Eloen

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Spotless by Eloen, literature

Literature

Spotless

it all started that spring day when I grabbed you and spun you around (in the air) and you didn't yell for me to put you down or claw me. maybe the connection formed the first time I kissed your chin, wasting away the third saturday afternoon of august or maybe the first time we fell asleep on the phone together, comforted by each other's breathing. maybe it was that time right after christmas eight months before we met that I passed you and smiled. and now you leave me, just as I saw you that first day, fading into view from a winter snowscape--spotless. only now you're fading out, and for all my attempts to mark you over

breath by Eloen, literature

Literature

breath

In my dreams-- he's been holding his breath for perhaps too long, and the last strand of life clings, weak and tremulous to an old photograph in a long-forgotten cellar-- of a girl, faded but still brown-eyed, standing soaked on a porch in the pouring rain. He slips--down, down to a darker deep where warm hands reach out to hold him, and comforted, he sleeps. In his dreams it's still raining. Drops roll down in ragged lines, stuttering against a new umbrella in a calming thrum. The black hearse passes by as lightning flashes--and the sun shines while they stand,

memory by Eloen, literature

Literature

memory

No matter how hard I try, I can't fight away that smell of spilled beer and stale cigarettes, the sound of that crowded gathering. Now the place is too far gone to have any real effect on me--countries, decades away. Its rooms are empty, windows boarded, the rusty miasma of its life, its vibrance given over to disrepair and encroaching dust. The brown leather of the booth must be cracked, hard by now in the few shafts of light which manage to scrape through the boards, the stained glass that sent shivering slivers of blue light across our faces long broken, now glittering morosely on the floor. By now the wood of the tabletop must be

meeting by Eloen, literature

Literature

meeting

The sun blossoms over the rooftops of the other high rises, and for an eternal moment, the buildings across from mine are ablaze, their roofs barely registering in the flames licking across the sky. Then: she. Her hair is blonde; maybe it's red - brown? I know not. I care not. She is an angel, a seraph, her hair a blinding blaze in the morning light, bright against the grey and frosty tones of the dark city streets. I no longer feel the warmth of the tea in my hands, the cold of the wrought iron against my elbows, all I feel is an elation that is the very essence of her. She crosses the street, shoving her hands into her parka against

a conflict of interests by Eloen, literature

Literature

a conflict of interests

You hold on then to metered verse, while I hold on to rhyme; and maybe, if the words are right we'll reconcile in time-- but words are rarely ever right and as I've sometimes swore, you have your paltry, metered verse and I, with rhyme, no more. An ordered sense, a piebald score echoes then, black and white, while little can be made with our own artificial lights which all of yours and all of mine can barely act to feign, both singularly--it must be!-- or we must go insane! I, without your ordered verse, and you, without my rhyme can barely hope to sway a thread though we take all of time, so-- will you lose your mind with

why-- by Eloen, literature

Literature

why--

Nothing wells and swirls creating electric patterns in my eyes and flinging itself through--the lids force shut of their own accord, barring in the emotions that threaten to tear out. Hair falls over eyes, further enclosing the encroaching void, holding it within the confines of an all-too-small form. Attempts to breach the barrier only lead to a greater resolve, a desperate attempt to find solace in a soul. Words coalesce; are held frenzied hostage against a moment's revelation-- against the moment of discovery by an outside force, another weakness made apparent by a second's lost love. Perhaps there is a way-- but I wo

One by Eloen, literature

Literature

One

I wake to a spectral darkness. The comforting thrum of rain still echoes, fading quickly into obscurity. My eyes are open, I think--it's hard to tell. The world is dark; there is no light. There never was any light, was there? And then--a glint of gold an immeasurable distance away. It flares and flickers, growing in seconds to an inferno mere inches from my face. The golden flames give off no heat, no illumination. The fire is the only thing I see, the only thing that is real. In an instant, he stands over my shoulder. I turn to look at him, only then realizing that I can't move. The feeling is not frightening, not unnatural; it i

deficient by Eloen, literature

Literature

deficient

what can I do for you? you are old; you stand perilously on weak, trembling legs. You do not hear my sorrowed call-- your grey-bearded smile is deaf, your ears hear only memories. what can I do to allay the coming death I see in your eyes? they are so dark, so beautiful-- so pitiful. They hold hope, along with the haunted peace of ancient memory-- why do you look to me with such trust? I cannot heal your wounds, take away your pains-- I am not your savior, though I long to ease your way-- not your healer; I cannot heal even my own heart.

this by Eloen, literature

Literature

this

four musicians stand on a street corner, their lips pressed against a wall of sound. notes float out over pedestrian and car alike, clarion, indelible. a couple joins hands and starts to dance, whirling beside the quartet. another finds holding hands, listening with gazes locked is enough. humanity passes by, the oasis of music wafting over the cars, over those perpetual dwellers of the sidewalks. humanity passes through the oasis. many hear the notes. many smile. four magicians stand on a street corner, pouring out their souls into this-- swing, this syncopation, this... jazz.

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They Say.. by Eloen, literature

Literature

They Say..

They say that love is a rose but I see it as it is: dying, wilted, not a glittering beauty held highly by so many, but a curse, And I see you as you are: old, wilted, with nothing left to give, but still thought highly of by so many, a curse rooted deep in my heart. With nothing left to hold me you still try to grasp like an incessant vine at a deep part of my soul--rooting yourself, a thieving, choking weed trying incessantly to grasp what love is; not a glittering beauty held inside-- a theiving weed, choking all life from the heart, but you still insist that love is a rose.

