Daily Lit Recognition for April 13^th, 2015

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Please comment and the features and congratulate the artists!

Poetry

_{Featured By: AyeAye12}

Mature Content

Meditation in a Suburban Town by DeriveAnemone

<sub>A rapid, non-stop flow is captured
perfectly in this late-night rant poem.


Suggested by: DeiSophia
Featured by: PoeticMolecules</sub>
Behind the Eyes of HeroesBehind the eyes of heroes lies a beast,
Which valor cannot hope to render slain.
On virtues bright this vice would make its feast,
Its ravages no flesh could e'er contain.
It's not the petty sins that damn a man
And throw his soul straight into deep perdition;
It's in his core, amidst his plights and plans,
Which holds his life within a dead condition.
No prayer finds an answer quite so swift
As one to humble one's self through and through.
To kill one's pride, we are too ill-equipped,
But heaven's quick to take its awful cue
And bring our well-wrought world a-crashing down,
And with it, all our chasing for renown.
Behind the Eyes of Heroes by Parsat

_{The suggester says, "It's such an interesting,
reflective piece on the nature of heroes."}

Prose

_{Featured by doodlerTM}
The House (Additions II)
As Charles stood before the house, a shudder ran down his spine.
He just couldn’t reconcile this dilapidated building before him with the old, but strangely beautiful, home he had spent so many happy summer weekends seven years ago. The house stood at the end of the street, the very edge of the neighborhood, with woods stretching out beyond the back yard. In its original form, it was one of the oldest in the county, though he would never have guessed it back then.
Back then.
Of course, back then, the windows weren’t broken, and the paint wasn’t flaking off the walls. Back then, the smug, sick-looking weeds didn’t crowd the lawn as if they owned the place. Back then, the door wasn’t boarded up (to keep people out, and this thought made him shudder again in spite of himself), as if there were something dangerous in there. Back then, there wasn’t spray-paint on the walls, and the long-abandoned FOR SALE sign, where someone had slashed
The House by shadesmaclean

<sub>A thrilling horror story which
takes a typical haunted house trope
and turns it into something surprising.


Featured by: PennedinWhite</sub>
RefugeShe sat cross-legged on an arm chair and yet, she wasn't there. Her body was still in the room with the other people, along with the noises and sounds, but she was out of reach. She was separated, detached, and like a butterfly abandoning its old cocoon, she had left her carnal shell behind. She didn't noticed how her feet became painfully numb and when someone called her name, she did not even hear the faint echo of it. However, she was not dead. Her body functioned just as any normal, healthy body should. Her face was active, representing the emotions she went through, but none of them was connected to whatever was going on around her. An invisible wall surrounded her. It shielded her from the world, without being a physical barrier. It was made of words flowing around her, spoken by a non-existent narrator.
Her eyes focused on a book in hand and from the pages emerged characters and locations only she could see, filling the space around with no regards to any limitations the real wo
Refuge by Diluculi

_{Refuge can be found in many places,
especially in books. This is a great depiction
of seeking that solace in a page's words.}

Foreign Language

_{Featured by: Malintra-Shadowmoon}

Mein SilberfunkeIch weiß was dir fehlt, es ist der silbern leuchtende Funke in deinem Herzen,
der dir die  Schöpfungskraft verleiht, die jedem Künstler inne wohnt
und an manchen Tagen in so weite Ferne flieht,
dass man glaubt, sie nie wieder zu sehen.
Doch schon ein kleiner Funke reicht und dein Herz erstrahlt
in neugewonnener Kreativität!

Mein Silberfunke by: Illien-chan

_{Free verse poem about creativity:
the little silver spark in your heart
that lives in every artist.}


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~ The DailyLitRecognition Team ~


_{Prepared by: SilverInkblot}