ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
These Words, Right Here
All things possible, all the world’s a stage
My best friends are the words on this page
They will never betray, this is my wish
We both know what to say, this is bliss
Do I write you or do you make me?
Who knows, who cares
Will it ever be understood twice?
It shows, these layers
Does the work surpass the artist?
I for one think it does
Is this worth sacrificing everything for?
These words, worthy of the greatest loves
Everything I want is here, here in this prose
I no longer know fear, my cup overflows
I cannot remember the hurt, the wounds heal
You are my friends, you make my dreams real
All things possible, all the world’s a stage
My best friends are the words on this page
They will never betray, this is my wish
We both know what to say, this is bliss
Do I write you or do you make me?
Who knows, who cares
Will it ever be understood twice?
It shows, these layers
Does the work surpass the artist?
I for one think it does
Is this worth sacrificing everything for?
These words, worthy of the greatest loves
Everything I want is here, here in this prose
I no longer know fear, my cup overflows
I cannot remember the hurt, the wounds heal
You are my friends, you make my dreams real
Literature
Time
Dark grey clouds hung in the sky, lifeless, obscuring the sun, casting the world in perpetual twilight. The air spun listlessly, without purpose, meandering, lost. Lightning flashed in the distance, but it was dull, and arched lazily among the clouds; no thunder followed.
He knelt on his knees on the barren ground, head bowed with eyes closed, as if asleep. But he was not sleeping; how could he sleep? The pain of incredible loss and despair seared through him, leaving a cold ache that seeped into his bones. No, he did not sleep, could not sleep.
The last words of the prophecy slipped into his mind, unbidden:
When all has come to end,
a
Literature
In the Mirror
She cracks the door just an inch, peering through the crack into the darkness of the room beyond. Lightning flashes through the window, illuminating vague figures standing still. Fingers twitching, mind racing, heart pounding, she pushes through the door and reaches to grab the nearest figure. The white fabric slips silently off as she touches it, revealing the chair underneath. A wry grin finds its way onto her face and she moves through the room. Dust bunnies run from her falling footsteps, jumping quickly then slowly drifting back to the floor. She slides the cloth from several pieces, a table, a couch, more chairs, a trunk, a vanity.
Literature
2. Power
I was at your house again, sitting on the wooden coffee table in one of your band shirts. This one was some punk rock band. It was my favorite color, so I didn't mind not knowing who was on the front of it. My bum was cold against the wood, but I stayed there. I was playing an Xbox game and desperately trying to ignore my pharmacology homework. You came behind me as if you had just discovered I was in your home. You were wordless, so I paused the game in case you wanted to speak. You stood in front of me, and there's a smirk on your face. I use to write about men like you. With bright eyes, and egos, and a heart breaking smirk. I lo
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
A quick poem about the nature and beauty of the written word, particularly poetry itself.
© 2014 - 2024 KomradApex
Comments9
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Overall
Vision
Originality
Technique
Impact
This is my first critique so sorry if it's not too amazing
Firstly I want to say that I really enjoyed this, it's an interesting take on the relationship an artist has with his medium and something I know quite a lot of us will be able to relate to.
You clearly have a particular audience in mind and as a member of that audience it certainly does wonders to know that this was written with someone such as myself in mind, the drawback of this of course is that it has the possibility of alienating others who don't understand what you've produced.
Reading this was an absolute joy, I didn't find anything jarring and it flowed perfectly, I like to read things out loud when I intend to comment and this simply rolled off my tongue so well done in that regard. Having said that my only complaint is that you didn't break up "My best friends are the words on this page" whereas every other line in the stanza was broken into two, with a piece like this consistency is key.
In regards to your imagery I have to say I felt like I was sitting at an oak desk with a pen in hand and half filled page in-front of me from the very first line right till the end when I was dragged kicking and screaming back into reality. On the one hand I would like this to be longer, but that's just a selfish desire to become more immersed within this piece, on the other I feel that this is far more effective at it's current length. That's something for you to play around with and decide on your own and honestly it varies from piece to piece.
The Shakespeare reference was particularly striking for me as it's something I haven't actually seen before in any other writers work and I really did appreciate the 'throw back' as it were to the bard as it sets the tone for the entire piece.