February Group Feature!

I've chosen this month's deviants that I feel represent the great talent of EntertheSpectrum. Please check out their galleries, and give them love, comments, faves, and watches. Doing this every month, so if you haven't been featured yet, you always have the chance next month! So keep creating, everyone.

SennhArt
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:devdraganthemighty:
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smault23


Wandlerin


ArtByStarlaMoore


Devi-Tiger


LorennTyr
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PoetryAccident
Poem - WithoutWithout
Sentences without verbs
life spent without actions
suspended between events.
Phrases without adjectives
accents not needed for
an existence already dead.
Life without the within
of those things in between
glue meant to bring relief.
Players come and go
ephemeral after contact
upon the stage of here and now.
Grayness upon the gray,
would it matter if I traded
one for a permanent shade?
Smiling through the tears,
reading without the verbs,
speaking without adjectives.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160223. Poem - CowardCoward
Color me the coward, yellow under belly,
too afraid to live, not afraid to die.
Do I suffer from unease or a disease?
Pusillanimous would be the decree
when I am no longer here to defend
my actions none will understand except
those who cannot admit they feel the same.
Caitiff seeker no longer seeing the sights,
Adrift in a life that is sampled and not lived.
Prisoner of the funks incomprehensible,
deserter still on the ramparts of life’s decay
while others fight hold their rightful place.
The greatest weakness of all my faults
is the envy and jealousy for those who went
to the comfort of a grave the brave detest.
Life continues for the fainthearted fool,
poltroon of the banquet table set
with the riches of a life lived to date,
taking comfort in the scraps dropped to the floor
when the riches are piled high on the plate.
These rewards missed, be they real or emotion based,
are the things I regret most while I remain upright.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20 Poem - Hours Turn to DaysHours Turn to Days
There are days when I wonder
if dance will find my steps.
An absent felt within my bones
too long without a romp.
Hours turn to days,
Days spin to the weeks,
weeks blend to the months,
and these repeat again.
The dust settles thick
when there is no play.
No sport or jest when merriment
becomes dim memory.
The ghosts are all I have
from the times of joy.
Reminders of the laughs
lost to Father Time.
I'll dance once again
when the stars align.
Until that day, in future's grasp,
the absence will linger on.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160204.

Spiritofdarkness


DracoPhobos
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