At the start of the new year, I promised myself that I would be giving back to the literature community here on deviantArt again like I used to. Before I began university, I was able to help admin groups that featured deviants on a daily or weekly basis, and I missed having the time and opportunity to help lesser known deviants have their chance to shine. Now that I've finally graduated, I decided upon a small project that I hope to be able to keep up with: My Lit. Daily Pick Project.

What is my Lit. Daily Pick Project?

Every day, I choose one literature deviation that I have recently come across that I found to exceptionally stand out to me. That deviation remains featured on my page for 24 hours in my daily pick folder for any watcher or visitor to see and hopefully view, comment, or fave. At the end of the month, all of the deviations that I chose to feature are then featured in an art news journal together. The purpose of this daily feature is to help lesser known writers on the site get exposure for their well-written work, as well as promoting community spirit.  

* I do take suggestions for deviations to feature, as well! This month, I had two suggestions from the lovely Caffeinated-Bunny and Chezzy-Am (who suggested multiple deviations!). Thank you both! If you know of a deviation or writer that you love and want to share, feel free to send me a note entitled "Lit. Daily Pick Suggestion". I'd be happy to read and consider it. Please Note: A deviant may only be featured once a month to make it fair and give others a chance to be featured.

And now, here is my collection of literature picks from this month in order of their date of feature. Be sure to check them out:

April 2013 Lit. Daily Picks

Why I Can't Love a PoetHe said you're beautiful like
black birds on a gray sky or
a tree that's recently died but
holds its last green leaves until
they wither and crack, swept away
by a northern wind bearing his name.:thumb362920804: why stars don't sleep& stars they never sleep
cradled in the gentle limbs of the moon
the sky in ocean's blood
how they love their dawn
never wake to twilight nights
breathe life into mountains
caress sky's limit
& painting life in yellow dots
falling out soundlessly.
Sounds Familiari. engine churns:
the dog's left at home,  
he agitated Her again
and all he can hear
is the motor burning.
ii. his whines grow hoarse:
wrapped windows bind sunshine
but he sniffs for it
when he knows daylight
won't comfort him.
then the walls grow mold,
as its paper falls off
and folds into the
depressions of the floor.
(he claws to get out)
he has itches to scratch out
of his bowl-like stomach;
his nose is dry,
starving to be happy.
spilled milk is now spoiled,
but he laps it up
as the
heater cooks his home,
makes him cry again.
iii. postcard said She flew north:
She left without a care,
but he's still waiting;
sounds familiar.:thumb352481897::thumb362937241:
Tears of a Happy EndingIt was a happy ending,
yet happy it was not.
Inscribed through heartless and decayed
processions of horrid crusades,
like tales of love and truth betrayed;
it holds no happy thought.
What of the happy ending
the poet himself despised?
With saccharine expressions brewed -
such vivid tales of love accrued,
what breathless literature construed,
riddled in mocking lies.
What mournful happy ending
though cherished it may seem
that serves a purpose solely vile;
constructs by one all through defiled,
such deeds that led him to exile
conjuring wicked schemes.
It was a happy ending
one written oh so well.
Yet dreams it has that still remain
like uncorked bottles of champagne
ensnared by manacles and chains
imprisoned and impelled.
What dreams oh happy ending
what fantasies you hold?
What myriad blossoms of yours
what wishes that so wish to soar
what roses that you so adore
are withering in the cold?
Your wish oh happy ending
as it appears to me
is of a grasp that grasps at him
that cracks that:thumb361228357:
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart My Despairing RavenMy eyes fluttered.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll see you tomorrow," I heard them sing.
The darkness thinned.
My eyes opened. I couldn't see myself. I was inside, surrounded by blinding lights. I was mad with fever. My body was burning up, and yet I was shuddering violently; only straps kept me from falling into the endless abyss. I felt the sweat pour down my sticky body and soak the bed. I was dressed in white linens…
Then faces appeared, speaking in a deep language I could not comprehend. Their voices were assuring and warm. But I could not see their faces.
I was shivering with fever, cold, and fear.
Was I dying?
Where was I?
Please, don't put the lights out!
I went mad with furious fever forfeiting reason. I snarled like a beast who could tolerate its cage no longer. My forehead and hair rained upon them. Spite and spit: My veins filled with it. I thought I'd burst.
"NO! NO! NO!" I cried in delirium whilst I thrashed back and forth. "I'm afraid of the Dark! Please, don't Foxlocks of hair, caught in branches,
woodland creatures watching her missteps,
              but she is quick:
                     a fox ensnared by a contemptuous bird
buried deep behind her white-coffin ribcage,
       singing mutilated songs of endless sorrows.
              and she,
                     a broken thing,
                               with eyes, cold like a frozen ocean,
is fixated on moving forward,
       instead of moving slow
              and feeding the wolves her warm flesh.

