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About Literature / Hobbyist Dolan GreyMale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 4 Years
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the root, the stem, the rain
bringing me back again to you, behind
the hydrangeas. we meet in silence, unspoken
answers to unasked questions, whispers
of dilemma and tentative congress. lie
here with me a while, beautiful and broken, our
only purpose to mirror the gentle falling of the sky, hearts
released in vapor and hair awash in a pool of petals.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 14 2
a blank white canvas:
rumpled a bit in the corner
tangled a bit at the edge
piled up languidly
spread even by contact with
the brush of your hair the smooth of your back the curls of your toes the shape of your breast
all aching at once all aching for touch all aching for touch all aching for aching all aching for
the painter's broad strokes and
the watercolors and oils and
the interruption of solid lines and
the mixing of flat with gloss and
the palette changing beneath and
the resistance of the medium and
i spread you until you reach all corners of the canvas
not waiting to let you dry not pausing to change brushes
i will breathe your fumes forever
i will draw your shape forever
i will spread you forever –
someday i will hang you up
but for now i will paint you
and i will paint you
and i will paint
and i will
and i 
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 12 0
i am an etherous ghostnote
in your nighttime prayers
i am slang for something
like tangerine seeds and pulp
i am on the tip of your tongue
my claws dig into your lips

(whisper into me, whisper,
make me a sighing windtear.)

i am a flight of birds
across your winter sky
i am darkening haruspicy
interpreting your insides
i am the place on your palm
where ley lines becomes rivers
(cheironomous augur, i am,
let me make you an omen from god.)

i am october-time rust patterns
below your quickening caravan
i am wetness and mirepoix
like sweet stewed secrets
i am the sunlight on your bare neck
druid magic makes us omniternal
(tentatively, hesitantly, plaintively,
we can be everything you say we are.)
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 16 4
Deciphering a language only you know,
I stammer as I respond to your invitation.
"Uhh, a house party sounds neat, I guess."
Damn it -
No, a house party certainly isn't
neat -
damn it.
Beer is as good a date as any, I think;
you're with him, anyway.
"Ms. Artois, tell me about tonight.
How fucked up will I be before it's over?"
She says nothing. She never does -
I should know the answer.
I stare across the dripping room;
you stand, eyes averted, one hand on him.
I think you're drunk; 
I always am.
I know you've seen me. 
The curtains are closed, or my eyes are.
"Hey, you."
"So, did...?"
"Yeah. Yeah, we did."
Stella was right. 
And for once, I feel sober. 
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 6 2
casting (a song)
Casting a shadow against
the tide-swelter moonrise or bringing
me a new one full of qualms and realms
shaken sundry.
Realized in red that
it wasn't but you, but me.
Casting lots against
the spinning room waiting
for the flat circle in the square
(parallelism (metaphoria)).
Realized in red that
it wasn't for me, for you.
Casting lines against
the current for a storm in a swamp
of pedestrian foot-traffic beside the other
same-self waltzing.
Realized in red that
it wasn't in us, in them.
Casting, casting above
all around in eaglets and eyries
tempestual and sensual
behind-the-back welfare --
casting. Casting below
inside the mind of Adam
forbidden but not forgotten
in-depth raspberry picnic-basket
casting, casting.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 7 0
I, the wizard of randomisms.
The castle of the dead is
a beautiful and burning thing
of scars left unsigned:
regret is a blank page and
innocence is bliss, but
take no one's word for it -
bullets of abstraction are
interrupting the fall of
symphonies of dreams
(telephones and cortisone,
antiseptic and postage stamps,
a spell caster's practice)
- a cat fest bone deep,
stenciled smiles on paper hearts,
death in the rain. So,
I demand that you live for me,
my manic pixie dream,
on an autumn night with thoughts of dying:
think of me when you're out there,
my sehnsucht,
my scintillae,
until you stop growing old.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 21 9
Ode to a Girl from Swansea
Pretty Welsh girl, with the Titian hair and
long legs, the secret voice and virescent
eyes: you strike a resemblance to the
goddess of the oak-flowers baptised in
a vernal meadow, beckoning those who
would chant and proclaim your mysteries to
your side as you slide from the slippery
stones to drift back into the bosky wood.
Last Tuesday, when the rain faded away, I
caught you unawares as you brushed your flaming
locks by the sea-wall. Worshippers absent, the
clouds retreated slowly and your Sun shone in
full victory: it was in that light that
I could glimpse you as you are, not as you wish
to be, not as your devotees cast you,
and in that golden light you returned my look.
Today, it is raining again. Small droplets bounce
off the cobblestone walkway and splatter your bare
feet; there is reverence enough in them not to graze
your ankles. My eyes wander from your shoulders to
your chest, travelling your body, and reach your gale-green
eyes. You blink, and turn your head in my direction.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 8 18
Always, the waiting.
In the nearness of a moment with you
I sink into the grey,
unsure of what we can be,
gazing, hazed, and phrasing ways
to tell you things --
there is no
proper etiquette for arrival
at such a preposterous proposition,
then the backing away,
the retreat,
and the waiting.
Always, the waiting.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 10 5
it's an infinite possibility
    all of us together glancing around
         waiting for a quiet musical cue or some shit>>
is it you
    an infinity
         not as you say
               us waiting
                         or us together>really>
i can see you
     i really can
          no really
               that's not creepy is it
not physically see i mean
   i see your life is what i mean
i also see you in my mind though
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 10 4
Dream sequence
You were a wonderfully vague figure of light and sound
My name was Dogberry and together we explored each other
It was clichéd but it was beautiful sometimes that’s the only way
It was darker when we drank than when we didn’t but we didn’t stop
Virgil Virgil Virgil i cried why didn’t you mark your words more clearly
Blueberry Strawberry Raspberry you cried and I said that’s not my name
Many lamps shut off at the same time and we ran on all fours to the bank
It was closed and I tried to tell you I couldn’t speak English only Farsi dammit
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 5 5
November Twilight
    It is a sad thing, this November twilight. As the sun sets and the crows call and the cows come in from the pasture, a sad, beautiful thing is ending. It has been ending slowly for some time, this lovely thing, but it really closes quietly only now, like the last humble day of summer, as gilded rays shine gently beyond the shaded hills. Tomorrow, the world will draw itself out and November will again become sleepy, a haven for all filled with chills and changing colors.  
    But, for now, I too am a sad thing; standing here, I watch my star fall below the horizon as I always do at this hour, in this place, preparing for darkness. My time as the man I am now is ending, and as the horizon fades from crimson to lilac, so my own afterglow seems to be less brilliant the lower I sink. It is this task ahead, this farewell, that leaves me like this, and I glance around in hopes of finding a different resolution.
    She stands be
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 12 5
isolated accidents
everything escapes me, these days.
but the things I expect to leave
are the things that choose to stay -
you, and you, and you.
one of you was never here,
one of you was almost here, and
one of you has always been here.
you, I guess, are the most difficult issue.
it's as if - it's as if a man is shipwrecked,
on a desert island, say,
and the only thing he has taken with him
is a bottle of pain relievers.
he is free of pain for -
well, in his mind, three years -
when really, he is starving and dying,
refusing to face the fact that he has
nowhere to lie his head at night,
no real security at all,
only a memory of better days,
of fresh water, and a hope for a better future.
maybe he gets clean, maybe he doesn't.
the fallacy of the platonic ideal. 
you, I guess, are not an issue at all, really.
if anything, it is i who was poison in your blood:
as much as you convinced yourself
that the poison was harmless,
helpful, even, m
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 9 7
in absentia
he feels the presence of
on his temple,
ascension of cool-grid to
declination of warm-facet –
he is adept at
the art of goof,
member of the order and
a crow at sundown
(but not at sunset) –
his loch ness mind
is dank and collective and
raw, mostly,
seeping squeals now and again
that are really spirits –
he walks, and
saunters sometimes,
as if he has just witnessed
a miracle, and delights
in your not having seen it –
his given name was
but he rechristened himself
after watching moss grow on
words spoken in silence:
i am the exalted of the ancestors,
i am the descendant of dippy dawg,
i am the beast in the lowest waters,
i am the law of truly large numbers,
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 9 6
misshapen mishaps
i'm tired of using the words
"linger" and "hover" for this
because it is not oxygen
and you are not breathing
life in this relationship
and all it does is sail
away from my grasp
i'm tired of seeing the shapes
"rectangle" and "rhombus" in your eyes
they are not real, they are imagined
and you are not dreaming
tonight, or any night, really
and all the edges poke your retinas
and i go blind from staring
i'm tired of the triangular
diameter of "square"
and "compasses"
closing your palms
and i don't believe in space,
outer edges or emptiness alike,
the universe centered
around the boiling sun
meant to swallow
like orange tea;
i'd rather drown
in the edges and angles
of things never meant to rhyme
than white lies that do
i'm tired (so very tired)
of the geometric sequencing
you use to solve yourself --
if you condense a question into
a box the size of your heart
and there is only one answer choice,
i wonder how long it will take before
you decide you can't really fit, before
you decide it's
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 18 7
Falling Through
In your stare I see the endless sun,
golden, brilliant, slowly come undone –
measure out the starlight in your bones
before you measure out the known unknowns.
In your voice I hear a silent sound,
something in it softly come unbound –
silky murmurs dripping from your tongue
string threads like seams until we both are strung.
On your skin I feel an early cool,
shades of  moisture from a wading pool –
slick and wet and sliding deep in thought
small dew-spots form, submerging us in blots.
     As I lie here in pieces, falling through,
     pull me back together into you.
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 14 10
step, shake, glitter, goodnight
reverse the host provokes innermost struckstar
behind plum-dust not a winkle or a dusk-scar
raven-score, blood and gore, crown the mighty hedgerow king
eliphant, magnificent, savannah sears and swelters me
laying in a haze endless numbered days to come
playing and praising beneath the endless yellow sun
creed out, shaken raw, never now, fulfill the law
shake it off, coup de grace, always here, tragic flaw
after and inasmuch and if it's alright with you
fly away, fly away, fly into the starry blue
acid rap and attack and go back and fight fast
and come down to earth with a feeling that it won't last
how do we connect it? misty moths mutter mostly
all in the brain, all in the game, so follow closely  
look around thee, you would-be trainee, you draftee
nothing in this life is free, it's not a cup of tea
come back and report and retort and salute to me
i want full disclosure and i think i need a church key
so mostly it seems that poetry disagrees with me
on every little level except
:icontirasunil:tirasunil 15 19


