ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
little droplets
the smell invades my nose
I try to create
but I am drawing a blank
my imagination
my creativity
it has dried up in the canister
until I become inspired
so I search for the right colors
the right tools
with the softest of bristles
to stroke
a story
with a myriad
of mediums
swirls and whorls
of textures and blends
coalescing
into the image
of
my hopes,
my dreams
and all I ever wanted
is made
reality
with these hands
on a canvas
the smell invades my nose
I try to create
but I am drawing a blank
my imagination
my creativity
it has dried up in the canister
until I become inspired
so I search for the right colors
the right tools
with the softest of bristles
to stroke
a story
with a myriad
of mediums
swirls and whorls
of textures and blends
coalescing
into the image
of
my hopes,
my dreams
and all I ever wanted
is made
reality
with these hands
on a canvas
Literature
Father
She must have been
beautiful
sugar sweet
perfect
as you dressed her in innocence.
I'm sure her hair smelled of better times
and her eyes tugged at your conscience
and promised worlds
that made yours seem tragically thin.
And you were ...
weak
Now tell me, (father)
what broke your heart?
To find out you were the perfect liar?
Or to speak that ugly truth
that smashed everything
to blood-drawing shards of memories?
Because I don't need
your second-hand love
anymore.
I know, one day
you will contemplate gravity's fragilty
and fall into the sky
while we lie sleepless through nights gone hollow
with a bullet for the pain
an
Literature
Screened
I park parallel to the gutter, turn the car off, and sit a moment. The engine ticks slowly cool and I watch a couple of cars pass by me and find spaces further down the street. My car is comfortable and quiet and I have forty-five minutes to kill before I should head to class. I pull the lever on the side of my seat so I can lounge back as though I am in Dad’s armchair at home.
It is overcast and the sun has only been out for maybe two hours. Everything looks greyer.
From my new vantage point, I can see a construction site about thirty metres in front of me. I wonder what they’re building—it looks very square, and as thoug
Literature
One for Dad
I was back in the house where I could feel the melancholy
of the lonesome, crowded west.
The same house but all the memories seemed so far away.
The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air,
and the walls I had once scratched and dented were bare.
A film of neglect clung to the books he never let me touch,
“Always end up damaged.” he’d say.
Not realising that love changes things,
makes friendships stronger, give things sentiment.
Those worn covers and creased pages,
not a sign of carelessness but a sign of greatest care.
There were the bottles of wisdom placed in the cellar,
full of learning, but paling to the lesso
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2010 - 2024 LoveDestructive
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In