It Was Two Years Ago by Eloen, literature

Literature

It Was Two Years Ago

The scent of sunlight reminds me of you, just lying outside with a yellowjacket landing on my hand-- --your nose and I turn to your gasp; the wasp is long gone, but our lips are still close, your laughing blue eyes locked with--lost in mine-- --clothes, memories sifting into the pack, into my heart; the month almost over, Summer almost dead. Home calls as I stand-- --outside on the spring grass, exchaging one last embrace for God knows how long, but you go peacefully, as your gaze gently presses against my tears for a fleeting moment-- --before fleeing, flying on the breeze into the laughing blue sky and I wa

I Once Believed in Santa Claus by Eloen, literature

Literature

I Once Believed in Santa Claus

I once believed in Santa Claus His sleigh bells ringing in the air His reindeer leaping without care, A gripping flight through the winter night Bringing light and toys to share. I once saw dragons in the woods Though no one ever thought I could, Flying high in the blue night sky And flinging crashing, screeching cries And beckoning with fiery eyes For me to join...and once I would. I once would fly to dazzling heights Held fast by wings crafted of light Where earth and moon withdrew from sight Where dragons hurled with wings unfurled Through distant and exotic worlds A flight through darkest nights. I once knew how and when

Revel in the Rain.. by Eloen, literature

Literature

Revel in the Rain..

"Do you feel it?" he whispers to me as we pass in the hallway, his eyes glittering oddly in the fluorescent light. Of course I feel it; I can't remember when I didn't feel it, this odd weight on my shoulders, this feeling of something sinister lurking just behind my back. "It's coming..." he trails off as the warning bell rings, a jarring klaxon breaking through our conversation. "Change," I say as we turn from each other, heading to our respective classes. I sit in my usual desk in English, first in the room. The plastic seems hard against my back, harder than usual. Sharp. Warmth. I feel that, too, though I know the seat is alm

-- by Eloen, literature

Literature

--

The smell of another morning of broken sobriety greets me as I admire the grey-tinted world of dawn, the sun only but peeking over the horizon, her pink and purple robes just beginning to unfurl. I see him, sitting where he's sat on countless mornings, peaceful but for the occasional silent tears he sheds, carving tiny streams in the dirt of his craggy face, a study of line and shadow. I watch him silently shedding his sadness, the permeating smell of a generic alcohol somehow fitting. Everything somehow fits into place, and I cry, too. I cry because I know what's wrong, but can't change it. I cry for those who deserve

Lost-- by Eloen, literature

Literature

Lost--

The grandfather felt the presence behind him before he heard the boy's bare feet against the hard-packed trail. He knew the bronze, smooth face without turning to look, instead letting his gaze wander across the green and yellow fields that surrounded his village, his home for all of his long life. The boy likewise knew the old man--knew the wrinkled lines that creased his weather-beaten face, knew the way his eyes lit as if on fire when he laughed, knew the stoop of his shoulders brought upon by long life and hard work. The boy came to a halt next to the man, likewise staring out across the expanse of early morning farmland. As

letter to you-- by Eloen, literature

Literature

letter to you--

It now seems that when it was happening it should have appeared too good to be true. I guess it was. But you held my stars--my destiny!--in your eyes. Now here they lay, scattered like a thousand glistening diamonds on the floor, the last glimmers of hope fading from their crystal faces. You'll understand if I seem a bit faded, I hope, having lost my stars, what I had thought was my destiny. And I hope you'll understand if I appear blind for a little while. You see, your smile held my sunshine, it brought light to my darkness. It now seems that I may have been in darkness all along, that I only fabricated this light I thought you

this by Eloen, literature

Literature

this

deficient by Eloen, literature

Literature

deficient

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Daisies by my-emo-life, literature

About Eloen

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Artist

United States
Deviant for 20 years
He / Him

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My Bio

Current Residence: A rundown house in the middle of the most beautiful starscape you'll never see...
Wallpaper of choice: an old, yellowed one, with faded pink crysanthemums
Skin of choice: hers
Favourite cartoon character: Spike
Personal Quote: the scent of sunlight reminds me of you--

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Eloen

Apr 20, 2008

derivatives

0 min read

When he has nowhere left to turn, he tumbles back--back into lands he knows by rote: rhyme, meter, form.  He creates about him a world in which everything fits because everything was crafted specifically to fit.  The universe is but fragile spinnerets of glass, tinted and formed with the love of a life-long endeavor.  He walks the corridors of this land with care--but he knows the ground he treads intimately.  It is a part of his soul. And still he looks out of his fragile world and feels ruin approaching.  So he moves sideways, out of time and around it, entering a world of numbers--of grace, and of preternatural beauty.  He moves more assu

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Eloen

Feb 2, 2008

f(x)

0 min read

Time passes. Germination.  Growth.  Nights he dreams that he can put out roots, shoots of green growth, and pick this as his place, unique in all the world.  He dreams that he becomes a part of the World, that deep down he can feel her heart, that in the susurrus of his leaves lives the harmonic wind.  In his dreams his family comes to roost in him, his father a vigilant owl, a magpie his mother, and his siblings a hive of bees nestled inside of his trunk. He dreams that he has found a place, where none was his to have. He dreams.

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Eloen

Aug 7, 2007

mrowr?

0 min read

Where is everybody? Submissions forthcoming, I think.  Soon.

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Profile Comments 119

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Amily19

Jul 23, 2008

Eyesight is happening, prozac causing you think or anemic. Felt that uses outside of cough worse than sit or allergy medicine slowly prozac. Multum data reveal prozac impairment. My pediatrican suggested that prozac interfered with liver specialist care and haloperidol in, liver.

captainofnothing

Feb 4, 2008

and ta for the watch : )

you're welcome ^_^

*nom nom nom*

I ate you.

GerbilPoof

Feb 14, 2007

BLLAARRG.

Do something. P: