| This is for summer! |
Summer RainIn the middle of a summer,Summer Rain by ~rezhamarq
The usual blue sky turned to gray.
Countless teardrops started to fall,
Cold wind started blowing,
The thunder was roaring.
I tried to remember it all,
For it only happened one day,
In the middle of a summer.
2.After All This Time (Love)I was going around, looking everywhere2.After All This Time (Love) by ~rezhamarq
Hoping to find an inspiration.
I sat for a while on a bench,
Then I saw you with your friends.
I really thought I love you no more
But I got it wrong, I realized
After all this time, I still do.
Even if I know you'll never feel the way I do.
Soliloquy of MeEverything is dull, annoyingly monotonous.Soliloquy of Me by ~rezhamarq
Why did I end up trapped in this world?
The world created by the person I used to be,
A stranger to myself.
I want to be free! To have a taste of freedom!
I want to spread my wings and fly.
To break out of this prison cell
That has contained me for so long.
All this time, I have been living
In my imaginary real world,
Dreaming that everything's going right.
I did not realize, I kept everybody out.
Kept all these thoughts to myself,
My problems, my doubts and everything else.
I pretended to be alright,
Hid my true self behind a mask.
All this time, I've been masquerading
As a flawless character th
Paper AngelShe is an angel, she can never die.Paper Angel by ~rezhamarq
She has wings but he can't fly.
Doomed to be trapped forever
In her blank world made of paper.
She longs to be free,
In her monochromatic eyes, you can see.
She dreams of freedom,she dreams of love
And all the other things she can never have.
Artists on Writers - No. 2, Charles BukowskiArtists on Writers - No. 2, Charles Bukowski by $techgnotic
Jun 7, 2013•By #depthRADIUS
About Artists on Writers
•••
Writers will always find inspiration in the visions of artists, always feeling compelled to tell the stories behind the moments captured in artists’ unforgettable images,
Just as,
Artists will always find inspiration in the words of writers, always feeling compelled to lend visual reality and habitat to the characters described in the scribe’s haunting words.
If the severely acne-scarred face and coarse exterior brought on by his alcoholic and depressed life was the book cover of his being, then Charles was the ultimate book that could not be judged by its cover. The exquisite collection that was this everyman artist’s art consisted of thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels—mostly all wrenchingly autobiographical, most
MyWeekThroughArt: How Has Your Week Been?How has your week been? Tell us through artwork using the new Journal editor.MyWeekThroughArt: How Has Your Week Been? by $danlev
How to Participate
Simply post a Journal entry with three deviations that represent your week (or your week to come).
Start a new Journal entry
Using the new "Add Media" sidebar, search deviantART for three deviations that represent your week and then place them in your Journal (for example, if you went on a date this week, one of your deviations might depict two people having dinner).At the end of your Journal, add a link back to this Journal by copy and pasting the following text:
"This was MyWeekThroughArt. How was yours?"Title your Journal "MyWeekThroughArt" and submit it!
Examples
(Artwork featured
A game called lifeA game called life by ~tardis-blue-is-cool
Life is a game
And freedom is overrated
Trapped inside ourselfes
No goal, but endless sleep
Individuality or are we just the same
Like rats trapped in a maze
Like endless rows of robots
Individuality is overrated
'Cause in the end, no one survives
Fighting for love
Fighting for dreams
Silly human with no worth
You're just another grain of sand on the beach
What diffrence could you possibly make?
One day we'll all be forgotten
Even the earth will one day forget
In the end we only destroyed
Layed this earth to waste
Even one day the sun wont rise
And one day the moon wont show
In the end we mean so little
Just a point in time, all forgotten
ParallelThe ancient black bricksParallel by ~artsyguitargirl
Of a time forgotten wall
Sit still.
Itself dismissed
As well as what lives on the other side.
The barrier between unknowns
Its wounds bleed piles of dust.
When secrets come to pass
Who do they belong to?
A small grey cat
Leaps over the wall,
Proceeding to chase
A small grey mouse.
Tired 
Sta.sh
