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About Literature / Hobbyist Core Member Shehroze Ameen26/Male/Germany Groups :iconpoeticalcondition: PoeticalCondition
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Deviant for 6 Years
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Statistics 485 Deviations 30,163 Comments 74,017 Pageviews

Commissions

Short Story Commissions
Short Story Commissions being accepted now.

Payment to be made only after the idea, the way the story should progress, or the twist is finalized.

World limit: Minimum: 800, Maximum: 3000

Time Frame per commission: minimum 1 month, maximum 2 months

I only accept payment through :points:. In case you have a very specific idea you want me to write about, hit me up through notes.

As part of the commission, you'll be submitted drafts showing progress made, with changes, character development, story development, and any additional perks you want incorporated. When works will be published, the commissioning party will bear copyrights to it under a Creative Commons License 3.0, and can do with it as they please.

This commission does not accept works for OCs, fan fiction, erotica, BDSM, or furries.
Poetry Commission
Specifications: none, unless you would like a specific form to be followed.
Themes: epic, slice of life, stream of consciousness, or historic.

Previous commissions: shehrozeameen.deviantart.com/g…

Details need to be provided via note, inclusive of whether they should be based on a drawing of yours, OC belonging to you, or are a dedication.

Deadlines: unless specified, I try finishing my commissions as quickly as possible. They could either take a week (for works which are at least 19 lines) or a month (for works which are greater than 30 lines). Maximum I've ever gone is two months for a commission.

Random from pretty words, read with an empty mind

Literature
A Kiss to End the Day
One kiss you give me, and thus, end my day;
Though I am sad, my smile is bright.
With your hand in mine, while the night turns gray,
The world becomes warm and all is now right.
How reluctant I am to turn away,
To leave you lonesome beneath the starlight;
One kiss you give me, and thus, end my day,
And once more, softly, to wish me good night.
:iconMordial33:Mordial33
:iconmordial33:Mordial33 7 3
Literature
Efforts and Opposites
One cannot win the race while one is sitting in the stands;
One cannot mend the broken without dirtying one’s hands;
One cannot dry the tears if one will not share in the pain;
One cannot save the wounded without looking on the slain;
One cannot see doors opened up if one will not first knock,
Nor understand time’s passing just by staring at one’s clock;
One cannot know sweet respite if one will not know the strain;
One never shall be Abel if one always acts like Cain;
One cannot know the light except that one first knows the dark,
Nor feel the fire’s warmth if one will not first strike a spark.
:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 3 1
Literature
Ready to Swoon
Under the arch of Apollo we stand.
Beneath the moon, hand in hand.
A shimmer of rose gold on my cheek.
A sudden slump in my physique.
A blackout, then a dart in my breast.
Your shoulder serving as a headrest.
Under the arch of Artemis we lie.
Her failed endeavor to make me die.
:iconBreath-of-Nefertari:Breath-of-Nefertari
:iconbreath-of-nefertari:Breath-of-Nefertari 11 15
Literature
The Five Stages Of Silence
I. 

"I love you" 

The static sounds like rain in my head,
I imagine a small handed God
shielding us with his constant melody -
they don't remember,
tomorrow is your favorite day
and I promised to show you the lilies,
don't be silly now,
turn the lights back on,
wake up.
My fists at your chest 
are two hearts
beating fast. Wake up.
The morning prayer 
quivers obsessive 
between our bodies,
nobody understands 
how my lips are made holy
by the light skin of your temple,
wake up wake up wake up.


II.


"I love you"
 
Fire laps at oxygen 
with passionate tongues,
taking in every drop 
of its feverish scent
until on their wake 
only anger is left,
a teeth quaking breath,
a cry for lost air.
The sky is a blur,
as vultures begin
a soundless waltz
one orphan question 
running in circles
brims the hourglass, 
breaks the cage -
I’m swallowing sand,
my knuckles are
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 42 28
Literature
Vengeful sun
I’ve always been the hunter but
they think I am an innocent soul.
I am but the son of myself
The sum of myself - of my atoms and parts
and the blaze in my ethereal flesh.
Sun of my own existence
Moon of my own life
Stars of my own destiny
The bow, the arrow, are mine
The cross is broken on my forehead
Tied by a ribbon of blood holding back the
hair that gives me strength
The truth has always been: I give myself strength
An ouroboros of never ending incandescence
Dust falls from my feet
for I have shaken away the world
And blood drips from my chest where the lance cut my holiness
once.
:iconDeniseCroy:DeniseCroy
:icondenisecroy:DeniseCroy 3 5
Literature
To the Queen
To the queen without a crown,
whose hair is the color of ripe pecans:
do not let your circumstances quiet you;
though you lack the riches many consider
necessary to rule a realm,
even if that realm is nothing more
than snow-smothered pine
fused with hints of vanilla custard,
the inner workings of your mind
are chalices emblematic of the sunlight.
And you, my queen, need no title.
:iconBreath-of-Nefertari:Breath-of-Nefertari
:iconbreath-of-nefertari:Breath-of-Nefertari 11 17
Literature
at midnight.
I lost you
in darkness, in stumbling alcoholism
the words tumbling over each other
end on end
the breaths tumbling inside my lungs
tripping over each other
in darkness
cascading
wide-eyed, bloodshot words
spilling from my lips, spat from my heart
leaking out of cracks, crevices, corners
wreckage
and the way home was unclear,
debris-strewn
star-struck
alone.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 11 3
Literature
Their sinful Valkyrie
        - A Beauty of sins
She drives men into blind abysses,
These rats run across the maze of expectation
And try to climb this perfumed Babel Tower.
Their Ragnarök is already lost ;
She, whose radiance is no myth,
Stands far upon the human world.
        - The Shepherdess
They took themselves as four-leaf clovers
Gifted her of millions of edelweiss bouquets.
Yet they meant nothing to her, less than cattle,
Yet lost in masses of brainless sheeps
Led by the baton of her tuneful voice,
Such a sweet slow lobotomy!
Disillusioned tears are falling... Petty humans
Stuck forever in the Spider Queen's net.
        - Divine Valkyrie
An acid rain for their stupid dried humanity,
Cursed fools sent themselves to the gallows
Sold friends and family to the Elysium,
Even betrayed their own Gods and beliefs
Willing to be part of a new Valhalla,
Just for her.
All she had to do was smile. 
:iconWhitePlumFragrance:WhitePlumFragrance
:iconwhiteplumfragrance:WhitePlumFragrance 44 35
Literature
divine overture of sunrise
The divine overture of sunrise
Beneath Lucifer, orange glow
Getting more intense before my eyes
and I feel today's hope grow.
But sun is not coming up yet
teasing me with her light
And the green hidden catches my eye
When, finally, will end the night?
Music's building, pomping up loud
The orchestra really touches the hearts of the crowd.
French Horns, Violins, myriads of these!
For those who hear it, solist sun brings ease.
Fat fiery beauty's red spotlight is there
Can't wait any longer, tension's palpable in the air.
Divine overture of sunrise
Is collapsing when it luminates my face.
And with this golden shine I survive another day,
I know by my gaze.
:iconTrafalgarNolan:TrafalgarNolan
:icontrafalgarnolan:TrafalgarNolan 3 8
Literature
The War Of Love And Death
Stars like pinpricks in my eyes,
the mist shackles about my ankles
as I walk through the field
I realize the cold on my lips,
licking the frosty air of the deepest night.
Breathing in my teeth hurt,
my hands would be blue if I
could see them
Icy is the wind that shocks my lungs
as I breathe in
and shiver.
The smell of the dying grass
in Winter's choking grasp,
The midnight sky like watery velvet
the snow shifting underneath,
feeling cool soak in through my
leather boots
chilling my feet.
As I walk through sentinel pines
quiet as snow softly begins to fly,
not so much seen as felt like fingers
on my flesh prompting a shudder
in my bones.
Silent like the grave I reach the hill
under my feet the angle change,
slowly ascending
beginning to shiver
feet sullen relenting
I crest the ridge as the horizon
turns green like lace around
a black cloaked sky.
The light rises and stings my eyes
squeezed shut by the sudden pain
shuddering through my mind.
Eternity has driven me mad
I tire of this eart
:iconsmokedragon:smokedragon
:iconsmokedragon:smokedragon 1 0
Literature
Of Half-Filled Words
She is not a flutterbird.
Her fingers are skittish,
her smile is not.
Do not fear that you will
drive it away.
Sadness is her fumbling limb.
It is unwanted, yet
necessary.
When it is January
she will tell you,
"I am still struggling.
And I am becoming so many people
all at once.
A conglomeration of beauty that
I have managed to mangle.
Please, do not be sad for me."
Sometimes her sorrow is
meant for you. But mostly her.
Those specks and spots
of ocean storm lulls
reveal her truths:
ones she does not want
to extract from herself.
Her heart is not a rabbit.
When it beats
faster, faster, faster,
you need not
run harder to catch it.
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 271 201
Literature
Empyrean
Momma said to never marry an astronaut,
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight
to the light in your eyes.
They'll only end up in ships that float
aimlessly in zero gravity and you will not be there.
Momma said to never marry an astronaut.
You will stand firmly on the earth,
clutching the ground and knowing
they will always prefer the twinkling starlight.
Planets will fracture and stars will collapse
long before he recognizes he can travel
to the light in your eyes.
:iconHugQueen:HugQueen
:iconhugqueen:HugQueen 227 110
Literature
august's skeleton.
Sunburnt freedom of July
we come tumbling in the auburn joy of boredom
down the spine of summer.
And spelled in the scabs on your knees
is the innocent insolence
scuffing the corners of your memory:
all hyperbole, grinning toothless bravery
swallowed in your father's coat,
whipping around corners and slipping
out of a chiaroscuro childhood.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 78 36
Literature
chichester, england // badenweiler, germany
Lately darkness drifts across
our sleeping faces,
slitting eyelids open
filled up with stardust
our hearts hulled,
scattered carelessly
among the leaf-litter
and we left empty, ghosting
ruler-straight
so the sleepy village never woke
and the 3.a.m mists
rolled it flat.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 15 10
Literature
odyssey.
I left messages for you
trickled along your parting
the last bars of signal
I saved, in the distant hope
that the storm wouldn't tear
our phonelines down
and yet here we stand
and the calm has ripped us
into shreds,
long hair cut to the quick
and holding our breath
as long as we can.
Dear mum, can I
apologise? If I hold my hands
over my ears,
will the blood beat
within my body once again?
Because my organs have been
dislocated from my arteries
and I can only try
throw my crutches aside - no, I will walk alone this time
dear mum,
I have loved you
and dad
and myself
like a broken lullaby
sung in a foreign language,
hummed into the gaps
between your ribs
I will reverberate like the wind
trapped in ships' sails
until my brain lies
buried in the clouds
and they cut my body down
from the mast.
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 16 9
Over the course of time that I have been here on dA, I've noticed that there is a trend either to write words which are fanciful as fuck with as little meaning as a dump in the loo, or the work itself tends to be so juvenile that I find it pointless to even bother.

