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Autumn

by ~Be-Back-Soon, Oct 23, 2012, 12:08:00 PM
Literature / Poetry / Nature / Free Verse

The trees burst into flames
And the tortilla chip leaves flutter
To the ground
Swirling around our feet
The warm sun
Enlightens our faces
And the fair breeze
Ruffles our hair
And sets it free
Flying away on the wind
Goodness paints a smile on our faces
And a fresh innocence is born in the rose

Leaves flutter to the ground
As the bitter wind
Blows them off their branches
Jackets drape across shivering forms
And gloves cover blanched fingertips
The rose spoils and bitter thorns reach out
At us and spill our blood onto the ground
Flowers slowly wilt
As Death's hand comes over them
And a chilling evil takes over
As the fallen leaves
Get covered by the sickly sweet snow

Newest Deviations

VulnerableThe frozen thoughts
Fingers brush her cheek
The world spins
And the day falls apart
A shroud around her vulnerable shouldersVulnerable by ~Be-Back-Soon

4 Comments

Blood Red BeautyBlood red beauty
Glistening against knife blades
Pooling on the marble floor
Staining the white jeweled bodice
Red fingerprints against the paper
Blood stained goldBlood Red Beauty by ~Be-Back-Soon

3 Comments

One Piece MissingOh beautiful premonition
Floating in your cerulean canvas
Attaching ideas with your laced tendrils
Piecing together a china teacup
One piece missing
Sweeping under the sofa
Collecting it into your dustpan
One piece missing
But it doesn't fitOne Piece Missing by ~Be-Back-Soon

3 Comments

AutumnThe trees burst into flames
And the tortilla chip leaves flutter
To the ground
Swirling around our feet
The warm sun
Enlightens our faces
And the fair breeze
Ruffles our hair
And sets it free
Flying away on the wind
Goodness paints a smile on our faces
And a fresh innocence is born in the rose

Leaves flutter to the ground
As the bitter wind
Blows them off their branches
Jackets drape across shivering forms
And gloves cover blanched fingertips
The rose spoils and bitter thorns reach out
At us and spill our blood onto the ground
Flowers slowly wilt
As Death's hand comes over them
And a chilling evil takes over
As the fallen leaves
Get coveredAutumn by ~Be-Back-Soon

3 Comments

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Devious Journal Entry

by ~Be-Back-Soon, Oct 24, 2012, 2:54:49 PM
Journals / Personal

Mood: Questionable

Hi guys. I guess I might have another sort of block. Not a writing one, I just, I don't really know. I went into hysterics yesterday over something that hasn't even happened yet, my sister's making me feel insecure, and everything I write seems like crap to me.
So, should I clean up my gallery? I want to get rid of some stuff and completely delete it off my computer but then I'm worried that years from now I'll want to see it again. I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me now. Oh, and Mr. Davis has pneumonia. Probably no one really cares, but now my life has no meaning. Off to draw some Davfruit.

5 Comments

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Sep 30, 2012 If my life was graded...
Sep 29, 2012 Wedding
Sep 27, 2012 Devious Journal Entry

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~Be-Back-Soon

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature

United States

I do commissions! For now, all commissions are free!

Check out these great groups!

Check out these awesome deviants!

The winners of the elements contest at #The-Literature-Files!

Here are some beautiful pieces by our first place winner in the elements contest, ~TheVictoriousWolf

TeardropTeardrop, oh dream catch me. Oh catch me, blue glass of pain and joy. Dualistic opposites, converging on each other in eternal fury and competition. Equality kept them in check, the forces of the universe bound in them.

And She emanated them.

Controlled them.

Loved them.

For who else could love such a thing as a teardrop? A sign of sadness, yet one of joy and laughter. Such hate… such confusion. Who else but her could love something like that? Well, barring Him, but he had a completely different domain entirely. Change.

Steering back to topic it had been so very long since she had actually used her domain for what it was meant for.

The Senseless Boy. For Rhys Murphy.And then I was running, running for my life...

Pulsing.

Turning.

Twisting.

Snap.

Night filled the sky. Though it hid behind clouds, the glow of the moon was visible enough to be pinpointed. Below, cement filled the ground. Before Him, a rapidly moving concrete jungle. No. It was He who was rapidly moving. No. Running. No. Limping. His right calf ringed with pain, and He let out another strained groan. Yet He carried on regardless, using his dominant arm (Luckily, his right) to pull himself across the expanse of streets and rundown houses, clawing onto anything He could grab, though fences, lamp posts, and cars were his main targets. He h

Dawn of the DuskIn the wake of a new day. In the path of the new. Following, day, night. Repeat. Details change. Details always change. However, nobody cares about details. Why should they? Details are not to be planned; they are to be appropriated for.
Adjusted.
Twisted.
Mocked.

