|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
You Gotta Toughen Up, Cowboy Up
The broad ruffled figure released his grip and moved the brown stick a ways, pushing ashes and burnt wood to make room for air to run through; to watch as the flames reached higher, with no bounds. It was alluring, and constituted deep thoughts; ones of intense feeling.
It was a chilly night, and a lonely one at that. The only source of life was a growing fire, that of a light whistle in the wind, and a white light in the sky which lightened the mood. Only a little. The slow moving clouds, the soundless giants made him seem smaller than the rest of the world.
Men would be fooled to believe that, though.
He was a very silent man as well, but he had big dreams. Big as the clouds.
A small hum came into existence, just a small voice. After a few seconds the man spoke a few words, and the brightness of the flames flickered against his eyes. And pretty soon, he found himself singing a small tune. It was alone that he was not afraid to show his full true voice.
A beautiful strong voice.
Where The Dust Settles - 2
The gunshots were unexpected. Everyone was tightly packed around the fire, still laughing when the bursts flew over their heads. The fire itself seemed to writhe with anxiety. Exasperation swept over Johnston, but he remained calm and just stayed in his position: lean and comfortable. A hand on the .45. The hat over his face so he could rest his eyes.
Some of the boys reached for their rifles and pistols, but a deep, low voice caught them off-guard. Off in the distance, a few groans and throat-cut cries indicated that something was going on with the cattle.
“Howdy, folks. I come here to talk.”
A man emerged from the torrential blackness upon a charcoal-streaked steed; a pipe stuck out of his mouth at an awkward angle, like a twisted tree branch ready to break off. His black hat hung down low, just barely enough for a man to see the narrow, auburn eyes. The revolver clutched in his scarred hand seemed to speak the very words of death, but Johnston understood its language. If
Standing On The Hill
Sitting on the hill
Is a wait worth making
The clouds of burden seem endless
But they will always pass by
To see and to dream
Is to reach beyond the norm
One can never truly exist
Without an arm outstretched
Memories become clear
Some are dear some are not
In the end it is memorable
Just knowing we are here
The endless blue ocean
High above our heads
Slowly waves and falls closer
Yet auras ascend with heart
Standing on the hill
Against a vast new sight
We must make a moment in our lives
Taking us to unimaginable heights
A Higher Calling
This is the great reward of service, to live, far out and on, in the life of others; this is the mystery of Christ, - to give life's best for such high sake that it shall be found again unto life eternal…”
Such was the belief, and heart, of thirty-four year-old Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, as he looked down on those unrelenting grey bodies climbing the rocky, bloody slopes of Little Round Top. With nearly half his regiment killed or wounded, and a torrent of infernal fire looming over their heads, certain decisions had to be made.
To no extent was there any end of emotional fervor. Indeed, as he looked upon the rebels, his enemy, Chamberlain could not feel the hatred many others bore instead. He was a professor from Maine, having taught at Bowdoin College. But the call for arms had marched him far away from his wife and children; from experiences he knew growing up as a boy. He learned through determination, and sought success through great challenges. “Do it
Travel For You - 3
The steps are soundless
The appearance unwanting
Here upon the trail
Is nothing more
Only one beautiful presence walks the way
Livid and fruitful
Still the appearance is unwanted
The air is turning for cold
The appearance can do nothing
But keep walking and walking
Along that trail
Behind the beautiful presence
An elegant sun brought the vivid colors sincerely missed the past days, which culminated with a breath of relief. No longer were the clouds gray and listless – instigating into its neighbors below a feeling of utmost hell – but they were now calming and right in the hearts.
There was always a beast which tore at them, and some wished they could stride with the torrential rains in the opposite direction; to return home, fall into the arms of family and friends, and be greeted with tears of love and happiness; to forever smell the baking of pies and taste those lovely dinners whom mothers always had the knack of preparing.
Who could forget venturing into the woods with fathers, muskets in hand and a manly spirit in rise; claiming the first deer, receiving such brusque but complimentary words as to build upon that manhood!
Who could forget!
Home was awaiting, and they dearly wished to return. But as of now…it was not to be. So, when…?
Rolling hills encompassed th
Where The Dust Settles - 1
He took in the cool, fresh air, relieving all that anxiety that plagued the dusty old body he’d lugged around since the beginning of the trip. Now, it wasn’t out of tiredness that he did so. No...instead, it was out of a burning excitement. The expanse of lush, green grass and swift movement of the winds gave the fields an appearance of that of the ocean – an ocean he wanted to cross. It belittled the thoughts he first had of Montana territory.
There had been some hysteria among the men, though he could not point out why. Maybe it was the passion of the flaring sun – the endless days of breaking dawn to get a head start, and sweating like a mad dog thereafter. Perhaps it was the wild thought of being out on their own, finally free of homely duties. Or maybe it was just the coffee. That strong, dry coffee with the bitter after-taste.
Johnston wiped his nose with the hem of his sleeve, and took a good glance at the aura emanating from the surrounding clouds
A last wave of applause swept out from the surrounding crowd as Edward Everett, finished at last with his two-hour speech, smiled graciously. The November day was mild; a light breeze was all that carried throughout. It was a perfect date and occasion to have 15,000 people gathered at the newly established cemetery.
Everett searched around gradually, and then sat down in a chair beside other famous and well-known men that had been invited. His heart beat with pride as the crowd continued to clap, even a bit after he had seated himself.
The breeze picked up, but then settled thereafter. The sun was bright, and birds could be seen twittering around the landscape.