This collection, though, is different. The words are pretty, but if you gloss through them then their meaning is lost. In a way, they're not the most exceptional or phenomenal works you can find here on dA, but they are well written because of how they are structured or how they carry themselves. There is a semblance of personal involvement in them, which may resonate with other readers.

With me... they're works I revert to, when I wish to read a work which is not insightful, but just fluidly presented. These poems, are fluidly presented.

Random from NotenSMSK

Literature
Nothing you could do
"There is nothing you could do about it". That was something that always made me cry when I recalled it for the last few years.
I had heard it since I was a little boy wearing shorts running around in school. One day during our dodge ball practice my friends accidentally hit a girl sitting alone on a bench. It bruised her arm.While the other boys continued playing with no concern, I approached her, sitting nervously at the other end of the bench.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She rubbed her arm a few times where the ball had hit her and then withholding tears she gave a weak smile "Its ok, the pain cannot be lessened. There is nothing you can do about it"
I handed her my lunch.
Since then we sat together and ate our lunch. She was a sweet girl, always optimistic and had a keen interest in the philosophy of reasoning. Being a small child I noticed this, years later.
Years later when it was raining and we both ran, covering our heads with the heavy medical books our college had
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 15 49
Literature
Immortality
He sat in his tower that overlooked both his castle and the plains far ahead. He had seen them drenched with blood many a time for years had passed since he had taken the seat as Baron; he had lost count after a century or so had passed. Yet he sat there, fresh in youth and sound in health as if time had yet to bare its fangs against him. He looked around. There were objects surrounding him that were as old as he was. Staring at them he felt a shard pierce his heart for the first time in years and he gazed outside the window.
His servant Biliuth entered the dark chambers where he saw his master seated in his usual seat next to the great blade that descended through generations. Then again for his master a couple of centuries meant little. What made the sword to be savored by an immortal was the man who last wielded it, the only worthy adversary to the baron in his entire existence, Sir Guordon Fort.
Biliuth approached, placing the tray on the small table that was situated under the lef
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 21 44
Literature
The Rejected Orange
He picked up the fruit basket from the table with a lot more force than required. That was due to the third rejection he had had in the last week in a particular department. After each rejection they had picked a person inferior to him in skills.
He placed the basket down on the mattress as the fruits shuffled a little. He scanned through the oranges that the basket contained and picked up a plump one, with a smooth texture and a satiating aroma. Yet as he turned it over for further inspection he saw a hole which a stem from another orange probably made. From that area, it was slightly rotten. He instantly put it down searching for another orange.
He wondered what his flaw was; he was intelligent, kind when talking to people, had an enormous amount of patience, determined, hardworking; there was little he felt he was prominently lacking. True he had a problem dealing with new people but that was it... well other than him being obese.
He picked up another orange finding it comparatively
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 13 34
Literature
Toffees and Juices
It was a sunny day. The traffic comprised of a usual composition; a man with statistics on his mind might further support this observation. Though the traffic ran smooth and undisturbed, there was one particular junction where it condensed. Here the heat and blaze from the cars seemed atypical as the engines hummed silently for the traffic signal to open.
For many at the busy junction it was a lucky day for examination results were due. For others it was rather unlucky for very different reasons. Indeed some could blame their bad luck on a fairly dusty batch of stale toffees and expired juices.
Just as typical as it was for a certain number of blue colored vehicles to standby the signal, it was typical for beggars – children and elderly alike – to rush upon the waiting cars. Some exposed their disfigured hunches and burns to gain sympathy while other carried some cheap merchandise they would either steal or win over in a gamble. Among such beggars were two brothers around the
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 6 14
Literature
Romanticizing
She approached him as he sat on the bed. Her knee pushed into the plush foam, sagged due to the abuse of over use. Her digits entwined as her elbows rested on his shoulders. The pressure sunk him into the doughy mattress.
“Romanticizing are we?”
His lips were parted; his eyes stared blankly at the cold wall. It was a cold blank wall, no paint ever applied to peel away, no picture ever hung to be taken off. It took a moment for his lips to connect, for him to clear his throat and mind, and reply.
“Not really… just wondering about the possibilities of where we could be…”
Her arms slid forward as her hands pressed gently into his chest, feeling each heave, each tingle that his body had to offer. However there wasn’t much to offer. He was calm, composed; his breaths left her hands to satisfy themselves with the bare minimum. But bare minimum was what they had always had.
“Isn’t that what we call romanticizing?” She chuckled as now
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 15 66
Literature
Another hot day
Stirring from within, he felt the calloused arm sizzle further in the rays that crisped up the ground besides him. It was as if among the roars of the passing wind, and the distant, indistinguishable screeches and screams the ground too was blistering, was churning up and disintegrating, calling out for someone to shade it.
“Not today you don’t…” the man replied through gasping breaths, replying to the sand that shifted with the wind, letting fresher layers unearth. He chuckled at the irony and looked around for any sort of shade. The trench he was huddled in was of no use in the matter – or at least at that specific time. The sun was right on top, over head, setting its fiery gaze upon the scene. It was a witness to what was to happen and it was also a beacon to allow the events to occur.
However the man was in no mood to appreciate the sun’s intentions or even to judge them. If he were to judge them, he would deem the sun a cruel creation of God, b
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 10 21
Literature
Tears of a Happy Ending
It was a happy ending,
yet happy it was not.
Inscribed through heartless and decayed
processions of horrid crusades,
like tales of love and truth betrayed;
it holds no happy thought.
What of the happy ending
the poet himself despised?
With saccharine expressions brewed -
such vivid tales of love accrued,
what breathless literature construed,
riddled in mocking lies.
What mournful happy ending
though cherished it may seem
that serves a purpose solely vile;
constructs by one all through defiled,
such deeds that led him to exile
conjuring wicked schemes.
It was a happy ending
one written oh so well.
Yet dreams it has that still remain
like uncorked bottles of champagne
ensnared by manacles and chains
imprisoned and impelled.
What dreams oh happy ending
what fantasies you hold?
What myriad blossoms of yours
what wishes that so wish to soar
what roses that you so adore
are withering in the cold?
Your wish oh happy ending
as it appears to me
is of a grasp that grasps at him
that cracks that
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 26 66
Literature
The devil, the Angels and the flowerbed
The wind breezed through curtains waving in despair.
A tinkle of bells danced from the devil's lair
ringing with a distressful purpose, chilling the wind
that coursed, while fire tormented a soul within.
The brazen hue of dust preserving memories of bliss
trembled with the soft breeze like a wavering kiss.
These memories - stashes untainted by dust lay open
on the hoary flooring next to a person lying broken.
Locks black as the iris enveloped in gloom,
glide like a fresh spring, watering flowers to bloom,
to give way to orbs shining with the last tears.
She looked up from the curse of seclusion over years.
She glanced as the devil jeered and jingled its bells
denying her the sight that would undo the spells
that scorched her heart; remains only arid waste.
This pain, this torment, is one she fights not to face.
She heaved as the lifeless cage bound tight,
with its spacious windows, boasting plentiful light,
darkened the glimmer that the gust falsely rose;
further withering a lonely wit
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 16 75
Literature
The Many Attributes of Hers
Her Welcome
She welcomed me in a place so distraught,
yet her welcome refurbished the hut so luxurious.
Such bounties are for those who earn them;
a lucky fool I am to be close to her embrace,
for she was the basil for my ailing;
the wings for my flight;
the breath for my life.
But it was such;
she was blessed a good heart for little wealth,
an enchanting presence for a humble abode,
an inquisitive mind for little education;
she was balanced yet the scales tipped
such that life was a fraught belonging.
Her Smile
But dismayed not, a blissful existence;
her smile like the sparkling stars
that leave you in wonder why the Almighty
created something so beautiful yet out of grasp.
But today I mean to grasp those lights
right out of the sky and clasp to my heart.
She was lonely, but then again so are the stars.
Thus I wish to pull her down to escape that prison.
Her Moods
She is an ocean, exposed yet hidden;
calm yet thrashing;
a blue veil, veiling all the colors
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 16 34
Literature
A thousand dreams to be in your grace
A thousand words I mustered
each word for you, more eloquent then the last.
A thousand breaths I breathed
each breath carrying my aching life unto your mast.
A thousand whispers I spread
each whisper conveying my lovers delight.
Unto you, do I bequeath my lover’s delight.
A thousand gems I mined
each gem tumbled, compared to your elegance.
A thousand cloths I refined
each cloth aches for the fair maidens tread.
A thousand roses I pursued
each rose anxious to home in your locks.
Strained - anxious to home in your locks.
A thousand songs I crafted
each song to clothe you in fine praise.
A thousand tears departed
each tear in remembrance of your face.
A thousand prayers I prayed
just to witness the bliss of being in your grace.
What more can I ask than to be in your grace?
A thousand days I waited
each day brimming hope in a hopeless heart.
A thousand burdens I weighted
each burden failing in shredding my love apart.
A thousand miles I distanced
each mile devouring upon my weariness
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 28 56
Literature
A Quills Lament
There are words I sketched, remote emotions stretched
through the swirling strokes that matched
my own lament.
Delirious wishes once flew; many dreams came true
through hands molding exquisite brews
from which I distilled upon you.
Oh such hopes I held, from the new owner that held
the art above seduction, the lovers thrill,
the power of words - a quill.
Yet the digits I traced were of such spiteful taste;
crude criticism splashed, distorting my reflection -
burning coal thrown in my face.
My tip bled such words in red blotted ink – records…
no! Tears of mine as my master's will
forced the damnation of a quill.
Yet fire once spread, kills the owner that bred
it to burn, such were the words I was fed,
such were the words my peers read.
Thus, on the day long awaited, my owner was sedated
locked in dungeons unexplored, unrecorded,
for the pain exposed to the world.
Yet mistaken was I, such illusionary surprise
was in store for me as a token of gratitude. A goodbye
stated my purp
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 12 64
Literature
Waiting for her to come this way
The breeze tousles through the night and his hair.
He sits in expectance for her to come here;
waiting for her to come this way.
Like that first time; her footsteps echoed so loud.
In a night as such not even the moon could be proud.
An ethereal glow she emitted, an embodying light.
The wind ruffled her black locks like an angel in flight.
Her breath was a sanctifying whisper of life
and her dress; oh a woven fabric of natures device.
Her soft traces upon the earth would have grown
the fruit bearing brushwood, piercing through a stone.
The hair settled; the wings retreated, her eyes slowly set
on a young boy tending tulips. Their gaze just then met.
He stared; what else could he do; she stood a little away.
The moon too curtsied to her outlining her portrait.
He stood tranquil, the tulip yet held in his hand.
She smiled and approached like a being with command.
She took the tulip, sniffing in its fragrance, sighing so deep,
the earth purred in compliance underneath her feet.
She smiled
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 32 79
Literature
Waltzing his last dance
The hall slowly fills;
there is not a tremor, not a sound.
The silence instills
the beating hearts of those that stand around.
Merriment then swells;
its satiating tremble within so profound
but alas there is but one man,
that waltzes to a tune unfound.
The merriment grows
as heels tap and dresses sway.
The bodies glow
with the light shimmering over the ballet.
The melody flows
for all participants are joyful and gay
yet woeful is the man in the corner
that dances a dance of dismay.
People laugh;
the girls in the hall giggle and pose
on the men's behalf
displaying their ornamented clothes;
the splendor in craft
invites many woos and bellows
while wearing a battered old suit
the man unnoticed sways on his toes.
Each lad takes a hand, 
of one of the many, graceful girls,
since the dance began
since then the couples gracefully swirl
Others seat on divans
letting their sonnets of love unfurl
yet a
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 38 77
Literature
The Felonious Poet
The poet locked in shackles of iron and stone,
imprisoned in gloomy dungeons, alone to atone
for crimes and felonies, oh so deceitful he is!
Yet the criminal in truth is the writing pad of his.
Sentenced by the law of all nations in concert,
such renowned reputation; oh would he wish to revert!
But alas no whim of his shall be entertained heretofore.
No child passing by shall smile at his name anymore.
What were the atrocities he was condemned with?
He was a con
for his writing was a devious art
he mentioned not what was
but what he meant to impart.
He was a traitor
for he was not true to his word.
He expressed in entirety once,
but the next time he differed.
He was a murderer
for he killed many a time in his songs
the savior to the maiden
who was meant to live long.
He was a thief
for his robbery was also well known.
He robbed the elfish king,
of his jewels and his throne.
He was a liar,
for he knew not what he had last said.
In one song he was alive
:iconNotenSMSK:NotenSMSK
:iconnotensmsk:NotenSMSK 45 53
NotenSMSK is someone who has been around on dA for as long as I have, and his poems and prose are interesting to read - enlightening, have a clearly defined narrative, and are always able to provide new streams of thought in terms of stories or narratives.