:thumb364772078::thumb364955284: Melancholic TendenciesAs she danced away to the fine symphony
She felt nothing but an enchanting ecstasy
Her connective rhythm, her fire breath majesty
A deified sight for the broken heart to see
As she held her stride and moved to and fro
Her heart filled with joy, her mind free of woe
Her grace as she laughed; her happiness so pristine
Her being held sway, no words could define
She moved and moved, her smile more pure
As she danced in the darkness, a divine allure
As the circle drew near, she made a cheerful sound,
An operatic discourse, vibrations spreading round
As she danced and sang, the court was reborn
As ghosts danced to the music, of a satisfied voice borne
Through sorrow and sadness; such hopeless melancholy
Brightness from the moonlight, shining in harmony
A wizard's dream, such a brilliant display;
The dancer in her sonnet, with lost souls who sailed away
While she didn't care, as she flowed with her song
Her lost partner in her arms, her grip held strong
In his eyes she looked, seeing what she
:thumb349253500: Moon LightIn a whisper the world ends
In  darkness the day descends
All the fun the games we play
Are caged in time and fade away
In this gloomy moon lit night
Are memories of sorrow and delight
The world is dead is how it seems
Without virtue and joyous dreams
I wonder when this night will end
And bring to life a merry trend
LighthouseSailing through darkness.
There was little I could see.
I was lost,
trying desperately to find something.
Anything.
A flash of light brought hope.
It pierced the black velvet night,
gave me a sweet breath of life.
Brought me out of the depths of despair.
Then it was gone.
My eyes can see even less now.
The flower of hope withers away.
I don't search anymore.
I don't want light if it brings that much pain.
At least the darkness won't lie to me. Death Song.
Singing to me a symphony of death
The strain in my body with every last breath
Draining my life a soul torn apart
Needing only time with this slow beating heart
The tune of my soul is dying within
This aging carcass is wearing so thin
Notes of life will soon lose their tune
As I'm sitting here so empty in this prison, my room
This song is now reaching the end of it's time
Nothing to leave for you but this poorly writ rhyme
But hope goes out for the one who does care
Because in your heart my music is there...

Mature Content

:thumb367007554: I am meI look in the mirror and see my on reflection
I start to wonder, am I not only a projection?
But if I would be one, my life would be a lie
"But I'm not a lie! I'm not!" that's what I sigh
I remember all the happy moments in life
I remember the sadness and the strife
This though is a proove that I'm me
And accepting that is the only key
To get stronger and to walk along
the lonely road to where I belong
I'm proud, that I am me
And I am also proud to be
A living being, the person that I am
I will show everyone, I will show them
I am me and I'm proud of that
And not only some kind of brat:thumb363026894:
Creepypasta: Laughing JackLAUGHING JACK
         It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.
         When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey san:thumb367830809::thumb364598765:
I Like To Play With SkinI Like To Play With Skin:
Breathe -
My dear friends and watch,
As the feeling of life itself
Crumbles beneath each ounce of pain.
Needles slowly piercing into the body,
Paralyzing nerves and expressions.
A mask of pure horror; living terror,
Kept alive on the barest limit of the border.
Such tempting features,
Leave me eager to slip a knife beneath flesh.
Ripping soft layers of epidermal mache,
Tanned and dried, woven slowly into a loving mask.
And with my latest acquisition complete,
Only twenty spaces remain...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2013:thumb368369581: AcceptanceGreen.
The course iron bars of a prison.
The creaking doors,
Lock you in the building of torture.
The wet flaking paint smelt stale
And made it clear:
The weird were not welcome here.
The door shudders loudly as
Someone enters, nervously.
You can foresee the taste of blood:
100 vipers wait, poised
Ready to attack
Until there is nothing left
But an empty shell of one who once existed
Everyone was the same.
Same clothes, same attitude, same prejudice.
Like clones, unable to accept different.
Like sheep, afraid of new.
A metal barrier shading them
From the real world
Where the weird were accepted.
Shunted to the back,
Of a classroom alone.
Even the teacher can’t face it.
Touching other people’s emotions
Are painful
Touching thorns
Thorns of hatred
A light breaks through
It’s near the end
Of a hard year of war
The soldiers lined up to kill the enemy
The teachers the generals
The children the soldiers
If you were the enemy
You would know
You were outnumbered
No chance of v

Congratulations again to all these wonderful writers for their contributions to the literature community. I look forward to reading and featuring next month's batch of Lit. Daily Picks!

Previous Lit. Daily Pick Articles:

Volume 1: January 2013
Volume 2: February 2013
Volume 3: March 2013