Then all went quiet.
The crowd’s attention was kept to as a tall, solemn figure rose from his seat. A slight smile was upon his aging-old face. He removed his hat and placed it behind him with ease, then stood up to his full height. A crude white piece of paper was clutched in his thin hands. His uniform was neat and tidy.
To The Last
He was already wounded twice, but was still alive. A revolver-pistol was held loftily in his hand; a bent scabbard, which had previously deflected a spent round, lay near him with no use. Yet, nothing else was on his mind except one thing: hold the line.
The great effort of the whole army around him was entirely audible, and the mass teamwork, the sense that this whole army was the last defense kept everyone on high alert. Already, they had endured several charges. It was only possible to hold out such strong spearheads because of the steep, rocky hill. He had read and learned everything he could about the tactics of war: marches, counter-marches, drills, attacking positions, retreat calls; but it was all useless at the moment. The college professor knew that the gray boys down there would continue to drive into his lines. The past summers, the rebels had won battle after battle. They had the stonewall at Fredericksburg. But now, the professor and his Maine men had the heights and the
No Matter LoveI.
I'm the comet that appeared for the first time
that will never return
through the judgment of your life,
only to have you receive what I bring
as the love you long to take and return
before the ice dust from my departure
fades for all time.
Through the slender-necked sitar's silvery notes
pass the fragrance of our moonstruck limbs
surrendering to the breezes
that play off a river that honors
the generations of lovers we now embody.
You were the fallen angel that waited so long,
knowing I'd be found,
to resuscitate and raise you up;
Not from whence you toppled,
but to couple in a holy damnation
and welcome in celebration
and never regret, no matter.
you're the reason for my fraying edgesA piece of me snagged
on your fingertips, now
I'm spending the rest
of my life unraveling
Hello For The First TimeHello For The First Time
hello for the first time, stranger.
we didn’t meet with a passing glance,
but by unexpected discovery.
hearts once attached to others’,
i said we should’ve been best friends
because our wavelengths
were tied together by some cosmic thread
then, that was just a poetic thought.
the new year had just arrived
and i was feeling inspired
and hey, you caught me at the right time.
or i caught you,
or whatever it was.
hello for the first time, acquaintance.
our first interaction was met with appreciation
for a comment and a favorite.
i thanked you for the time you spent
reading whatever creation
i had shared in those moments
and it was nice to meet you again, miss.
The name’s Ricky,
I’m glad to make your acquaintance.
hello for the first time, my friend.
i first met you when discussing college,
what you wanted to be
and the enigma that was your future.
your plans were random currents
and mine were wrapped in static.
hello for the fir
bad habitsi chew up keratin claws
and spit out lead nails
like letters laced with
a twine of tawny truths
and the smack of gums
forming lewd lilac lies.
you bite your sodden
to the stem of bone,
peeling layers of
paint-stained skin with
i often wonder
how my fingertips
morph metaphors with
awry alliteration while
your palms paint
purpled pastels and
my fractured wrists creak
and porcelain ghost
lines stripe your
autumn brushed skin
yet somehow, together,
we still create beauty.
PicturesqueThe smell of the fire curls in my lungs, purring
like a tabby kitten. Roasting marshmallows
crisp on the ends of our sticks as I lean
against you, our heat mingling like the smoke
rising to the sky. Your eyes twinkle as you talk,
your hands gesturing widely, and the marshmallow
flies into the woods. We clutch our stomachs
as we laugh in harmony, our voices twining
together in the silence of the night.
About a girl(French version below)
Naiad, braving the tumultuous streams without risk
Your crystalline beauty illuminates these shabby, spineless and muddy reeds,
The softness of your skin like a caress that even the sea air couldn't bring me;
Oh My, I'd like to snatch this ivy leaf which covers you way too much!
I accomplished the most perilous labour just by staring at you;
My Hesperide, your breathtakingly high curves entice this pilgrim, blinded mortal,
And force naked and fool men to carry their own Iliad out to conquer you.
The singing of your voice shall guide us through this long, calm watercourse to the Elysium.
Your smile, forbidden sin, makes me break all my oathes.
For a brief moment, I vow to let myself be fooled by these pipe dreams of fantasy -
I want to dedicate this lyric song you've inspired me to the Gods, Polyhymnia,
You got me sailing on the river of dreams.
About a girl
Naïade, bravant sans péril les flots tumultueux
SanctuaryVines stretched between her fingertips
Flowered fields grew at her word
and I swore that the galaxies lived in her eyes.
Starlight was the laughter that she breathed,
A universe of its own
Framed by the graceful arc of her parted lips.
Her movements were the gentle ocean waves
and daylight played off her skin,
Even in the darkest corners of the night.
A lion's roar was found in the screech of her cry,
and waterfalls trickled from her delicate lashes.
Mountains settled on her sloping brow,
her arms became the atmosphere I couldn't believe I ever lived without,
and a new world built itself upon her beauty
each and every day.
And so when the realm around me became too small,
I found my sanctuary in her.
What Is He Worth?
A forgotten man
Is a soul worth losing
In spite of his successes
There is nothing he is
A shy man
Is someone worth ignoring
From day to night
Silence is his only sound
A man in love
Is someone worth crushing
His broken heart
Only matters to him
A forgotten, shy man who is in love
Doesn’t exist to her
He is invisible
So what is he worth?
I don't own the preview image.
*Additional Note*: This does not reflect my mood or thoughts as I am. It's rather more of a pondering.
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More