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Daily Lit Deviations for November 29^th, 2012

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of your pieces featured by DLD please note LiliWrites.
We will include you and your piece in a special recognition news article.

Poetry

_{Featured by: betwixtthepages}
I wanted to grow old with youI wanted to grow old with you:
turn grey and fade away, subdued.
To walk with you through all the years
and face, as one, our darkest fears.
We'd burn too brightly for this Earth
and share in sorrow and in mirth;
to each the other's soul would bare
and twice the love, at once, declare.
For each would know the other's mind
and there a perfect solace find;
we would be two, though as one known –
discrete though merged & mingled grown.
I wanted to grow old, it's true:
turn grey and fade to dust with you.
I wanted to grow old with you. by DanielDGriffiths

<sub>This beautiful rhyming poem,
by DanielDGriffiths, merges
the facts of growing old with the
beauty of true love.  This emotional
piece will leave readers pondering
who they want to grow old beside.


Featured by: spoems</sub>
WantsI want the  time to write about
the beauty, the newness in nature
I want to share with you. I want to
catch each individual snowflake
with shutter snaps and take them home
to decorate the windows. I want to watch
the river don its icy finger-gloves, to consider
lines and angles shifting, indifferent, softening
under winter's lofty load. I want to snowshoe
on some not-too-frigid night with a full moon
illuminating night to noon-like with blue-
white light or when there is no moon, only
innumerable stars, impeccably brilliant,
impossibly far away against the ebony
of New England midnights- I want to know you
see these things that bring me to my knees.
Wants by Sssorry

Irresistable desires 

are wistfully enumerated 

like psalms in a prayer book.

_{Featured by: LadyofGaerdon}
Paperback SpineIn stories,
the lucky ones
have their lives changed
by one little moment-
one dandelion puff
between your palms.
And the author stresses
this moment, how tiny,
that seemingly unimportant
sentence, breaking
into a novel.
You have to be
always ready.
My eyes have gone dry
and my lungs are about to pop,
and my tongue is oversaturated-
and burning.
Paperback-Spine by FallingAsleepTonight

_{A quiet yet potent metaphor.}

Prose

_{Suggested by spoems
Featured by xlntwtch}
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.
That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag

The Death of Language by Kaz-D

<sub>Suggester says: "An intriguing
appraisal of the state of dwindling
active lexicons in the world."


Featured by doodlerTM</sub>
The HolidayMr. and Mrs. Gupta killed rats for a living.
Theirs was a small company, just the two of them. Once the call came through, both of them would put their heads together and plan out the entire thing. Mrs. Gupta would handle the front end of the operations, the billings and other things, while Mr. Gupta would be the back-end, the one who got the job done.
This arrangement had worked well for the past forty years.  Acquaintances would claim the two had never taken off a day off all these years; something Mrs. Gupta quietly reminded Mr. Gupta every time they went to bed. We would do something someday, Mr. Gupta would kindly reassure her, and they would go to sleep. But that someday never came.
It had been an arranged marriage. Someone on Mrs. Gupta's side had come to know about this young man who had just started his own business and was now making quite some money. Inquiries were made and a year later, Mr. Gupta had brought his new wife to the row house they would still be callin
The Holiday by SiNg0d

"The Holiday" is a clever
and intriguing little short
story, complete with a 

great hook and twist ending.

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~ The DailyLitDeviations Team ~


_{Prepared by: LadyofGaerdon}