An invaluable addition to my collection and to my fascination with writing.

Note: dA is incomplete if you have never read NotenSMSK. Everyone else around on this site is merely a snowflake :P *bring forth the trolls*

Random from Are good in the first read at least

Literature
Dreams of Clay
Oh, would that my dreams were made of clay,
I'd sculpt them to suit my waking hours.
With Pygmalion's hands, I'd build my Galatea
And watch her come to life.
Let me clutch thee...I hold thee not!
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 51 51
Literature
Stardust: Gone and Forgotten
I am but a child of light, lost in nebulous skies.
where all elders float graciously
and cold stars are but a memory.
We implode, explode, ripple outwards…
Leaving nothing in our wake, except some stardust to remember us by.
Are we forsaken?
Victims of a cruel joke played out by fate…
 
I cannot tell nor fathom the depths of the human heart,
For we are complex beings under constant development.
I cannot hear nor feel the murmurs of your soul.

Do we even have one?
 
We are the cold starry night,
The faithful guide whom would both set and rise.
We are the flaming suns, lonely desolate stars.
:iconPuzzledHeartBox:PuzzledHeartBox
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Literature
grow, growing, growth
it's beautiful to witness dispassion
when the dreams
drift
silently away from the body like a secret.
it's as if the moment meant to give my life surrender
guises as an average day with me
washing the dishes
sipping on coffee
ready for small reflections
how did it ended up like this?
'i'm not the kindred spirit
i once was. but no matter.
i'm late by 30 minutes
& life's moving without
me.'
ten years ago, i dreamed of writing short stories Time might consider having.
now i'm just running out of time and stories altogether.
worrying about how i'll make it
now considers small, grave details like
time management
and skills
and resumes
and
listen to me babble
like my 14-year-old self.
no wonder.
no wonder peter pan
never wanted to grow up.
it was never the matter
of never having fun
it was overthinking
about what was ahead
if i was gonna have fun
following my heart
& wake up with an empty
stomach
is a fear any parent
never wants for a child
but mine is when i take
a look at my
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins 10 5
Literature
contrary [e]motion
Every once in a while
the mountain winds
taste of salt,
so much that I could
cup my hands
like shells
and picture white waters
marvel at oak roots
for the first time,
hear the seagulls
cry for food
let’s build a castle
you and I,
made of stardust,
down the street
where the last wish
went to die,
let’s make boats
of these empty pages,
and flowers,
and hats
to call our crowns.
Let’s dance alone
you and I,
to the sharp
light melody
of a moon
and let’s stay,
oh let’s stay,
grow old
you and I,
in the place
where the roses lay.
Imagination
keeps the earth still
beneath my feet
but the clouds above
bring your name
on paper wings,
your words
the sweetest thunder,
your memory
the brightest rain.
In my heart
is a web of riverbeds
carved by your absence,
falls growing upwards
into an archway
across the bloodstone sky -
impossible,
and so wrong, so strange
so beautiful, like sea salt
in the mountain air;
it only hurts
when I breathe
Ah forgive these dreamer-lungs,
thi
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 44 40
Literature
The boy with the devilish grin
The boy with the devilish grin
Never knew what was his sin
His parents forced him to put on a mask
To hide what was in their eyes something grotesque
At school he had no friends to play
Not one ever showed up for his birthday
In people he saw only fear and fright
Whenever he smiled people ran out of sight
His cheeks stretched from one ear to the other
Resembling something like Satan's little brother
And although he always had reason for crying
He never stopped grinning and smiling
A gentle soul that never meant any harm
He just didn't get lucky with the natural charm
Living was apparently his biggest sin
Although he never asked to be born looking like him
The boy with the devilish grin
People never bothered to look within
:iconMatoWayesj:MatoWayesj
:iconmatowayesj:MatoWayesj 8 5
Literature
01 - Binsengericht
Verlangt ein Mörder Blumen, gib ihm keine
Der Strand verliert den Sand vom Land ans Meer
Mitunter wachsen kleinen Steinen Beine
Und irgendwann ist jedes Ufer leer
Der Mond deckt still und leis die dunkle Szene
Ein Tuch aus Samt und Steinchen so wie Tuff
Der alte Mann lehnt an des Stuhles Lehne
Aus seinem Rock und seinem Haus dringt Muff
Von Zeit zu Zeit kocht meine Mutter Klöße
Mit Mehl gemacht und mit Kartoffelbrei
Ein jeder Kloß hat eine and're Größe
Doch nicht ein Kloß hat Hufe und Geweih
Ein kleiner Mann springt nackig von der Kuppe
Der federlos'te Vogel ist die Schnuppe
:iconsUmkIndAmOnstEr:sUmkIndAmOnstEr
:iconsumkindamonster:sUmkIndAmOnstEr 2 1
Literature
Carnival
When I was a senior in college, one day of my Christmas break was not like the others. That day, I sat at the kitchen table with my father and gathered the courage to ask, "What was she like, my mother?"
A spark lit in his gray eyes as he slowly set down his newspaper. "Your mother, huh?" He thought about it for a while, and the spark grew into a flame. "When I looked into her eyes, well ..." He paused, staring off into space. "I saw the sky," he said softly. Then he looked right at me. "She lived like she'd just won the world at a carnival. She held everything by a string and spun the stars on her fingernails, but it never made her happy. No one could ever say no to her, you know?" Taking a sip of coffee, he added, "Every no meant yes and every yes meant now. That's what I loved and hated most about her."
I sat in silence trying to bring such a woman to life in my mind, and he finished his coffee recalling what I could only imagine. "She sounds like quite a free spirit," I finally sai
:iconilluminara:illuminara
:iconilluminara:illuminara 7 12
Literature
fraudian (slips, landslides, baby steps)
prologue.
i meet naked eyes in the mirror.
don't look down, don't look down.
sometimes it feels as if the weight i carry
sits in layers, memories that unravel
as my gaze glances.
slide eyes downward, 
take the plunge.
i. wishful innocence
twelve years old, 5'4", 
60 kilos of never-thought-about-weight
and mother speaks to my bikini-clad body;
"why don't we go on a diet together?
just a couple kilos off, 
