Penetrateurwii

Christian

5 Watchers73 Deviations

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The flower on the sill. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Spring no more. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

Spring no more.

"Spring no more." I dreamt of ash and death. Somewhere beyond Autumn’s barricade. Where the blossoms cease to bloom. As springs song silently fades. The sun begins to blacken. As the birds sing farewell. Soon the earth will be stricken. By the frigid winds of hell. But just as the frost settles. And decorates the floor. Know now this my friend. You’ll know of spring no more.

The Siren's wintry call. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

The Siren's wintry call.

Snow blankets the rolling hills. Obscuring the window’s sill. Gazing out across the sea. Winter silently beckons me. Peering through the frosted glass. Wondering when, when will winter pass? Lost within her frozen charm. A Siren’s song wishing no harm. Longing to feel the blush of spring. The kiss of which, the birds do sing. Then I’ll look upon the rolling hills. Recalling that winter beyond my sill.

Mocking bird. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Enduring the seasons. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

Enduring the seasons.

The change of seasons seeks to beguile. The poets mind with malicious wile. Seeking to lure, capture and fool. Rusting his creativity as a tool. Showering their influence upon the sands of time. Leaving puddles of limerick or rhyme. Clouding his mind with bad intents. If only he could see and repent. Maybe then he’d shine through. The change of seasons and all that they do.

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The flower on the sill. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Spring no more. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

Spring no more.

The Siren's wintry call. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

The Siren's wintry call.

Mocking bird. by Penetrateurwii, literature

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Letter to the poet. by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

Letter to the poet.

Dear Five frigid fingers, where art thou keeper? Does he flirt, with whistling Death? Here again consuming social Meth. Unaware that his ending draws near. For indeed, the reaper is here. His gaze locked upon thine eyes. Staring at you with bad intent. For thou refused to repent. And so through frost stained glass we see. The man with the hourglass grasping ye. Indeed this is a fitting end. For those who hide, behind the pen. Such are the ways of men. For death be the only thing true. And life, the one thing he rue's. As such, let us sing this tune. And ring forth enthralling bells. For the living world, is indeed Hell. And

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The ink that stains by Penetrateurwii, literature

Literature

The ink that stains

The ink that stains. (A Poem) The power of the pen, never misses its mark. Its influence surpasses the paper the ink stains. Cast a cloud upon the truth, thus making it seem dark. This is the way a fool reigns. His influence is a messenger of death. Breeding forth an unoriginal sin. Let us watch, as freedom breathes its last breath. Whilst the devils in power grin. For his power is greater, then the sword. It puts all guns to shame. It harms all those across the board. Unless they posses riches or fame. Thus is the power of a judge. With a wave of his wrist, he condemns men. Though his job, may seem to be filled with drudge. I

The ink that stains

Penetrateurwii

About Penetrateurwii

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Artist

United States
Deviant for 16 years
www.myspace.com/varos_von_brucke
He / Him

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My Bio

Current Residence: Delaware
Favourite genre of music: Rock
Favourite cartoon character: Stitch
Personal Quote: In order to understand evil, you yourself must become that evil.

Favourite Visual Artist

David Bowie

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Tool.

Favourite Writers

Robert Frost

Favourite Games

Indigo Prophecy

Favourite Gaming Platform

Xbox360

Tools of the Trade

My mind.

Other Interests

Reading, writing, working out, playing guitar, video games, and socializing.

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Penetrateurwii

Mar 13, 2009

What this world is in my opinion.

0 min read

This world resembles a dead hookers rotting vagina. Loose, uncertain of what you'll catch if you try to enjoy it and it smells like shit. Even now it reeks like an open fish market. And if I dared to enter it, it would be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. So instead I wander these streets, looking for a different type of whore whose tit I can cling to. Much like I did to my own mothers when I was a baby. Sucking away at her saggy tit, clinging to that nipple as if it were Jesus incarnate. In the end, I feel like a large, sun crusted turd. Left out on the drive way one too many hot afternoons. Waiting to be scooped up and tossed into a t

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Profile Comments 11

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EmeraldYakumo

Dec 16, 2008

Just a random Deviant saying hello.

xxbetweenxxbreathsxx

Dec 16, 2008

Thank you so much for the watch!

tanx for the fave

Thank you

_{Hey there, this is EIR or Gabriel, whichever. Just dropping off a good Hello. My favorite picture out of all your gallery would have to be See Through the Electric Eye. It was the one picture that caught mah eye.}

EmberRoseArt

Nov 21, 2008

thanks so much for the

Neo-Nazi-Bunneh

Nov 19, 2008

O_O; No... I don't, thank you.. I'm not into scat && joo know it! >.>'