[x]

Because I am a MachineOnce upon a time, there was a beautiful, and yet pathetic society. This wasn't man's fault- because it's the machines' turn now. I should now, since I'm one of them. Or, at least, I thought I was, but I'm sure of what I am and what they will never be.

As I said, the world of machines was dull, despite the fact we can do so much. My peers, however, were afraid of what I could do. So they started the human's mirror. They created artificial skin with beautiful, and yet pathetic faces. Those fools thought they could pretend to be man. Those beautiful, and yet pathetic fools didn't know what it's like to destroy, generate, or enhance.

But I did.

Learn to believe in LoveI looked for love at the Library today.

I hopped on my road bike
and with quick pedaling,
and the encouragement to believe in love again,
Feist playing on my ipod.

I sped off to the Library
not knowing what to expect
but I knew what I was looking for,
What I desire most
Love

I saw you clearly in my head
even though we have never meet,
I see you, I know you.
Sitting alone at a table
reading some fantasy book
which you probably have read more times then you can count
you look up and smile at me

This is where I know love

As I make my way through South Pasadena
seeing all my beloved land marks, each one holds a story,
I lock

Clear

He,
While drowning in ambiguity
Met a girl
Who named herself Clear.
But that was not her name.
She
Took him from the apocalypse
Where the skyline suffocated
And barrels burned
Crude refuse.

But his senses,
Shell-shocked from pungent sweat and smoke
And alcohol,
Ignorant
Only felt, saw, breathed
Clear.

He didn't care when his mother cried,
Because she never cared before.
He said he didn't care
When his friend died in his arms
A sleeping death
Was it sweet?

Everything became Clear.

He felt the pricking of pins and needles
But still he squeezed,
Kept his tears inside
They remained a private shame.

Pale.
Glaze.
Stum

Clover boyHe sits with a mulberry lollipop between his teeth; he has eyes that look like starless midnight skies. He sings of songs that children shouldn’t hear.

Twinkle, twinkle little star
why have you not faded.
The midnight blue is after you
and the crystal moon is jaded.

He has mattered hair made of dried weeds and grass and a crown of braided daisies and violets. He breathes the dust and kisses the rain and wishes that someone would come and drag him out of it.

“He’s insane! He’s insane!
Monster! Monster!”
If he is the monster
Wha

and we'll violate the bordersi.

I set sail;
My dreamboat a séance in the tide
That would not overlook my own disposure.

Misplaced, only by convenience
Was my attention as I stood before the coastal guards
Who displaced the borderlines between Côte d'Ivoire
And dead metaphors that lined the shore.

ii.

Those governors of words,
Masters of their craft;
They told me, instruction clad, enigma strong –
There's a quiet enchantment that the world offers,
It arrives like a wave, but shatters like a storm.
Might you stand firm against the waking dawn
That threatens to rip apart the essence of who you are?I fed from the contents that spilled from t

Demonsdear friend.

hello. I would tell you my name, but I don't have one. I've used too many names; I don't know which one I can call mine anymore. but name is not the only thing that defines a person. there is also their soul.

I have a demon living inside my head. I don't know how it got there, I don't know if it will ever go away. all I know is that it makes me do things. I'm quiet and not very noticeable, but nice all the same. my normal self is kind of a wallflower. I don't mind it. I don't want too much attention, and I enjoy living in the silence. but sometimes it takes over, and I don't know how to stop it.

first I laugh. it's not like I

71. ObsessionWhen I pull the trigger we'll stop being here
A sharp dial tone curling up in your ear
The man in the mask is behind the first door
He knows what I'm doing, but I'm not so sure
The beast on my back can not be set aside,
If I'm going down he's along for the ride
The light of the lantern is calling to me
It's significant now, as it ever will be
It's this lacking of time, has set me on edge
Each unpassed moment that's burning my head
This isn't the middle, the end or beginning

Only the slow, silent ceasing of spinning.