and we'll be perfect."
mum's been dieting since forever,
you name it, she's done it. 
she's 56 kilos, 5'3", 
and it's never enough. 
this is the first time 
she's tried to pull me into her world, 
but it will not be the last.
ii. between worlds
at thirteen my face lives blemished 
and i wear my curls in a scraped back bun 
because the uncontrollable frizz
embarrasses me.
i compare myself to my classmates,
straighten my hair and learn
to hold my stomach in;
thinner than one,
but not another.
i don't l
:iconLissomer:Lissomer
:iconlissomer:Lissomer 40 24
Literature
Poetic Letter #1
Dear stranger who I met,
I wish to know you better
Than I know you now
I wish you would care 'bout me
Enough so you'll allow
Me to write this letter
Caught in mutual admiration
I fear we simply do not dare
To bother each other with profanities
Is it because we are
Afraid to be rejected?
Afraid to be a bother?
Afraid to harm the images
We've made of each other?
I want to know you better
And hope that in the end
I can be someone worthy
For you to call your friend
So I wrote you this letter.
Sincerely yours,
Diluculi
:iconDiluculi:Diluculi
:icondiluculi:Diluculi 10 10
Literature
A Bard's Song
And what sweet toned bard doth sing so soft that in his singing
He hath all believing that love was soothing and marzipan sweet
When mine is nae that but a burning fire, at its core a whitest heat
What tune did he weave with fae enchantment stating beauty was ever a gentle joy
When thine is a sword that flashes hot and does naught but destroy
Soul to soul was linked, through speech and silent hours
As wondrous as two flutes played soft combined, or the scent of rose flowers
Oh night is falling, oh wretched hours, for thou hast departed, I am alone
And that last sweetness of love thou hast stolen away and alas it I have not nor ever will have known.
:iconLaColombeDeDeuil:LaColombeDeDeuil
:iconlacolombededeuil:LaColombeDeDeuil 7 6
Literature
August
‘i was up all night again,’
he whispered to the ocean,
his words sweeping across
it’s tempting surface –
‘i was thinking of her,’
       of mara…
‘i couldn’t stop thinking about her,’
       and my mistake…
apologetic words,
ones gone unspoken for too long,
stagger across the waves
and sink to the depths of the ocean floor.
she will never hear them,’
the ocean whispers back –
and with wide eyes, he realises
that voice belongs to her,
       to mara…
and there she stands,
in the midst of the water,
staring at him with those eyes,
those beautiful eyes,
the colour of moss.
i will never hear them,
you’re too far away
.’
she says,
and when she disappears
beneath the waves
he knows what he must do -
return to her.
:iconimaginative-lioness:imaginative-lioness
:iconimaginative-lioness:imaginative-lioness 26 25
Literature
Son of Niobe
He was born in the bitter waters, from a seed red as blood. He had washed up on the shore  and was fed by clouds and mists. He had grown without roots, but with flesh and bones that formed sharp angles at his hips, where the foxes came to drink.
He grew into the shadow of the mountain, the murmur of the river. Birds nested on his shoulders, and fawns ate from his immobile hands.
For an eternity or more, it was the wind and the gentle rain that kept him asleep; but with the first rays of the sun, he discovered the sky, and the river, and the mountain. He discovered his loneliness and the missing roots around his feet. He moved closer to the river; strands and locks twisted and ran, carrying butterfly fish and corpses drowned long ago. He looked into their faces and tried to touch his own; but he found none, although he could see and breathe and talk.
“Follow the water” one of the dead mouths said.
The river climbed up the mountain, as its waters ran down the valley; he
:iconDeniseCroy:DeniseCroy
:icondenisecroy:DeniseCroy 17 24
Literature
the road less travelled.
The trees creak above my arms
raising eyes to the sky, breathing
snowflake-dusted songbirds
draw the horizon against the clouds;
I count the footprints on my palms,
dread the smell of you
lingering on the back of my tongue,
no respite from the blood
pumping the berries red raw,
burning with their lonesomeness.
Should I pass this way? the lights
tell me so; I can't see
past the glimmering city's 
arching back, pressing me hard
against the wall, engulfing me --
the songbirds don't sing any more,
they don't sing for me.
And should I pass this way? 
the last tower of affection
crumbles
I melt into the thawing sea ice
dribbling, cadaverous glacier
of candle wax, licks the ocean breeze
and my eyes fill with brine.
You are perched upon my shoulder,
tying knots in the telephone wires
and piano strings, till the singing voice
cries to its own requiem
and the songbirds fade and die.
They drop like overripe apples
from the trees. 
I can feel the blush in my cheeks
soaking through m
:icon91816119:91816119
:icon91816119:91816119 11 5
Literature
Farewell - Addio
(Scroll down for English)
Dimentica la mia presenza
nel tuo cuore
lascia che voli lontano
dove particelle d'infinito
formano l'aurora
Dimentica le mie parole,
fiamme morenti
come eco segrete
riempiranno il vento
di vacuo dolore
T'appare tremendo
questo saluto
ma lasciami andare
ed io ti prometto
sorgerà domani 
più felice stagione
                 
---------------------
Forget my presence
in your heart,
let me fly far away
where particles of infinity
forge the dawn
Forget my words,
dying flames
like secret echoes
will satiate the wind
with vacuous sorrow 
It feels terrible,
this goodbye
but let me go- 
I promise you
a happier season
will rise tomorrow
:iconAlwaysRainCheck:AlwaysRainCheck
:iconalwaysraincheck:AlwaysRainCheck 16 58
These works managed to catch my attention from the first read, although I might revisit them a second time one of these days. :)

Random from best I've read here on dA

Literature
Fie! Fie!
Fie!  Fie!
Forsooth, wist I,
Much seemeth out of sorts.
Pale moonlight falls,
‘Pon darksome walls;
Fey shadow o’er the courts.
 
Fey and fie,
For evil’s nigh;
Doth spirit darkly stain.
Sleep doth refuse to dulcetize,
The greater then the strain.
 
Fly!  Fly!
Heed ye my cry!
For watch ye not the doors?
Dim twilight lay,
On landscape fey.
Mist sprawleth ‘cross the moors.
 
Fie and Hark!
Doth eye not mark,
The brimstone-flash of hell?
The Gurlock creeps,       
Down from the steeps;
I know his reek right well.
 
Fie!  Fie!
Too late to hide!
Up now, and bar the door!
The creature crawls,
O’er stony walls,
Yet ye lay on the floor?
 
