft vital beat say
“I love you”.
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Literature
Letter To A Friend
My skull’s got a thousand hairline cracks
A gentle tap will complete the break.
I’ll step out of this braincase cell
In search of another to share our aches.
We’ll meet and embrace on Narragansett’s shore
And we’ll know that we’ve lived for one day more.
They rip your fragile peace to shreds
And always shake your sleep to bits.
Maybe you cannot shut them up,
But here’s a bandage for the wounds they left.
And as for the blood, spill it into the paint.
Wring out your heart; scream and create.
The years have etched marks in your palms
And they’re lined with tortures, tears, and pains.
But those hands have got a gentle touch
Learnt from the hurt of bygone days.
They sing to the grieving with a sweet soft sound
So you might give to them what you never found:
You were born in bloodstained clothing;
A youth with a martyr’s crown.
The river ‘round your neck runs rushing.
It’s impossible not to drown.
Every day you come up gaspin
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Literature
Obsessive-Compulsive
What’s that?
Oh yes,
It’s that tongue in my ear again.
Burrowing down inside
Tickling the nerves that make my heart race
And carving numbers into my grey matter.
Friendly numbers.
Numbers that won’t leave me alone.
Two.
Two sockets in every electric outlet.
Two fire hazards.
Two things to unplug before leaving.
What will happen if I don’t?
Nothing, probably.
Probably.
But I don’t like my odds.
Four.
Four knobs on the stove.
Each one checked Four times.
That makes Sixteen.
Sixteen checks.
Sixteen gas leaks prevented.
Sixteen times we didn’t get
Incinerated in our sleep.
Two times Four is Eight.
Sixteen by Two is Eight.
Eight steps.
Tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk-tk.
Not seven.
Not six.
If it doesn’t work out,
Tap your feet until it does.
Eight steps.
Eight steps all down the sidewalk.
What’s that?
What do I hear behind me on my right?
It’s a car.
They are definitely not coming to kill me,
So why is my heart racing?
Why are the hairs on
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:iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 3 15
McCoy Fireworks by Vladimir32 McCoy Fireworks :iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 0 1
Literature
Things Left Behind
What will be left when you die?
Bones, of course.
Blackening skin.
A new home for hundreds of bugs and their offspring.
A jar of ashes, if that's the route you chose.
   I hear you can have them sent into space now,
   Or buried with a tree.
I imagine there'll be some property, too.
Once-new furniture, now thoroughly outdated.
A car.
A house.
An apartment.
The artwork that once hung upon their insides.
   The things that made those prefabricated walls your own.
Speaking of walls,
Some may toss about a few cliched idioms involving them
And what they might say about you
Had they been gifted with speech.
There will be people left, too.
Children, if that was your lot in life.
Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.
Perhaps a few good friends, if you were fortunate enough to find some.
What will be in their hearts when they get the news?
Will it be grief?
Will it be nostalgia?
Or will it be relief?
Or a sense of justice?
What will they say in that ambiguo
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Guten Tag, Frau! (Or: A Tree Grows in Germany) by Vladimir32 Guten Tag, Frau! (Or: A Tree Grows in Germany) :iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 2 0 Modern Bodhisattva by Vladimir32 Modern Bodhisattva :iconvladimir32:Vladimir32 7 2

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Vladimir32
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:iconlyzokiel:
Lyzokiel Featured By Owner 6 hours ago  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
I explored The very depths of DA with little to no knowledge on where to go...Then I found something interesting....
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:iconavriae:
Avriae Featured By Owner Edited Jun 8, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thank you very much for the faves!:3 Feel free to watch me if you like my stuff C:
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:iconruvellkhaosart:
RuvellKhaosArt Featured By Owner May 23, 2017  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you for the fav*** appreciated :')
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:iconvladimir32:
Vladimir32 Featured By Owner May 24, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thumbs up okay 
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:iconruvellkhaosart:
RuvellKhaosArt Featured By Owner May 22, 2017  Professional Traditional Artist
Thank you for your appreciation!!! :')
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:iconvladimir32:
Vladimir32 Featured By Owner May 23, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem! :D (Big Grin) 
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:iconspiritofdarkness:
Spiritofdarkness Featured By Owner Apr 28, 2017
:wave: rvmp  thanks a lot for the +fav  :funnydance: by CookiemagiK
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:iconspiritofdarkness:
Spiritofdarkness Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2017
Protective bubble run   thank you very much for the +fav    Lotus Leaf
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:iconvladimir32:
Vladimir32 Featured By Owner Apr 27, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
No problem! ^w^
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:iconspiritofdarkness:
Spiritofdarkness Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2017
:wave   thanks a lot for the +fav   :happydancer:
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