[x]

Where Angels PlayWhere Angels Play:

A lonely spark appears before me tonight
amongst the struggles deep inside of me...
Should I give in, will I breathe in?

How much more can I be forced to take
before my soul breaks?
Shards crashing into me
letting me know I am alive
If only
I am barely breathing...

The moon lights my pathway
deep in dark, where we will fade
I've walked past the archway
Where angels will play...

The warmest touch, upon my skin
Wings that glow with sacred light, from deep within
They have come to take me back, to where I've been
Gone away into the winds, my voice forever lingering

Do I alone escape this and find my peace
wi

DishonouredDishonoured:

He stands before the adoring crowd,
Basking in their cheers and standing ovation.
But he has already been dishonoured -
By means of his perverse innovation.

For none could know of the dark secret;
About the art that he claims to be his own.
It is naught but an illusion, smoke and mirrors -
A theft for which he must atone...

But this disgusting creature, this worthless abhuman;
So desperate for the glory which he sees upon the stage!
Will quietly don the skin of another;
An urge he must assuage...

Biting his nails, a cracked smile upon his lips, he whispers:
"No one will know, no one will find it and I am great..."

An Oath to My FatherAn Oath to My Father:

The chill of winter is nothing, when compared to the cold inside my heart.

A fire, once stoked by the warmth of family, has quietly died, five falls past.

I dream of my father, who watches from beyond the realms - and my ancestors

Who fought against an endless army of giants, to win the lands we have today.

Just as a devout man honours his God through worship, I honour them through my axe!

Each stroke of the whetstone, each screech of the metal, brings me closer to them -

Even as I draw closer to my doom. Oh how I can feel him, for the anger in my blood

Boils evermore as I sense him approaching my camp. He is hun

My Beautiful FilthMy Beautiful Filth:

We'll start with the rose petals
scattered lavishly across the bed
A symbolic collage of my broken thoughts
like memories crushed and thrown into the winds
they lie where they fall, forever forgotten...

Tacks and nails shall line the floor!
A perfect representation of my painful steps
To walk forward was to suffer
to stand still was to endure
Like the insults thrown at me, like the physical abuse
they drive their way into my skin and remain embedded
Unable to be removed except by force

And now comes the masterpiece, the perfect finishing touch
A wall of words and photographs depicting my sorrows and greivance

It Came From The DarkIt Came From The Dark:

Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,

Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.

Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,

And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.

It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,

It cared not for the sensation of pain...

All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -

One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!

Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,

And in that moment, it learned of the truth.

For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -

was me...

FEARFEAR:

Frantically he scrambles away from the dark
Eager to be free of his waking nightmare
Acting only upon the instinct within him;
Reminded constantly that he is prey

For some time he hides in the pervasive shadows—
Earnestly praying that he will not be discovered
A single sound is all it takes to jar him;
Running from a creature that he can barely see

From head to toe it is certainly monstrous
Enshrouded in an aura of absolute repugnance
As the acid drips from its cruel jaws,
Rapidly dissolving the ground below

Fearful, he cowers, beneath boxes and cardboard,
Escaping away into a tiny corner of his mind
Alone with only

This is for the ReaderThis is for the Reader:

With the soft touch of his fingers
The piano begins to play, a heart untouched for so long
Bares its secret melody...

-

When I first started out I couldn't avoid just bein' cold
My life revolved the things that I was always told—
I never knew the warmth of standing up to take a bow
It was not a joy that I would ever-ever be allowed
Through all the days I feared that everything would disappear
You held me up and held me close like I was something dear
I never knew I had a part of me that you would like
I guess that's what you feel when you can't even see the light…

-

So this is the only way, that

Waking NightmaresWaking Nightmares:

It begins in the same way, every single night
Fire spreading from an altar in the darkness—
As all living beings are slowly consumed,
The coruscating flames appear wet with blood…

The scene then changes to a flooded hallway
Live wires dangling just above the water,
Like venomous serpents slithering in the darkness—
A single pounce would end my life…

Eventually the hallway ends with a door,
One that reminds me of forgotten yore—
And my thoughts shall be in rhyme at this point
As though lips and tongue are eternally joint…

What maddened schemes have they in mind?
It is not a questio

Letting Go of YouLetting Go of You:

You abandoned me in the past
without so much as a proper goodbye
One day you simply chose to walk out the door
and you never did come back...