Hearken! Hear!
For death lurks near!
The creature’s drool drips warm.
Unto that beast,
Strength is a feast;
Weak is the strong man’s arm.
 
Ye lazy dafts!
I’ve with thy hafts,
Barred entrance to these halls;
This Grendel they,
Shan
:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 9 19
Literature
The Heroes' Rhyme
(chorus)
For its aye-lo-hey!
We’ll sing this day
Of heroes long remembered,
So that to them, by ditty and song,
Right ‘membrance might be rendered!
 
Lo and lo,
Doth moonlit glow,
Fall sterling on the boggy mires?
‘Pon darkened heath, ‘pon hoary leaf,
While ruddy autumn paints the shires?
 
(chorus)
 
“Harken, hark,”
Thus cries the lark,
Roused lately from her twiggy nest,
“‘Neath moonlight pale, come hear my tale,
Hear me of heroes’ deeds attest.”
 
(chorus)
 
Fie and fie,
For doomed to die
Were we by dint of shadow,
But o’er the hill, rode strong Ronil,
Let fly his trusty arrow!
 
(chorus)



:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 1 0
Literature
Kale's Lamentation
Tears for me have long run dry;
All joy to me now seems a lie,
As does hope for bright tomorrow;
 
I can find no rest in sleep;
I’ve no more the heart to weep,
Yet more deeply burns my sorrow;
 
Wearied of counting the cost,
And of what’s lost being lost,
Of fate spun out of my control,
 
I’m tired of giving my tears,
To my sorrows, griefs, and fears,
As ransom for my heart and soul;
 
What’s lost was cruelly taken;
Are we truly so shaken,
To do aught but mourn its passing?
 
Shall un-avenged be the wrongs?
Wrongdoers sing mirth-ful songs,
Though our sorrows keep amassing?
 
I and you, we are mourning;
For death stained hope a-borning;
Sad night fell at the dawn of day;
 
Why do we tearfully sit,
All unwilling to admit,
That tears can’t wash the blood away?
 
:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 6 4
Literature
The Lightning Leaps from the Sky
    The wind blows high and the sky hangs low,
    Tall ships are swallowed as the billows roll,
    The storm rears back with a bended bow,
    The lightning leaps from the sky.
     
    Thunder roars o’er sea and coast,
    Bright light flickers like a fleeting ghost,
    Aye, ‘tis when we can see the most,
    The lightning leaps from the sky.
     
    The light’s gone out on the beacon tall,
    The keel cuts jagged ‘neath a leaking hull,
    The masts all groan in the wailing squall,
    The lightning leaps from the sky.
     
  
:iconFeanor-the-Dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon
:iconfeanor-the-dragon:Feanor-the-Dragon 3 1
Literature
View From a Chandelier
Dear Journal,
I just arrived today, spic-n-span for the new place that will have me. People are carrying me inside this beautiful place; an Opera House, I believe they called it... I wonder what an "Opera House" is. I suppose that I will find out eventually. Oh, this is so exiting! I can hardly wait to see what is in store for my new home! I wonder where they will put me!
_
_
Dear Journal,
Holy Moley! You have no idea how large this room is, 1,013 seats await the eager trousers of those to come and watch various opera performances! I am still not too sure what opera is yet, but I am now hanging and adding light to this gorgeous room. I am made with something called "Electricity" and made to add a certain pleasure and comfort for our audience. Am I going to do opera too?
_
_
Dear Journal,
If I had human ears, they would bleed... This is what OPERA bust stand for:
Overbearing
Primadonna's
Exclamatory
Rage of
Acoustics

That "p
:iconFigarro-Luv:Figarro-Luv
:iconfigarro-luv:Figarro-Luv 19 25
Literature
September 1st 2010
September 1st 2010, it was a rather chilly morning, dark and cloudy. I felt myself engrossed with my slumber, yet felt the essence of the quiet room around me. It's 5:06 A.M. I feel the slightest shake of my body, nothing more than a gentle awakening, I could have sworn. Yet, as I opened my eyes, I saw the darkened room and feel the shaking as if an earthquake hit. I see only an outline of my older sisters tearstained face as she uses every fiber of her being to calmly speak. Instantly, my protective instincts kick in as I cup her face asking endless "what's wrongs," unable to comprehend a fathomable thought. I was ready to comfort her with whatever was about to come, but when she spoke those deadly words into existence, my soul crumbled: "Sweetie, daddy's dead..."
I remember it like it was yesterday, the whole endeavor lasted 3 days, since that it how long it was before I crashed into a dreamless sleep from exhaustion. They didn't let me see his body before they cremated it, I
:iconFigarro-Luv:Figarro-Luv
:iconfigarro-luv:Figarro-Luv 4 15
LA-BAS / OVER THERE (poetry) by Exnihilo-nihil LA-BAS / OVER THERE (poetry) :iconexnihilo-nihil:Exnihilo-nihil 479 143
Mature content
Injection :icondeetay:DeeTay 4 11
Literature
Forever pancakes on a noisy Sunday morning
There was a sudden stillness in the air when she spoke. Thoughts and words, all entangled in her mind, beat against the strings of her heart to come out. But her veins were too thick with blood, and her tongue was too tied, and there really was no way she could ever be that brave, she thought. Another breath. Just one more breath. Take another breath, Elizabeth. But no, this was not the day. She looked up and saw that nothing had changed. Except sound. Sound had changed. Sound had abandoned her when her fiancé left for China on a cold day in January, waving and smiling as he boarded the plane in his black polished shoes. That day, sound had abandoned her to a great stillness. It was a quiet solitude, different, frightening.
Now, Sound had abandoned her again, taken her breath away and tied her vocal cords in knots before leaving her there, sitting in that coffee house on that Sunday morning, a little closer to the world and her best friend than she cared to be. Sound had gone for
:iconDeeTay:DeeTay
:icondeetay:DeeTay 4 7
Literature
My Despairing Raven
My eyes fluttered.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll see you tomorrow," I heard them sing.
The darkness thinned.
My eyes opened. I couldn't see myself. I was inside, surrounded by blinding lights. I was mad with fever. My body was burning up, and yet I was shuddering violently; only straps kept me from falling into the endless abyss. I felt the sweat pour down my sticky body and soak the bed. I was dressed in white linens…
Then faces appeared, speaking in a deep language I could not comprehend. Their voices were assuring and warm. But I could not see their faces.
I was shivering with fever, cold, and fear.
Was I dying?
Where was I?
Please, don't put the lights out!
I went mad with furious fever forfeiting reason. I snarled like a beast who could tolerate its cage no longer. My forehead and hair rained upon them. Spite and spit: My veins filled with it. I thought I'd burst.
"NO! NO! NO!" I cried in delirium whilst I thrashed back and forth. "I'm afraid of the Dark! Please, don't
:iconCaesarAlexander:CaesarAlexander
:iconcaesaralexander:CaesarAlexander 5 9
Literature
My Eleventh Hour
I. Prologue: Self-Exile to Purgatory
With my eyes shut tight, I heard a terrible screeching sound.
It came from above and below, left and right, the sensation of a sphere surrounding me.
I dared not open my eyes for fear of what would be found.
It came again, its echo scraping the courage from every muscle and every bone.
The screech possessed the piquancy of steel dragging its edge across hard stone.
I lingered inside myself for a while, ignorant of my current situation,
Searching for some opinion or belief based upon solid predication.
I found only a fringe area of my mind linking me to an uncertain actuality,
A fragment of information dormant and in a state of certain fragility:
My name was Justin, wasn't it?
And now, knowing this, I face finality.
Brought here by my own doing,
To escape from all my pains,
The pills coursing through my veins,
The rope holding tight around my limp figure,
I know I had done a terrible thing,
Sacrificing my joy, laughter, and spark of vigor,
Exi
:iconCaesarAlexander:CaesarAlexander
:iconcaesaralexander:CaesarAlexander 8 11
Literature
Mark and Jenny
Jenny and I sat down at a table in the corner of a café. We'd only met earlier today, but it seemed as though time had stood still for us as we walked through London. Tonight, all the bright lights of the city blurred together like an oil painting, as did the details of our life. The only thing I could think of now was the person sitting in front of me. Completely, and utterly, lost in the moment.
We both ordered a cup of coffee. Jen stared at me like she was plotting something, and I saw a smile slowly creep out from the side of her mouth. “What?” I asked.
“It's nothing. I just thought of a game we could play” She replied.
“If it's strip poker then I'm not playing” That made her chuckle.
“No you pervert, it’s not strip poker”
“You sure?”
"Of course I'm sure"
“Hmm I don't know. I'm not too convinced. Besides - you had that look in your eye”
“What look?”
“Like somebody who wanted to play
:iconshadowrunguy:shadowrunguy
:iconshadowrunguy:shadowrunguy 2 5
Literature
The Beautiful Dreamer
You will never know how I envy you, Morpheus
For you are the only being that can understand what this beautiful sleeper thinks of
As she lays on that white sea, eyes shut to the world. 
What I wouldn't give to be at peace with her in her realm of dreams
To see her smile oft hidden in her waking life
Under her armour as impenetrable as it is invisible.
Answer me, O beautiful dreamer
Is the world so cruel that you cannot confide in me
The secrets of your timorous heart? 
Perhaps one day, I will be worthy of your consideration
And you will know me for real
Until then, your somnolent smile will suffice.
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 30 39
Literature
Dirge of the Swan
In a land long forgotten by history books, a lonely nomad roamed mountains and forests, driven away from his home long ago by the cruel hand of fate. He travelled through towns, sleeping under bridges and in barbicans, for he had been driven penniless and was mistreated by the people of his town. The cruelty of those he called his fellows tore away at his generosity and amiable nature until it was as tattered as the rags he wore, his fragile armour against the winds and rain. Before long, he had lost all heart and faith in the towns and cities of men and went along his way.
The forests of the island he wandered were kinder to him. The towering oak and pine trees gave him firewood to burn and fruits to eat. The animals of the forest kept a respectful distance from him and never taunted him for his unshaven face or his tattered clothes. He was never pitied by them and he never had to dance for his food or humiliate himself for a few copper pennies. The warbling of the birds in their bran
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade
:iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 16 28
Mature content
The Swan Song :iconnightshade-keyblade:nightshade-keyblade 10 17
I've been here on dA for about 5 years now (including this year), but these works, definitely deserve to be read at least once. Me? I read them countless times just because they really are that damn good. Worth noticing and worth every minute they come my way.