This isn't the middle, the end or beginning
Each unpassed moment is burning my head
This lacking of time which has

BladeA blade unsheathed, a pen uncapped
Your opponent's blood, your ink to scribe
Their body littered with cuts, your thoughts laid to paper
A slice through the air, a poem written in a instant

My World Was NeonWe used to believe
         That Michaelangelo’s art was made of clouds, drab and brown
                That the worlds he created had no color,
                      and he graced heavenly spaces

          with muted palettes
of noir and burnt umber.

But with the help of modern technology, we found
That time played a trick on us.

His world was n

Never Seen a Real Night SkyDo you ever think that maybe, just maybe, you and I aren't quite where we're supposed to be? Maybe there's more to us than drunken nights and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Maybe there's more to life than silly stringing and too-late nights and falling head-first into the darkness of your more-than-mischief. I let you drag me along, just to feel the rough skin of your palm against mine.

You've always been too lazy. Looking for the easy way out, the easy way in, is not really all that becoming of you. But the cologne you wear is intoxicating, and your hands in my hair always send shivers of fear up my spine. Love? Fear? It's all the same, rea

Silver- Revised FinalSilver (Revised Final)

Silently stepping, barefoot beneath ebony sky,
along endlessly ashen white sand
as bloodless and sharp as though the earth itself
was peeled raw by the moon's own ivory luminosity;
the salted cusps of the sea
rose bright against its own deepening inner essences.

Our feet mixed with cooling waters and creamy sands,
gentle zephyrs blowing in quiet intricate delicacies
of scented scales and myrrhed musicalities,
kissed by the infinite ocean and the blanketing night.

Holding each others hands;
lovely fluttering hearts;
standing above the swirling surf.

I looked into that pool of reflections,
th

The VisitThe Visit

I had always known that it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I mean, it's natural, and impossible to prevent, right? I just wished that it didn't have to happen so soon…

I wandered that dismal place alone, my eyes moving from one stone to another, searching the landscape for one stone in particular. Withered bouquets were strewn on the ground around old tombstones worn from years of weather and neglect. The wind wafted lightly through the surrounding trees and fresh-cut grass. I could hear the wind whistling gently around me, almost like a tiny voice hidden amongst the dead and gone.

I used to hate graveyards.

I sup

Creation of the RulersBroken-nailed fingers worked at the paper as chapped lips let out every word that was being written. Reddened eyes looked around, stopping on every face, examining each closely. One bruised hand raised up and summoned one expressionless face closer. One broken-nailed finger traced perfect lips, then fell to a little jar of red paint. The broken-nailed finger raised once more and slid across the perfect lips, leaving them red and glossy.

The expressionless face smiled then, and retreated back to it's original position.

Another expressionless face was summoned, and the lips were painted pink by the broken-nailed finger. The second expressionl

The Good LifeWhy am I even here?

The music is loud and passionate, it makes me feel so alive. But as soon as it stops, the empowerment I get from the steady beat is gone. I pop the champagne and the next moment my friends and I are laughing as though it is the best day of our lives. But as soon as we finish it, my self-discovery in my own happiness stops. I dance with all of my closest friends, it expresses my true desire to live in the most honest of actions. But as soon as I stop for a moment, all that remains is a desire without a purpose.

I've vaguely known of these conflicted emotions for years. Only now have they become real. The bright yellow and

The Alchemists"Vaeri! Hurry up with that water, will you!"

"Alright, Harik! I got it, I got it!"

"My last helper didn't take fifteen minutes to fetch a bucket! Just bring it here!"

Vaeri sighed as she lifted the bucket out of the cistern. Her parents had apprenticed her to Harik for the summer, as a sort of "learning experience", the kind which built 'character.' Apparently being shouted at for every little perceived mistake promoted good qualities, like obedience and trembling when your name was shouted. Yes, she knew all about the "character" she was being given; she could feel it in her heart, or was it her headache?

