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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 5, 2012
"For all its brevity and lack of drama, Invictus by `GeneratingHype is one of the barest bits of humanity in dA Lit." Suggester's words; I couldn't agree more.
Thank you for being respectful in your comments on this piece.
Thank you for being respectful in your comments on this piece.
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Suggested by LiliWrites
Literature
for unseeing eyes
laden with sky
we stumbled
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.
between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
steady-soft,
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.
keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
and somehow
build kingdoms under
upturned noses.
with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determinat
Literature
Lullaby
"I've been waiting my entire life to tell you that I'm dying and I figured I'd finally get it over with.
So here I am, carving forgive me
into my teeth, so every time that I speak
I can still say that I'm sorry.
More years have passed in the last than I care to remember
but I could never forget:
In eighth grade my chorus teacher always told me,
'Michael, you'll never be good enough.'
and it always excited me. It reminded me of my mother.
On the last day of school she smiled,
her teeth jagged like a train wreck,
she didn't say a word,
but I knew exactly what she meant.
In high school I fell in love with a roadside bomb waiting to be deton
Literature
Roses
You love too much, I am told by a man with a briar heart, thorny sinews and collapsed ventricles bearing down on him, hardly beating in his tight chest. He looks at me with flat, slate eyes, chipping and eroding. His hands are dark with cigarette burns and rough with calluses; I feel them on my shoulders as he looks down at me, face collapsing in at his eyes like a dead man's.
For the first time, I realize he is dead. His briar heart dried up when winter killed his rose; my father, he is all thorns.
He squeezes my shoulders, too tight. You look like your mother, you know, he whispers, eyes shifting to the garden, to the yellow rose I plante
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Greetings, dA. I was given some unfortunate news, as you may infer. I am okay, and my family is okay, and you needn't worry too terribly much. I am at peace. I am unconquerable.
Let us simply say that I have chosen to live until the Lord calls me home.
A little William Ernest Henley now:
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
----------|
Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read and comment on this piece. Its author, William Ashley Brown, III (better known as Pip to most of us, and yet many other internet pseudonyms through the years), lost his battle with cancer in January 2010.
Rest-assured those last few months of his life were some of the happiest. Bill died with dignity, on his own terms, completely at peace with the world. His ashes were spread on Irish soil, as per his wishes, and we threw quite the lively wake as per his plans.
Bill is survived by his partner and husband, Brody, and all his loving friends and relations.
-Nic
6 Nov 2012
Let us simply say that I have chosen to live until the Lord calls me home.
A little William Ernest Henley now:
Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
----------|
Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read and comment on this piece. Its author, William Ashley Brown, III (better known as Pip to most of us, and yet many other internet pseudonyms through the years), lost his battle with cancer in January 2010.
Rest-assured those last few months of his life were some of the happiest. Bill died with dignity, on his own terms, completely at peace with the world. His ashes were spread on Irish soil, as per his wishes, and we threw quite the lively wake as per his plans.
Bill is survived by his partner and husband, Brody, and all his loving friends and relations.
-Nic
6 Nov 2012
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i unironically cry every time i read this