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Literature
Pokemon Master
I remember going to the store with my mom
in the winter of fourth grade, picking up
a Gameboy Color, purple plastic so clear
you could see right through it
to a world where a child's dream
became reality in a magical box
where ten-year-olds were adults,
exploring was second nature,
and anyone, even you,
could be a Pokemon master.
I remember walking to school with my friend
in the spring of fifth grade, debating
the existence of a secret secluded space
in the back of Bill's workshop,
a garden only the chosen
could enter—a haven for shinies,
rarest of the rare; the promised land
littered with Master Balls, where a kid
could capture the mythical Mew
and become a Pokemon master.
I remember fighting with my brother
in the summer of sixth grade, arguing
about pointless things, hitting each other
like siblings sometimes do
and when all seemed lost, our rocky
relationship set to die like a dog in a ditch
we'd trade Pokemon, still sulking,
my Golem for your Gengar and it was enough
becaus
:iconRizareth:Rizareth
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Literature
Riddle Poem
in the coal-fired dusk the ocean
lies like silvered glass
the once-roaring tumult still
as a sleeping child
there are ghosts here; alien
creatures from another world
milky white discs tinted
with a pale blue
they glide through the sea
like down from a torn quilt
or a hundred lacy
dresses on a ballroom floor
soft silken saucers tumbling
through the cool water
so delicate a touch
might tear them apart
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Literature
Dinner--alone.
Each night, Alex Johnson dines alone.
It's not really a problem, he thinks,
Though the dining table really is too big
For just one person.
Maybe he'll get a smaller one,
So it'll look less empty.
Tonight he's eating lasagna
Out of a microwaveable dish.
He's quite the eligible bachelor,
His friends sometimes remind him--
He's an accomplished cook,
He likes to clean, and he even
Enjoys doing the laundry.
And who really ENJOYS doing laundry?
But despite all this
Each night, Alex Johnson dines alone.
Why is that, he sometimes wonders,
When his mother thinks he's such
A great catch. If he's really so
Wonderful, why hasn't anyone
Snapped him up? But of course,
It's not really a problem, even if
The dining room table is a bit big.
Even if it does look horribly empty.
It's a little sad, his mother says,
But who listens to their mother
Anymore, at least at his age. The point is that
Each night, Alex Johnson dines alone.
Sometimes he imagines there's someone sitting
At the other end of the table
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Literature
Rooftops
As the morning sun peeks over the city
A sharp ear may detect a rushing sigh
Moving from rooftop to rooftop to rooftop.
A collective unrest; a depression, if you will.
It is as if the roofs themselves dread
The dawning of each new day, the silence,
The loneliness.
As the same light of dawn strikes the cobblestones
Of the city's well-worn streets, however,
A different sound quickly overwhelms
The sadness of the rooftops.
It is a cacophony of laughter, a rising wave
Of joy, of comradeship, of excitement.
Each day brings a new story; a new beginning.
It is a sharp and overwhelming contrast
To the quiet monotony above.
And when, finally, the light
Of the same dawning day strikes
The rows upon rows upon rows of shoes
Lined up in halls, in entryways;
As tired feet slip into tired shoes,
One might detect a slight grumble
Of boredom.
Each night, the silent rooftops dream
Of shoe-shod feet; the feet of travelers,
Of merchants, of housewives and children.
They ache to be trod, to be worn down
Li
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Literature
Dracula
I killed Dracula last night;
Bastard just wouldn't give up--
Kept getting uglier and standing up again.
In the end it was fruitless;
I put him down--but not for good--
He'll come back in the next game.
I guess that's life; the more we fight,
The less beautiful we become.
The older we get, the uglier we get,
And the more stubborn we end up.
Poor Dracula's doomed to relive the same fate,
Over and over again.
Rise to fall; fall to rise.
Sometimes we learn, but usually
We don't.
Only Dorian Grey can show us the same face
No matter how many mistakes he makes,
No matter how many times he falls.
He and Dracula are cut from the same cloth;
One painted his ugliness away--
The other embraced it.
But for us normal people
Pain, wasted effort, determination
All show up on our face.
And, unlike Dracula,
We only get one chance.
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:iconrizareth:Rizareth 2 4
Literature
Lollipop
There's nothing as luscious as a lollipop,
Give me more or my heart will pop;
It stirs the fancy, wakes the soul,
There's nothing that turns my tongue to gold,
Nothing but a lollipop--I love this taste; don't make me stop.
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Literature
Indecisive
I'm sick of choices, decisions, making up my mind.
What's so wrong with "indecisive"?
Why shouldn't I play, have fun, and mess around?
I'm sick of chasing,
Of running after people, after things;
When will it be my turn to be loved; appreciated; wanted?
Why must I choose between two things, two things I want; two things I need?
Where's the value of perseverance, when sticking to one thing
Means never experiencing another?
When one door opened means two doors closed?
Why can't I follow two conflicting paths,
Decide when I get there; learn as I go along.
Only a child can try, can change his mind, can choose not to choose.
I'm too old to learn new tricks; too old to change my ways.
Life has never been fair, and so, again, I make my choice.
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Literature
backward
Black and white, my vision races
Forward down the path ahead
Stumbling, careless, easy paces
I'm a wand'rer, born and bred
Made to stumble, built to fall
Heeding only nature's call
