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Daily Lit Deviations for January 1st, 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
You can show your support by ing this News Article.
Please comment and the features and congratulate the artists!
For all of the featured artists: If you receive a DD for one
of your pieces featured by DLD please note LiliWrites.
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article.
Featured by: SilverInkblot
Good Dolls Gone Mad by Hfeather53
There's a subtle creepiness hiding between
the lines and behind innocence, and the image
really stuck with me in the best and worst way.
Suggested by: intricately-ordinary
Featured by: betwixtthepages
I Had No BreathI had no breath, so I asked the wind
For a word or two, but I can't begin
To describe how much it hurt
To ask him this is the very worst of deeds
Oh, mighty Breather
Have you no life for me?
I had no heart, so I asked the moon
What gives her life in the month of June
But her smile painted darts
"My dearest child, a heart would only bleed."
But sacred Mother
The pain is life to me
I Had No Breath by Golden-Leaves
From the suggester: This poet's personal
questions make for a compelling conversation
between her and the inanimate life that guides her.
Suggested by Oilux
Featured by: spoems
Odyssea Nunquam Abstitit: by Canis44
Per the suggester: "I think it's a wonderful
piece, and it is by far one of my favorite
literature pieces of all time."
Featured by doodlerTM
Georgia, 1946"Damp night air and hot summer fear. Looking through the crosshairs while my face caught fire. Flex, shudder, pull, fall. Dust, moonlight, blood. The walk home though the long grass is unbearably uneventful. No serpent to bite or scorpion to sting. Just guilt, silence, dread. Hiss, hiss, the grass screams and clings to your ankles."
Georgia, 1946 by kittens-and-arsenic
This piece shows that prose doesn't need
to be full of excess dialogue or outright
descriptions to tell an open and impressing story.
Featured by xlntwtch
The Last SongDo you think we'll get a last song?
I'm not sure. This diary I'm writing in is full of holes. It's sopping like a wet sponge. It reeks, but what doesn't in the filth and the mess?
Storm's passing. Not like I've ever seen here. Even the explosive storms of my youth; running in the fields, the junkyards, the rust-ravaged train tracks of old wasn't quite like this.
Something's exploded against the skyline. Orange is reflecting off the glass; the spider-striped, near shattered glass I kicked two weeks ago while mowing the grass.
It might be the gas works. Or the chemical sheds. Weyrdstorms do this, you know. That's what the warnings said. Electricity and chaos and hellish atomic confusion mixed into an atmospheric slurry and let to rage. I ask the question because music's the one thing I'm yearning for right now. It settles me, helps me think. Always has, though keeping my sister's sniveling furthest from my head might be an ulterior motive.
Do I think I'm escaping this plac
The Last Song by DodgingTheBeat
Subtle and fascinating storytelling takes
readers along for what may be a last song.
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~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~
Prepared by: spoems