It wasn't all that was aching ri

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My Last Duke

by ~Lyalnak, Nov 22, 2009, 7:35:13 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Traditional Fixed Forms

My Last Duke

My lord, will't please you,
to pull my curtain closed with all undue
respect, my false'd eyes
cannot bear to see such a creature of lies
go forth and fly to this man
who comes at your beck'th to arrange thine hand
to the bosom of raptured youth-
to him, surely, your desires are as such; uncouth-
the temptor of Adam and Eve
was not so much as scaly as thee.
Indeed, yours is quite the twisted mind
I say, to be as the Devil himself and find
that happiness becomes pain:
t'was the loss of your gain
in having me, your lordship, in that
what would make others happy, sickened and sat
vile in your acursed soul, believing
your ladys born'd goodnesses were deceiving,
for how is it that my smile
of all things, would fool and beguile
your noble senses, into
a tryst with madness in who
you together had agreed
death would be the very best for you and me?
I now only wish that my
satanic portraiture would cry
into your deafened ears
that nothing was ever the sum of your fears.
But only, how? How could my wretched nature foul
so move one as yourself- in where a digging trowel
will find more arrogance above mine head
than common dirt instead?

My Last Dukeby ~Lyalnak

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Traditional Fixed Forms

This is a response poem to Robert Browning's My Last Dutchess. I tried to mimic the rhyme sequence and tone as best as possible. You may not understand this if you haven't read Robert Browning's poem, so you should probably read it to understand where I'm coming from-[link]

I took my time writing this one, but I can't help feeling that people won't be able to understand what the whole point of this poem is.

So my question is, does this poem speak to you clearly and give you an accurate picture of what has happened?

This is the point-a dead woman is silently asking through her own portrait why she was killed (her husband put her to death because he hated her liking other things besides him, but had a portrait made of her before she died so he might admire her beauty whenever he wished), during a section in My Last Dutchess where her husband, the duke, discusses a new marriage with an emissary.

If I missed this point, please let me know, I would like any criticism on making this poem better! Thanks!

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~James-the-Zombie Dec 24, 2009

very beautiful and haunting in a way.

~Lyalnak Dec 30, 2009 Student Photographer

Thanks! And thanks as well for the watch!

~Formlessforce Dec 24, 2009

You are freaking awesome. I read the "will't please you to pull my curtain closed" and I was like, holy crap, Robert Browning! And this is very well done. Great work.

~Lyalnak Dec 30, 2009 Student Photographer

Wow, thank you!

I didn't think this poem would get so much praise, I was expecting people saying 'wtf' or, 'I don't understand it at all', so thank you I really appreciate the compliments!

~Formlessforce Dec 30, 2009

I wouldn't have understood it at all had I not read My Last Duchess. But in that context it's really awesome. I especially appreciate it because I'm an old-school poetry nerd. I'll take Wordsworth, Shakespeare and Tennyson over moder poetry any day xD

~Lyalnak Jan 3, 2010 Student Photographer

I like all kinds poetry, old-school or new school, but I've got a bigger preference for the old-school stuff. It seems finer, more pleasing than the newer stuff.

~Formlessforce Jan 4, 2010

I agree. I'm not a real formalist and can't say I write with as much finesse and attention to detail as Tennyson or Wordsworth, but I try to keep the spirit of older poetry alive in my own even if I write in free verse. There was a lot of beauty and depth to it that I don't see very often in modern poetry.

*Phyllipa Dec 24, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

This was soo welld one, I really loved My Last Duchess and this really did it credit. You were able to use his style very well and I love the comparison of him to the snake of Adam and Eve.

~Lyalnak Dec 30, 2009 Student Photographer

Thank you!

I loved My Last Dutchess too, it's tied with Porphyria's Lover as my fav Robert Browning poem. The part about the snake, I didn't even know where that came from, I guess it was one of those magical moments in writing when everything just comes together.

*Phyllipa Dec 30, 2009 Hobbyist General Artist

Ah good times they are! Ever written an entire poem/piece jsut because you NEED to use that one beautiful sentence/stanza/metaphor?

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