Friends

Watchers

DDs and DLDs/DLRs

I've been here on dA for 6 years now, and it has been an interesting six years. I admit I used to be more consistent back when I started, but I'm still working my way around that.

So, what have I got to show?

Hozan (Sadness)حزن (Hozàn)
In the name of thee, all-enshrouding fog,
In whose presence a hue of regret pour out their transient accord, as if hoping to awaken to a calling that is known only by your mind's eye. That emotional contrast which is felt - and upon a sudden blink, with no moment given to comprehend it - is in itself a reverie yearning to be heard... of course, with caution exercised diligently. It is difficult to consider one's soul to be free from melancholia - not unless one is a ghost, which is the case with all of us.
Maiden, whose smile is a dream that has been carved by the Almighty... how often, I wonder, have I thought about the closure you provided me whenever I would think about that fine silhouette that was your smile, my dear. It is like snowflakes perched upon winter leaves - tender, gentle, fragile, and a pleasure for the eyes. Melancholia, my dear - all it takes is your smile to start this process, where hues of regret pour out their transient accord
- Awarded DD April 20 2017

I first wrote this piece back in 2014. Most of how it was written is described in the work itself, but the why can best be described as... well... its literature. Lets just say, I was in the moment, and this work transpired.

MSC #6 - PushkinIn the desert grew the flower's decree,
For the Lord had ordained its fate to grow;
Never could I have had dreams come to me,
That the bloom of spring was calming to know;
I have never seen a desert rejoice,
But here I was now left to make a choice:
To be a part of this celebration,
Or step aside in my dedication
To observe nature's ways from a distance.
Be neutral and not take part in wrong ways,
For what had led to coming of dark days
Was Mankind's crime: It sought in repentance
That the desert flower which will blossom,
Shall live long enough to see kind autumn
- :icondailylitrecognition: Daily Lit Recognition for May 7th, 2014Daily Lit Recognition for May 7th, 2014
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Recognition!
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Poetry
Suggested by: justayne
Featured by: ladyshadowrage 

Bitter Revenge by justayne
Suggester said- I think that the main reason why 
I want to be featured is that I'm still quite a new poet 
and I want for more people to see my pieces 
and help me grow as a writer.
Featured by: AyeAye12

MSC #6 - Pushkin by shehrozeameen
An exceptionally crafted (underrated form of) 
sonnet. Filled with vibrant language, it carries 
a particularly


MSC (May Sonnet Challenge 2014) #6 - Pushkin. I actually love this work. I didn't think much about sonnets until I took up this challenge. While writing consistently and on a schedule can be very tiring on the mind, you get some moments of pure brilliance at times. This was one of them.

In case you plan on taking up a fixed form of poetry, do give this sonnet form a look. Its actually quite fun. :)

Mature Content

- :icondailylitdeviations: Daily Literature Deviations for January 23rd, 2014Guidelines | How to Suggest a DLD | Group Administrators | Affiliation | Chatroom | Current Staff Openings
Daily Lit Deviations for January 23rd, 2014
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article.

Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!
:pointr: For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your


This was amongst my earliest works which I had written here on dA. Yeah, back in the day when Sta.sh was still a fresh new thing, and we had funny symbols before our usernames. It was also before mentions became a fad here.

With that said, I actually recommend reading this work of mine, should you plan on checking out my prose pieces. Its long, granted, but like "Hozán (Sadness)", it was written when in the moment. And unlike my other works, its the only prose piece I have with some recognition.

Gather the Roses, my Love, And Fly AwayGather the Roses, my Love, And Fly Away
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
And find myself alone, like these withered leaves
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
Fate came, and tore us - thus were we set astray
Too late were we, for this weight that would not leave
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
The waves of the sea, their tides striking the bay
An undefined weight, a hard burden they heave
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
This soul is lost, its cries led by the wind's sway
A heart taken, its pieces lost from each cleave
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
Markings left show life, as you would always say
The sea which cared for me, a friend who would grieve
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
I waited by the sea, here is my last stay
I make my last wish, by the end of the eve
I hope to awaken in autumn one day
Gather the roses, my love, and fly away
- Awarded DD 9 October 2013

Interestingly enough, I wrote this after failing at writing a good villanelle. I'd consider this my second attempt at a villanelle, and reading it now... there are some portions which have forced rhymes, and while it may have consistent syllable count, its still not "metric" in a traditional sense.

deviantID

shehrozeameen
Shehroze Ameen
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Germany
Interests
Hey everybody :) and welcome to another feature from yours truly. And this time, we're having something:



Because, as the title suggests, this is going to be a feature for foreign language poems and prose, as well as new stuff I found here on dA, in no particular order. So yeah, lets begin. I'll start off with the foreign language works first.