I was angry then, hurting badly
I wondered if I was in some way inadequate
I wondered if you left because I am so easy to despise
and eventually my sorrow turned to anger

I wanted to become great
to show you that you made the wrong choice
to take my strength and throw it in your face
just so you would regret it

But then I saw how happy you were...

In the time we've been apart
You've made a new life for yourself
You've found someone who loves and treasures you
and upon

There are Things Beneath the GardenThere Are Things Beneath the Garden:

~

There are things beneath the garden,
Which you really shouldn't see.

There are things beneath the garden,
That don't belong to me.

There are things beneath the garden,
Gone rotten blue and black.

There are things beneath the garden,
In a dripping gunny sack...

~

There are flowers in the garden,
Which you really shouldn't pull.

There are flowers in the garden,
That sit on top of wool.

There are flowers in the garden,
With a really rotten scent.

There are flowers in the garden,
Above bodies burnt and bent...

~

I love this little garden,
It's a special place to me.

I love this little g

Little Soldier BoyHe does not fight for the General barking orders,

Nor for the man in a suit, who sent him across borders...

In his pocket he keeps a single picture, a sole reminder

Like ancient scripture. A home he misses so endlessly,

Tirelessly calling out in his dreams at night. It is the last

That remains on his lips, with his finger pressed upon the trigger.

A single heartbeat, as he sights his enemy; A quiet prayer

To rest in peace. Yet soon it fades, as hope is fleeting;

For the little soldier boy, once marching home.

"Bottoms up buddy, I miss you..."

-Chen Yuan Wen, 18th October 2012

They Watch UsThey Watch Us:

Perched high upon the mountains;
With wings as black as night.
They watch us in the hour,
Before darkness turns to light.

I've seen them in my visions;
In dreams they come and go,
But the things they seem to tell me
I guess nobody should know...

I've seen children that are buried,
Beneath a frozen lake.
A maiden sits there weeping;
Her heart is soon to break.

The crows flutter downward,
A noose amongst their hands.
They take the maiden away,
To a dark and distant land.

And even if I follow -
Even if I try...
I'll simply end up buried,
Where the frozen children lie.

-Chen Yuan Wen, 10th November 2012

Immortal ButterflyImmortal Butterfly:

I remember the Immortal Butterfly
Translucent wings that drank from the sky
Glittering dust would fall with every flap
Like warm tears dripped upon my tiny back

I would always chase this butterfly
as it makes its way across the sky
When I look I feel as though I can forget
The painful needles that twist into my back

I would always dream of this butterfly
and I wonder if I could ride it and fly in the sky
When I dream about it, I don't regret
Not being able to leave this tiny bed

Sometimes I can't see the butterfly
My vision turns grey like a stormy sky
I get scared during those times, because it makes me thi

Tired, Exhausted, DrainedTired, Exhausted, Drained:

I am bloody exhausted! Drained to the core of my soul.

I wake up every morning with bags; burning ever deeper into my eyes.

Sunken masses of flesh, reminding me that the dreamscape -

One in which I sought refuge; is now buried where it lies.

Yet still I force myself to trudge through this wilderness.

Forever caught in a moon drenched, delusory twilight.

An endless cycle of failure and renewed hope;

Giving rise to the very stubbornness that defines me.

-Chen Yuan Wen, 5th February 2013

Aren't You Ashamed Yet?Aren't You Ashamed Yet?:

A Mask
Truly an object of mystique and mystery
A simple device, with a painted layer
That conceals a face of rotting worms

Oh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to overlook it?
Let me rephrase it in a more appropriate manner
You are a cowardly, pathetic, miserable, filthy
Unintelligent, soul-sucking, perfidious, bag of rotting worms

You who once held my respect, you who were once my friend
you shared in my secrets and you shared in my dreams
But in the end, it was the lies
The horrible, filthy lies that spew forth from your tainted lips...

I guess it was a simple decision
I had no need to keep up this facade
an

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Yeah I'm Stupid!Yeah I'm Stupid!:

Indeed you are absolutely superior. A divine being, more intelligent,
Learned and completely right in everything you say about me.
However, if I might be permitted to — as they say in slang —
"Drop the beat", then I'd like to show you my own style of doing things.
Art thou ready for this my sibling from a different parent?

