

Secret GardenA child at heart a wisp of smoke a slip of a maidSecret Garden
a phantum a haunting smile...
Peering betwixt the Bars of her own making.
The sacred room The key cleverly hid How dark! How dismal How ultimately peaceful.
There is no end here There is no beginning. There is no future Each memory, a
delicate painting
'cross the walls.
A place for her to wander to soak in the past the hate the shame the passion the insatiable pleasure.
A Secret Garden.


SocietyI hear it all the time The roar The blare The constant Persistent Tone That reminds me That I am not alone. To some 'tis a blessing. Society itself fears loneliness instilling this fear, of being alone, of laying still, of being quiet-- In all its followers.Society
Running Talking Traffic lights, that beat the constant pulse of city life. Insistent...
You are here You aren't alone. Ever.
The words echo in
my nightmares.
Can I not be alone? &nbs


Broken ReflectionStaring, Blankly at the marred reflection This can't be me? Can it?Broken Reflection
The face-- pale maybe, but same as always-- is mine.
This body-- thin maybe but able flowing skirt carressing
the hard wood floor-- is mine.
These arms-- lifeless maybe but its hands wrought many a beauticious written creation--- is mine.
This torso-- Bloodied, torn maybe, A silver blade portruding from its centre, the heart cloven in twine-- is mine.
These eyes-- anger, fear
--
I see you lying next to me
With words I thought I'd never speak
Awake and unafraid
Asleep or dead?
--
Mind Of FishBowL Productions: A Place of Randomosity!?
welcome to deviantART! hope you like it here!
~peter
I try hard to deserve the title of poet, as I believe you have to be of a certain calibre to be called one, so in calling me one, you've paid me a very honored and treasured compliment. The things I envision are so meaningful to me, so incredible that i can but try to share them with others. Somehow, I hope my experiences and what I've seen will someday benifit others, or help others to see deeper into a darkness few will venture into, as most of my poetry is rather macabre.
--
Can you guess what this is?
It never stays where it belongs
Set in stone, seen with perfect vision
Dead, yet summoned by a wandering thought
Both Beautiful and Accursed
I can influence the course of a man's life.
Who am I?
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