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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
March 1, 2014
rockheadkengo uses an unexpected metaphor to convey the challenge of dealing with grief.
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Literature
Accept your Candle, Weep for the Stars
A light I see, far off in the distance. It's a star, I told myself.
No other thought surpassed it, I want to reach it.
I struggle in the darkness, slowly heading for it, not knowing, not thinking.
I know this is what I want. I want the star.
It gets brighter, I can feel its warm touch, though I'm far from it.
Joy overwhelms my soul, I'm so close, so close to
my star. It's my star and nothing else matters.
I reach with my fingers, to touch it.
A candle. A lowly candle, my thoughts shattered.
This is not what I wanted. It's not my star.
I blink, and blink again, I see clearly. Up above.
There are hundreds, no millions of stars.
Why
Literature
Beginning We End
Him, in the very beginning:
He is eighteen when he gets his death sentence. Unlike most death sentences, this one isn't going to send him to the guillotine or maybe the noose. Instead, it's handed to him by a doctor with very clean hands in a stark white room probably very similar to the one he'll end up dying in. And it's not the type of death sentence carried out by an impassive executor. He's essentially going to kill himself. He is dying from the inside out.
He mumbles something at the doctor, and suddenly he is on the street, a white piece of paper fisted and crumped in his hands. He's grateful it has the prescription written on it in
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
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I see a lot of dead dogs on my drive to/from work. I also see a lot of random carpet on the road. I like to think there's a correlation there, but only insomuch as people should treat their dogs and carpets better.
This artist's description isn't really related to the poem, but I digress.
This artist's description isn't really related to the poem, but I digress.
© 2013 - 2024 rockheadkengo
Comments37
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The category sums it up alrigh: human nature. (Not neccisarly a good a or bad thing, just a matter of fact).
I don' t have much words for this. I can feel the pain.
I don' t have much words for this. I can feel the pain.