This is a French work, which I was recommended by :iconbattlefairies: in one of the comments on my journal. I'm not particularly... actually, no, I'm not fluent in French, at all. :shrug: But the reason why I shared it here is because I actually found it engaging, especially the "laisser la Fraaaaance aux François de Francie" part... I just read everything after that point because it just felt so funny. It is an engaging prose piece, though. And I highly recommend giving it a look in case you have an understanding of the language.

Also, on the same note:



A French poem. Its dark, its fascinating, its definitely by someone I know personally, and overall its actually another recommendation from me to people who are native speakers of French, or want variety in their French deviations.

Next up:



An Italian poem. I like this one especially because of how it handles the concept of "being insignificant". Its not emo - instead its considering what we take lightly, or do not pay much heed, and then contextualizes it into what it feels like to be insignificant. I especially like the use of the refrain in this poem. Even if you're not a native speaker of Italian, I recommend it. Its well written.

Also it has a translation included for those who still want to give it a read anyway.



A Spanish poem. And like "Insignificante" it also has an English translation as well. I like it mostly because, like "Insignificant", its straightforward, and it doesn't go all droopy about its themes. Its also a short poem and that works in its favour. Its well written, and its got a fair point about how love actually stands to be honest.

And now, my favourite part... the German section.



Obwohl diese Schriftstellerin nicht so aktiv auf dA ist, aber fand ich es gut zu schrieben. Besonders durch Wolfstier ist es ganz interessant zu kapieren, ein Verständnis über Treue zu haben. So habe ich es hier gelegt.



This one actually has an English translation as well, but honestly you're missing out on a lot of fun if you read it in English first and then go to the German version. I don't know about anyone else, but I found the story far more interesting than the sexual aspects in it (one word: Tentacles). I especially liked the character of the Prince - of the three characters we see in this work, the Prince was in my opinion the most fleshed out. At the same time, some of his mystery actually gave him less of a dominant, abusive tendency (as modern writers, especially that cock sucking shitfaced dick head E L James are wont to do), but instead is actually very poker-faced in his approach. He doesn't play all his cards, rather he gauges the princess before he takes action. He isn't (at least in my reading) even interested in the social status he gains from his interactions with the princess, and shows a significant amount of loyalty to her. Which actually works in this case. In case anybody is interested in a good, well described, and well written work that has a consistent beginning, middle and end, I recommend giving this work a read. Whether in English or German is your choice really. I preferred it in German.



Its from the same writer, but there's a reason why I featured her twice. In case people just want an innocent, but still insightful and well thought out, poem, then I recommend giving this a read. The way it describes the worm, and how it considers its own fortune in the context of the apple, is well thought out and - in my opinion - something which poets in general could actually learn from. Its a well written poem, and for what its worth I'm featuring it here so... give it a look. Its straightforward, and I'm fairly certain that if you have a prior knowledge of Dutch or French or Spanish or Italian... or all of them combined for that matter... you can get the gist of what is being said here. :)

Now... and now for something completely different.



A work in English... and honestly, this deserves more comments and :+fav:s. I mean... its really well written, and the way it handles its theme and the way it describes love in general is quite well written to be honest. Do give it a go, for sure.



Ah man... Gary Morton. Its been a while since I read some of his works, and I swear to God they just get better with time. I had already mentioned "A Love Letter to Nobody", but this one is definitely underrated. I read it back in 2013, and now... I feel it deserves much more exposure. Do yourself a favour, and read this! Seriously, you'll be doing yourself a significant favour.

And now, I'll end this journal by saying: comments, suggestions, and any new deviations you had wound up finding will all be welcome. :hug: So share, spread the word, keep me updated on whatever you found, and lets see what else is there hidden in deviantART. Thanks for reading this far, and ya'll stay well. Cheers.

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:iconsaevuswinds:
saevuswinds Featured By Owner Aug 27, 2017
Thank you so much for the watch!
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:iconwickedproblem:
wickedproblem Featured By Owner Aug 26, 2017  New Deviant Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you kindly for the watch :TipOfTheHat: 
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:iconlizzicess:
lizzicess Featured By Owner Aug 13, 2017  Student Digital Artist
Hey! I just wanted to say I miss you and I'm sorry it's been so long since we have last talked. However, I have been looking at some of your newer submissions and as usual I think that they are just as good as the ones I've seen in the past if not better. I hope we can talk sometime soon! keep writing and always stay positive! :)
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:iconexnihilo-nihil:
Exnihilo-nihil Featured By Owner May 18, 2017  Professional Writer
Thank you my friend! 
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:iconbattlefairies:
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2017
Djinn time! fav.me/d63xe2v

Thank you once again for Favouriting!
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:icondanny-mechanist:
danny-mechanist Featured By Owner Apr 20, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Congrats on the DD Chezzy :huggle:
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:iconnightshade-keyblade:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthdaysignplz:, Shehroze!
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:iconnathanielflyingowl:
NathanielFlyingOwl Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017   Writer
Happy birthday!
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:iconroundtower:
roundtower Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017   Traditional Artist
Free Birthday Icon 
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:iconthegalleryofeve:
TheGalleryOfEve Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Happy Birthday my dear!!! :iconflyingheartsplz::party::iconyaayplz::iconballoonsplz::iconflyingheartsplz:
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:iconbattlefairies:
BATTLEFAIRIES Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2016
Here we are! Thank you for Favouriting, the Djinn will see you now:
'Ask The Djinn' stamp by BATTLEFAIRIES <-- einsteigen, einsteigen, hop hop hop Gay nazi wave 
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:iconneo128:
Neo128 Featured By Owner Edited Sep 15, 2016   General Artist
I eagerly, and publically, invite you to identify any and all works plagiarized by me, and thereby subject me to the well-deseved exposure a fraud like myself richly deserves... Failing this (as you've already realized) I'll be expecting an apology delivered with the same vehemence with which you made your duplicitous accusation... I won't be holding my breath, though... Piss-yellow jellyfish, like you, don't roll like that. :D
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:iconneo128:
Neo128 Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2016   General Artist
You make a request (unsolicited by me) to include my work in your collection then accuse me of plagiarism? You'll have to explain to me how that kind of mind process works... not that I find it of any usefulness, value or relevance, you understand... But just to satisfy my morbid curiosity. :D


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:iconraspil:
raspil Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2016   Writer
happy birthday <3 :hug:
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:icongrafffite:
grafffite Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2016  Student Artist
Happy birthday! I hope you have had a wonderful day! Hug Airborne 
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:iconsuejo:
SueJO Featured By Owner Apr 13, 2016  Professional Writer
This is why I don't have more faves. If you can't enjoy, what's the point?
More power to you.
Be-happy-and-healthy by vafiehya  Roses for BDay by KmyGraphic  Happy Birthday by katewackerle  
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