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Daily Lit Deviations for May 29^th, 2012

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 pullingcandy.
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article.

Poetry

_{Suggested by The Favorites Project of LITplease
Featured by: LadyofGaerdon}
I Belong to The HurricaneI belong to the hurricane –
the screaming, untamed maelstrom that cleaves away puppet strings
and sharpens its teeth on misconceptions.
I belong to the harsh cold winter of an aching truth –
one that beats a drum like a heartbeat under the graveyards,
whispering things that our ancestors knew (but we have forgotten).
I belong to the hurricane –
yeah, that's the one – the same storm that broke my back and scratched at my eyes.
It flayed open my chest and showed me my own diamond bones.
I belong to angels with battle-torn wings and voices raw from howling!
I belong to war –
and to the air that sings a dirge for your dying freedoms.
I belong to the stark white walls of an empty room,
in the form of dangerous thoughts breathing in your ear.
I belong to rebellion.
So here, my friend, is to the bullet casings on your floor,
And bandages made of blankets you once slept soundly under,
And heartlines worn deep in the palms of your hands.
Here, love,
"I Belong to The Hurricane" by PyroNinja999

<sub>Poetry that is itself is like a hurricane -
wild and powerful and invigorating.


Suggested By:  Sleyf
Featured By:  betwixtthepages</sub>
:thumb303892934:
Working Class by pomohippie7

<sub>From the suggester:  On the one hand, it describes
a man, a mechanic, concentrating on his work. But there's
a deep respect captured in between the lines, an admiration
of a craftsman which looks beyond the grease and the smoke.
It is its "true-to-life" honesty and admiration of the average
working class man that make it a nice poem.


Featured by LiliWrites</sub>
in the quiet.---
i.  do you love?
shhh. enough to paddle rafts across atlantic oceans
to brush fingers.
                             don't speak.
for this, I forsake my own centuries, chronologically absent
of you. I was there dragging pyramids from sand;
I was there.
                        (if love spans time,
                         non-linear, then I was a drop of salt
                         in your ocean when the world was new. I
     
in the quiet. by sweet-lyrical

_{Though the author has since changed accounts to
this-epiphany, I believe this remains one of her
strongest pieces. The visuals, the repetition, and the
sheer emotion make it a poem worth reading over and over again.}

Prose

_{Featured by LiliWrites}
Voices in the Dark: Prologue"Are you sure of this?" The woman standing opposite him glanced up in surprise before rereading the dirty scrap of paper he had handed her. "Did you double check these numbers?" They stood by the only lit torch in the underground meeting hall, using its scant light to exchange their information.
"Twice. He's already got four hundred he's calling 'new recruits', but they didn't march out with us. The others were all fairly certain how many more they could rally in the next year, they'd obviously been working on that before this meeting." He took the paper from her and flipped it over before handing it back to point at the four scribbled lines. "I didn't get all their names, and I could be wrong about that last one. But I was right outside the tent through the whole conference, and now Iohan's following the group. He should have more information when I get back... he was trying to become the general's personal servant." Dylin Trekys pulled his homespun cloak tightly about himself and sid
Voices in the Dark: Prologue by MotleyDreams

<sub>This short prologue offers a lot of tantalizing
possibilities. Magic coins, shapely bottoms, and
revolution to name just a few.


Suggested by: betwixtthepages
Featured by: SilverInkblot</sub>
Killing TimeIt was twenty five past six. Two young women rendezvoused under a clock tower. They waited for a third – a mutual friend. Feeling an uncomfortable silence, one suggested to the other that they share funny stories to kill some time.
Five minutes later, the clock hands fell.
It took ages to clean the bloody bits.
Killing Time by Rieal-Dragonsbane

_{Suggester: "A 55-word story, Killing Time
employs a witty sense of humor and creative word play
to tell the story.  The last two sentences will make
readers reconsider the old phrase, "to kill some time."}





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_{Prepared by: spoems}