-

Sir can I have just a moment of your time? I think I lost
My will, let me sit and bust a rhyme — rappin' like I'm
Edgar Allan singin' Raven songs, thank god I have a
life and love that keeps me really strong. See I
Understand the fact that you may not like the things I do,
Str

She's Not Your ToyShe's Not Your Toy:

Mmm, it's okay sweetie
Just stay quiet
It'll all be over soon...

Creaking springs and quiet eyes
Cold without emotion
The smell of fear is mixed with sweat
Breath like a churning ocean

The waves and tide will push and pull
as water fills the cave
The heart longs to stop itself
when there is nothing left to save

Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Jenna
Happy birthday to you...

A shock of pain brings her back to the present
The muscular form above her contracting in the dark
She remembers now that her limbs are pinned
but she would not move them anyway...

Happy birthday sweeth

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Submitted: October 17, 2012
File Size: 710 bytes
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I Comfort Myself

by *WordOfChen, Oct 17, 2012, 7:49:14 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

With a warm drink, whispering secrets to my own reflection. The struggles that plague me, though none may know, Are only for the ears of my quiet mirror, who smiles Softly, warmly and with care. He tells me, I'm fine I've done well for now and soon I may finally rest. Though the silence continues to press upon me, Weighing upon my soul like an iron crate. Still I find comfort in whispering secrets, If only to my own reflection - holding a warm drink...

-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th October 2012

I Comfort Myselfby *WordOfChen

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

If liked this piece, please take a moment to fave it (^_^). Each faves let's me know that you liked the piece and it helps the piece get ranked for popularity :3

If you'd like to hear me read poems and do a little comedy live then then check out episode 3 of my live show here: [link]

Author's Comment:

It's occurred to me recently that people might be getting tired of long poetry. I've noticed that viewership around October tends to suffer and maybe it's because some people are closer to their exam periods and they can't really read long pieces + Halloween and other events.

So what do I do about it? Create a new technique of course :3

This is a little something I call 'Shot-Glass Poetry'. Essentially it has the following characteristics:
1. The use of spaced out lines to make it more relaxing for the reader's eyes.
2. The length is short overall (much like a shot of rum)
3. Emotion must be there (A single shot is potent after all and this mimics that)
4. It must be simple to understand (It's not a cocktail)

By using these four characteristics (taken from various other poetic styles) the combined result is a relaxing semi-smooth piece that still carries the emotional impact of a longer poem, but is much shorter in length and suitable for someone who just wants to relax at the end of the day and get the same feels without the hassle of reading a long piece.

I'll be doing these shots actively, so please let me know if you like them. I think it'll be nice to space out my longer work with quick shots in between especially during stressful seasons when people need to relax more ^^.

This piece in particular, speaks about the feelings that some people have at the end of the day. Particularly if they live alone. For these lonely individuals, sometimes that cup of coffee and a window pane is really all you have at the end of the day. Heck, even I end up with just that sometimes...but a warm drink can still feel pretty darn good :3

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates

Other Poems by Me:

Yeah I'm Stupid! Yeah I'm Stupid!:

Indeed you are absolutely superior. A divine being, more intelligent,
Learned and completely right in everything you say about me.
However, if I might be permitted to — as they say in slang —
"Drop the beat", then I'd like to show you my own style of doing things.
Art thou ready for this my sibling from a different parent?

-

Sir can I have just a moment of your time? I think I lost
My will, let me sit and bust a rhyme — rappin' like I'm
Edgar Allan singin' Raven songs, thank god I have a
life and love that keeps me really strong. See I
Understand the fact that you may not like the things I do,
Str

Waking Nightmares Waking Nightmares:

It begins in the same way, every single night
Fire spreading from an altar in the darkness—
As all living beings are slowly consumed,
The coruscating flames appear wet with blood…

The scene then changes to a flooded hallway
Live wires dangling just above the water,
Like venomous serpents slithering in the darkness—
A single pounce would end my life…

Eventually the hallway ends with a door,
One that reminds me of forgotten yore—
And my thoughts shall be in rhyme at this point
As though lips and tongue are eternally joint…

What maddened schemes have they in mind?
It is not a questio

This is for the Reader This is for the Reader:

With the soft touch of his fingers
The piano begins to play, a heart untouched for so long
Bares its secret melody...