All my life, my soul defined
Blocks my path; a heartless wall
As I walk back, in slow rewind
All I passed, and those I followed
Rushing past me, far ahead
As I, once more, am left for dead
All the time I'd spent was borrowed
Blurring, slipping, through my head
I walk my backward walk again
Lose it all for that one night
Where everything began;
It's time to set it right.
I'm clinging, but I've lost my grip
I've gone too far, I'm far behind
That single word, a thoughtless slip
Lost me all I'd hoped to find
All I've found, and all I've left behind
I must rebuild, or else rewind
And build a new path; find new things to find.
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Literature
Black and White
Immobilized, I stand
Staring across the bridge at night, lit
By black, white, grey, and the yellow
Of a single street lamp on the concrete road.
Five minutes.
I can't move; don't want to move--
I hear nothing but music,
Pressing insistently on the drums of my ears.
A silver-white owl drops gracelessly across the street,
Is demolished
By a passing car
Too busy to care, off on an errand, or back from a trip.
Blood and feathers
Spread slowly across my vision
As the car races by, unconcerned.
Warm tears spatter my face
And I lick my lips,
Tasting iron and salt.
A single feather drops
From my shoulder,
As I lick
The owl's blood off my teeth and nose,
Watching as the owl spreads its wings farther
Than it ever could before.
Nothing holds it together as it settles to the ground,
Over the edge of the bridge
And into the water.
The passing car rushes
Across the bridge as I feel my headphones crack,
Disgorging their contents onto the newly moistened pavement;
A small screw,
A coil of wire and hal
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Literature
A Tree
A tree, planted in penance,
May grow, or may wither.
I cannot predict its fate.
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Literature
Insomnia
Insomnia is an overenthusiastic friend,
Keeping me up long after both ends
Of the candle have burned to the ground.
Insomnia is an unwelcome relative,
Staying far longer than the three days
It takes a fish to rot away.
Insomnia is a hard-headed mistress,
Refusing to leave me regardless of my
Periodic trysts with her sister.
Insomnia is the twin of Lazarus,
Returning stubbornly, repeatedly,
From every tomb I build.
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Literature
Blue as the Sky
Her eyes, blue as the sky,
See nothing in this world.
Once, perhaps, they fathomed
The intricate workings
Of the earth around her,
But no more.
Her eyes, blue as the sky,
See all, but not this world.
Long ago, she saw me; long ago
She spoke. Long ago, she
Knew my name, but now
Her words are gone.
Her eyes, blue as the sky,
See no-one; not a soul.
They say she saw a thing one day
That closed her open mind;
Closed her to this world we see,
And now her mind has gone.
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Literature
Hazel Eyes
She never said a word.
Sitting. Staring. Hazel eyes
boring hole upon hole upon hole
into my aching skull.
She never said a word,
rising slowly, soft hazel eyes
accusing me of every crime
but murder.
She never said a word,
turning her back to me,
hazel eyes staring into a future
minus one more fool.
She never said a word.
Those hazel eyes walked out my door,
gone forever. Those eloquent hazel eyes
I'll never see again.
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Literature
Sometimes.
A lonely bicycle pulls out of the driveway
Fishtailing out like there's no tomorrow
There's sometimes nothing left to say
When all your words are borrowed
A bicycle flying down the street
And burning up the highway
There's endless loads of girls to meet
Each one's a new cliche
But sometimes running's all there is
And sometimes you can't stay
It's all those words she never says
That make him feel this way
Who knows where he is today
And who knows where tomorrow
He's pushing everyone away
There's no-one left to follow
He's had enough of sympathy
Enough of being pitied
There's nowhere that he'd wanna be
So he's going to the city
It's over now and he is free
Just doesn't feel that way
The last thing that he said to me
is "Why's the sky so gray?"
Sometimes I think he's gonna die
Sometimes that he's okay
And sometimes I just don't know why
I didn't go that day.
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Literature
I am.
The wind pulls through me, sending ripples
down my spine as my back arcs, and arcs again
in perfect, beautiful time with my cohorts;
bowing in unison like a wave of Japanese soldiers.
The sun burns across my skull and I shrivel,
curling, baking brown as treacle--baking
like a loaf in the oven as I shrink into my self,
joining my comrades deep within the earth.
The rain slaps across my face and I drink,
gorging myself from the bottom up; filling
my spine with the sweet liquor of life,
standing tall in a crowd of thirsty men.
The breeze strokes my naked breast
as I bend, curve, and rise again--
my fingers brush my neighbor's hand;
a gentle acknowledgement of companionship.
I am the fruit of the earth--child of the sun,
rain and wind I cry my silent song
to the cloudless heavens, and breathe
the heady scent of life, again, again,
and again.
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:iconrizareth:Rizareth 2 4
Literature
Es war einmal..
Es war einmal ein kleines Kind
Das wuchs aber allzugeschwind
Einst dachte es dass alle Leute
Nette sind, und keine scheute
Aber dann, eins, zwei, und drei
Ging das Leben schnell vorbei
Das Kind, es lernte schnell zu hassen
Lernte immer aufzupassen
Leute kann man nichts vertrauen
Wollen nur sich selbst aufbauen
Nun ist es ein Kind nicht mehr
Ist nun Erwachsen, bittesehr
Wünscht es wäre wieder Jung
Ohne Sorge oder Aufregung
Aber nun ist es zu spät
Schon ein Sklav der Konformität
Leider wusste es das nicht
Die Warheit kommt erst jetzt zur Licht
So ist das nun, man wachst und lernt
Und die Jugend wird verlernt.
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Activity