Any fool can turn a detail to his advantage, provided he knows how. Despite this, it is details that are remembered. Have to be remembered. For it is the details that matter. That always matter. They are the half the plan. Half the fun. Unpredictability. Nothing should be predictable. Least of all wolves.

But that was what'd happened. He had become predictable. The same rout

The Lonely OakThese had once been rolling plains, stocked with beauty, and a plethora of vegetation and wildlife. Liveliness filled these plains, where Lamb would lay with Lion, where Deer would roam, and Wolf would watch. Greenery flourished. Then came Man.

Man brought his Horsemen. The beasts of his own unmaking were his own production. War and Pestilence and Famine and Death. Man slew tree, beast, and even It's own, in It's senseless need for power and destruction. Like a raging bull, blinded by It's own red hazed fury it ploughed on. Where it would end, or if it already had, no one knew for sure. All simply watched helplessly on, hoping to avoid It's

Rebirth of a RemnantDarkness becomes light. Light becomes dark. The never ending cycle of madness, death, and, hopefully retribution, littered with man's twisted certainties of morality, and their resulting afterlives. When are we born? When do we die?

Where do the Lonely Souls go?

Darkness becomes light.

A man is writing his memoirs. His legacy. Not because of his age, but because he simply wants to be remembered correctly, to not have his life distorted by future generations. And to leave something to his children when she comes for him.

The cabin comes to view, as the reader imagines such things worth imagining. It is night. Blacker than the deepest wretc

Here is some brilliant work by the second place winner in our elements contest, ~HazeReality!

Aria of the AirThe wind has always been faithful to me.

Even now as I look over this war-ravaged land, as I observe the desolate landscape, the wind softly tickles my ear, reminding me of its presence. It always blows gently, never stagnant, never roaring. It is the little life we have left, a good life.

Unlike blazing Fire, a fierce entity that burned down my one place to call home.

Unlike destructive Water, bringing the worst of floods to areas already desolated, and emphasizing the despair of the people even more so.

Unlike dying Earth, which does not bring us crops and food like before. Instead, the world is barren, never to be revived again.

Only

Killing The Dragon-An AllegoryIn a small room at a hospital, shouts of joy were heard.

"You have a daughter," the doctor said, and he handed the newborn to her mother. She smiled happily, and her husband was almost in tears beside her.

However, among the cries of joy from my parents, something occurred in my heart that no one, not even the doctor, noticed at all.

A dragon hatched.

I grew up knowing of the dragon's presence, and one day the dragon flew me high above the clouds.

"What do you see?" the dragon asked.

I looked down below at the world. I saw people hurrying to work, a woman walking her dog, a group of children playing in the streets, and all the other peo

Always MovingOn the timekeeper,
I see the quivering needle
move.
When it moves sixty times
a second needle moves
once.
When the second needle moves sixty times,
a third needle moves once.
But the quivering needle
never stops moving.
What does it quiver with?
Fear?
Excitement?
Tension
that it is the only thing
that stands
between us and the rest of our lives?
The boundary between life and death
is in the power of
the quivering needle
It holds every one of my years
in its hands.
And yet no matter how much I beg it:
"Stop!"
The only response is
'Tick Tock'

Dandelion In order

for a wish

   to come true

    in your house,

Put Just EnoughLove

can be sweet.

But if too much sugar is added,

disgust will sink in,

and love

will turn to bitterness.

Stamps!

:thumb308196917: :thumb265347236:

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Comments

~seerstella May 29, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

thanks for the fave!

*CarmineDevian Dec 28, 2012 Student Writer

HAPPY B DAY FRIEND

`IrrevocableFate Dec 14, 2012 Writer

~AstaraBriarart Dec 9, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

thank you for the fav ^.^

~WorksOfTheHand Dec 8, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Thank you for the OUAT Fave!

~gillix33 Nov 12, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

thanks for faving my evil queen

~diejjj Nov 12, 2012 Student General Artist

Thank you for faving my Rumpelstiltskin drawing

~jogagirl Nov 8, 2012

thanks for the fav on my piece: I've Got the Magic In Me (Once Upon a Time). please check out some of my other Once Upon a Time work, and, if you like my work, please add me to your watch list.