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About Deviant Artist Farkas VajkMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 12 Years
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Newest Deviations

Spanish tree by KanisSapphirus Spanish tree :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0 Prime Real Estate by KanisSapphirus Prime Real Estate :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1 Night Light by KanisSapphirus Night Light :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0
From Masada,
Light cascades all around
Ready to envelope any party
That dares pass below.
At Masada,
Comes the order to break.
Caravan, having traveled far west
To mere barrenness and death,
Savors the simple rest.
Above Masada,
One respite of blue,
In this sea of colored cliff,
Remains so far above
It's accessible only by death.
Beside Masada,
Lies a closer blue
That offers no respite
In its fatal sapphire swells,
Despite this mirage of life.
Beyond Masada,
Bandit faces block the path
Merely a mirage? Rather,
A reflection of ourselves.
From Masada,
There trickles the solace
Of a moment's peace,
Replenishing only the aversion
To venture forth, farther into
The sandstorm of uncertainty.
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1
Mirrors, Mirrors on the Wall by KanisSapphirus Mirrors, Mirrors on the Wall :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 3
A Man in Full Wolf
It wasn't long ago that I could pace
Unnoticed amongst their docile numbers
Despite the passage of many a year
Since my Weltanschauung was torn asunder.
Can't recall what eased that fateful blunder,
Why we'd share our savage meals together,
What laid deep within her azure eyes that
Crowded out any thoughts of another.
                Flames can burn an ignorant bright before
They must endure that endless, bitter cold.
                Should've heeded, icicle bones barring your door,
Perhaps spared my heart from this chilling void.
                Can't even tell the teeth-marks anymore,
But the blood from hardened wounds still stains
                The scores of w
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0
casualties of chance
The impotent thud of the gun won't lie,
not even in the furtive light of a cigarette haze.
Listen hard for your life as your blood beats by.
Chill metal smooth as sultry sweat, try
not to focus on how high the bets will raise.
The impotent thud of your gun won't lie.
Soldiers still wet while their blood sets to dry
Muzzled violence dissolved; yet their stench stays.
Listen hard for your life as your blood beats by.
No moment's chance to contemplate why
spinning chambers are a dizzying maze.
The impotent thud of your gun can't lie.
Addict to the dealer's smirk and the wry,
smiling craze that always haunts waning days.
Listen hard for your life as your blood beats by.
Insanity blinks in the stare of your eye;
an errant madness has set the night ablaze.
The impotent thud of your heart can't lie -
Listen hard for your life as your blood beats by.
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 3
Mature content
maniacal urge :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0
nightly routine
i can't write i can't think
my mind is a void
i can't eat i can't drink
my stomach's annoyed
all night i'm awake
fear of being a fake
and in that fear's wake
the only refuge i take
from mistake to mistake
i can't live as a failure
i can't live out success
why did i come here
my whole life's a mess
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 1 0
How very sorry was I
that the predicted tornado
never attacked from the sky.
All my hopes were in vain
to see the side of my house cave in.
Stolen hopes of a basement bunker
in which to weather strong wind
that surely would have made life
interesting for a while.
The rain still fell
(they failed to foresee that)
and I heard a siren's yell
whither to but a sigh.
There is something in you and I
that longs to brave the violent might
of a hard storm, we delight
in some measure of destruction
(feigning to hope the damage is light.)
A whole race chasing storms
fascinated by the awesome power
of our Earth's breath.
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1
            once I knew what love
   was: a kiss. that smile. your warmth.
            all those mean nothing
            I still yearn for truth in
              forgotten memories
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1
It is a late summer day.
     Dogs sweat fur, molting like tropical birds, but
          their noses are cold and wet on our toes as we
               kiss on the pock-marked porch swing in your backyard.
                    Your hair flows through my hands like wine.
                         Your lips are cool too, fresh and sweet
                         like the promise of autumn cider.
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0
Poetry Is
Poetry is the art
      Of gleaning stillness from movement
      Of giving still life motion.
Poets are photographers
      In developing verses versus film
      They give the inanimate emotion.
Poetry is the technique
      Of saying more with less
      Of leaving some things        .
Poets are people
      The bored security guard reading East of Eden;
      Or his merlot-addicted housewife who
no longer tends her garden.
Poetry is the act
      Of platonic love and zealous lust
      Of coveting your neighbor's wife.
Poets are children
      Coloring outside all the lines
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1
Two people separate and walk away.
Were you one?  I cannot even say. Sight
blurred in lieu of your soft, allaying words –
your deft blade slew my terse prayer for us.
         (And earlier today, did you notice
our sheets shone soft grey-blue in the dawn's light?)
Why did we stray from our view, held jointly,
that we'd stay with each other through it all?
Dismay trailed us both, for we knew no
way to regain our places in life's queue.
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 0
                            dog eyes
                           stare at an
                     empty orange dish;
         while the flies, the flies, the flies buzz.
Maggot colonies crawl in sprawling bald patches of
      pink skin, parched, and old ear torn, limp,
                      hanging uselessly
                           like pupil's
:iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 0 1
terrace view II by KanisSapphirus terrace view II :iconkanissapphirus:KanisSapphirus 1 0


FMA - LUST by kheleksul FMA - LUST :iconkheleksul:kheleksul 5,214 642 Like a Dream by kheleksul Like a Dream :iconkheleksul:kheleksul 1,980 234


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Farkas Vajk
United States
Current Residence: Amerika
Favourite genre of music: I like most things except country and any jazz that's not live.
Operating System: XP [sp 2], OS X 10.4.4
MP3 player of choice: winamp
Favourite cartoon character: American: GIR and Batman. Everything else is anime [e.g. D, Guts, Kenshin, etc]
Personal Quote: what is reality but the words exchanged between people?
How is it that our lives accumulate so much useless junk?  I mean, half the things I keep I don't even understand why .. temporally they aren't important anymore, they have no sentimental value.  I have a lot of things like info postcards, display garbage (keychains, pens, etc.).  Why do I keep them?  It's almost like I'm trying to make up for some lack in self-confidence by buttressing my life with tidbits of information.  Does everyone do that to some extent?  My parents are horrible pack rats, but I'm not that bad.  I usually binge & purge (in clearing out junk), but I never get rid of enough.  I don't think it's all worthless, I just need to get a better sense of what's useful and what's not.  I hate it when I have that "oh shit" feeling after I throw something out and a week later I'm scrambling to find the name or number or event that I don't have.  How can someone avoid having to go through that and yet not become a pack rat?

Oh well, just a boring mini-rant adding to the clutter online.


Add a Comment:
musical-nymph Featured By Owner Nov 22, 2004
welcome to da.

i imagine you'll love it here.