Newest
in progress parableFather Time and Mother Death were off to starry pacing As sand leaked through the hourglass of cosmic nooks and bends As reaper hung with breathless lung on cobwebs' gentle lacing On cloudy skies of past goodbyes which mortal hands can't mendin progress parable
Once rang a bell to say, "now, why's the hour stopped?" The note then held forever in a clarity undying Twice clanged a dagger saying, "now my life is robbed!" Thrice sang an angel for the peace of not deciding
"Joy," he cried with triumph, "to the voice which sounds unheard," "For leaving from the lion's den with tone and tune unscathed
by ~EschatonFluX
midnight chaiThe moon was beautiful tonight.midnight chai
The previous line sat, lonely, producing the only light in the room via the dimmed laptop while I ventured outdoors to confirm it. I looked at the harsh screen-light filtering through the window from the street in front of my house. It has rained all day, and there are clouds tonight.
There is no moon.
The funny thing is that I felt it. I felt the moon, which justified the line. I was already down the path anyways. I sip my drink and walk catlike back to the door, entering, and locking it again, bolt and all, because someone in my house is afraid of being robbed or murdere
by ~EschatonFluX
Lying as a child.I sit eating some quesadillas, dipping them in salsa which may as well have made them blander, and some chocolate milk which I drank for the chocolate. I react to myself trying to watch my childhood, so I stop, and don't think for a bit. Someone, somewhere in the room, is taking my name, but I know it's not for me, because my name was taken a long time ago. Some of my friends call it because it's all I know how to respond to. Theft is a funny thing; you don't know when it takes something from you, and when you find out, you don't trust it. But theft is not falsehood.Lying as a child.
Once, when I was five, an Adam took a toy from me which I carri
by ~EschatonFluX
The Alchemist"Why don't you use it?"The Alchemist
I simply did not understand. The strange man sat in his dilapidated swivel chair and continued to write, without answering the question. He paused, and I was hopeful, before he continued to write his list, though for what I could not see.
The man had the stone which could turn lead to gold, which could make him immortal. He had spent years searching for it, and had finally found it, created it with his own hands. It was a marvelous thing which nobody had ever before been shown to achieve, and the way he wielded such a miracle might not even break the uncertainty of its existence.
by ~EschatonFluX
Favourites
Watchers
Journal
No journal entries yet.
deviantID
No deviantID yet.
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Chicago.
- Interests: Philosophy. Art. Occultism.
- Favourite band or musician: I don't even know anymore.
- Favourite genre of music: Anything that stirs emotion.
- Favourite artist: Salvador Dali
- Favourite poet or writer: Stanley Donwood. Jim Butcher.
- Favourite style of art: Dark or surrealist.
- Operating System: Windows.
- MP3 player of choice: iPods work just fine.
- Favourite game: Black & White
- Favourite gaming platform: PC
- Personal Quote: The world is wrong.
- Tools of the Trade: The mind.
- Email: eschatonflux@gmail.com
- AIM: eschatonflux
deviantART Community Board
Comments
Site Map
©2009 deviantART. All rights reserved
--
[link]
[link]
--
Saltwater Witch - [link]
--
Like the wind, your voice always carries a different song. Maybe one day...just maybe...you'll sing mine.
--
Why do we fall?--
Let's fire it up. Haha! Now!
Let's fire it up. Haha! Now, Sayonara!
--
Reality is the state of suspended nonexistence.
Previous PageNext Page