-

When I first started out I couldn't avoid just bein' cold
My life revolved the things that I was always told—
I never knew the warmth of standing up to take a bow
It was not a joy that I would ever-ever be allowed
Through all the days I feared that everything would disappear
You held me up and held me close like I was something dear
I never knew I had a part of me that you would like
I guess that's what you feel when you can't even see the light…

-

So this is the only way, that

FEAR FEAR:

Frantically he scrambles away from the dark
Eager to be free of his waking nightmare
Acting only upon the instinct within him;
Reminded constantly that he is prey

For some time he hides in the pervasive shadows—
Earnestly praying that he will not be discovered
A single sound is all it takes to jar him;
Running from a creature that he can barely see

From head to toe it is certainly monstrous
Enshrouded in an aura of absolute repugnance
As the acid drips from its cruel jaws,
Rapidly dissolving the ground below

Fearful, he cowers, beneath boxes and cardboard,
Escaping away into a tiny corner of his mind
Alone with only

Other Literature by Me:

Mercenary 1-1 MERCENARY

Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty

Release One: Pages 1 - 3

THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si

Critique by ~LuvThemHungerGames Nov 2, 2012, 7:46:14 PM

Hello there dearest capitan

Thanks agian for inviting me to do another critique, it is quiet humbling.

I love your description of shot-glass poetry. Extermely creative and very you! I would've never in my wildest dreams imagined creating a new style of poetry, yet, here you have it. Brilliantly executed.

The spacin gbetween thte liens is pleasing to the eyes. HHowever I did not see very many sensory descriptions besides the pressing weight of silence. Sensory words are always a great way to spice up any poem (through sounds, smells, sights, and sounds of course).

The subject is once again something the audience can connect too. The insecurity in indiviguals, and the cage that we all seem to feel around us. And the mirror is always a safe route when creating images due to the fact that everyone has an image of the class mirror scene in their head since it is used in many great poems. I believe taht you could've used something more origional rather traditional. However, you made up for it (overly I might add) with making a new style of poetry.

I wonder if anyone has adopted your style yet?

I must say that the fact you have observed the decline in views during October is impressive. And then going the extra length to actually create a soluton for your quandry is even more so

Well done once again!

Keep on writting and happy sailing.

May the odds be ever in your favor.
LuvThemHungerGames

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1 out of 1 deviants thought this was fair.

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Critique by ~Kailani-e Oct 18, 2012, 5:52:56 PM

Another great piece Cap'n!
Vision: I gave this a four because there is depth, you can "see" into a person and show a deep full of emotion piece. It's relatable to many and does not cause one to wallow in too much melancholy and yet gives a foreboding of sadness.
Originality: On the other hand, this is a slightly over used idea. Many writer's write about this and is not as original as your other pieces.
Technique: But you wrote it in such a way it's refreshing despite the idea's overuse. The structure is very reader friendly (as you've mentioned in your author's note) and
Impact: still allows you to feel the pressure of your idea.

Again, great job! Keep writing!

What do you think?

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4 out of 4 deviants thought this was fair.

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love 5 5

joy 5 5

wow 1 1

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~GoombaPie Nov 20, 2012

this is lovely

*WordOfChen Nov 20, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you for enjoying it ^^

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates

*joshuahartesq Nov 4, 2012

This was definitely a poetent shot for me...very strong! Great stuff!

*WordOfChen Nov 4, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you kindly for the wonderful compliment ^^

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates

*joshuahartesq Nov 5, 2012

~Absinth-C-Lover Oct 30, 2012

Wow dear Chen this is so very beautiful. I like this style a lot. I love to read many, many more .. so .. write, write, write .. lol

) ~

!LivingInMyThoughts Oct 26, 2012

I like the idea of the shorter poetry! I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I have a hard time getting through longer poetry, so I think this poetry style is a very cool idea.

~DarkLondonDreams Oct 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

I love this poem. It makes me want to curl up and read a book with my own drink

The shot-glass idea is perfect, it delivers a message without being so lengthy.

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