deviantID

Rizareth
ZZZ...SNORT! ...whu? ....zzz
United States
Just a note. I will always do requests, and especially swaps. If you want to do one, just comment somewhere-anywhere-with a topic.
Cheers!

Current Residence: Oregon
Favourite genre of music: Rock, Pop, some Punk, Nightcore
Operating System: Ubuntu, Windows7, Slackware, Mandriva
Shell of choice: Konsole, clear skin
Favourite cartoon character: Radical Edward, Shikamaru
Personal Quote: "Stupidity is an elemental force for which no earthquake is a match." -Karl Kraus
Interests
Last night I participated in my first piece of interactive theater, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. For those of you who've never seen a showing, or just don't know what I'm talking about, look it up and go to a showing. It's totally awesome. The simplest, crudest way to describe it is watching a movie on a screen while actors are acting out the parts at the same time, but making fun of the movie. And the entire audience screams stuff at the screen. There are people who've seen this 20, 30, 40 times and it's still awesome. Last night was the most fun I've had in a long, long time :]

Comments


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:iconrizareth:
Rizareth Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2010
You poor thing :(
Reply
:iconimposterable:
imposterable Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
ahh. stay home ;__;
and do my projects ~
Reply
:iconrizareth:
Rizareth Featured By Owner Jan 1, 2010
I did too, but not anymore! I went to San Francisco and saw Cirque du Soleil with my girlfriend :3 fun fun funnn!
What did you do?
Reply
:iconimposterable:
imposterable Featured By Owner Dec 31, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
lol yu too ~ though i still got half a day to go >_<;
Reply
:iconrizareth:
Rizareth Featured By Owner Dec 30, 2009
Happy new year's!
Reply
:iconimposterable:
imposterable Featured By Owner Dec 25, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
merry christmas, tinytiny :santa:
Reply
:iconimposterable:
imposterable Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
LOL it doesn't matter either way
as long as you review :)

anonymously or not.
Reply
:iconrizareth:
Rizareth Featured By Owner Nov 20, 2009
Hnnnn. What was my old account again...
Reply
:iconimposterable:
imposterable Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
lol remember to review :3
Reply
:iconrizareth:
Rizareth Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2009
Reading.......Now!
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