tirasunil's Profile Picture
Dolan Grey
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
I'm confused -- come join me.

Daily Literature Recognition:
April 22nd, 2014, I Belong Here
Daily Literature Deviations:
July 5th, 2013, Black and white
September 23rd, 2013, Taches de vin
January 26th, 2014, 2820 miles
March 13th, 2014, diamonds, bones, and oak spirits
Daily Deviations:
October 7th, 2013, a tribute to robert frost
May 10th, 2014, Sumus de stellis

tirasunil's Personality Type Results
Hello all. It's been about 4.5 months since my last entry, and I felt like there were some things I needed to talk about.

I know I'm not the most popular person on dA, but I have formed personal connections with a lot of you that read my work and with those of you whose work I read as well. Since 2013, when I first started writing, my output has decreased significantly, and I wanted to first apologize to those of you who feel like I am aloof or standoffish and maybe explain myself.

This past fall I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder and some kind of unspecified anxiety issues to go along with that. I had also been struggling with joint pain in my knees and back for about eight years. The combination of these led to my dropping out of school (I'm in my third year of university) and going back to live at home where I could receive treatment for my knees and my depression. 

To start with, writing was a great outlet for my depressive tendencies. As time went on, though, I couldn't even bring myself to do that. I had no energy or desire to do anything productive; I had no confidence in myself or hope for my future. In 2013, I was writing about 3 poems every month; in 2014, two poems a month; in 2015, one, and last year, I only wrote maybe six poems. 

As of right now, I am still being treated for depression, and most likely will be for some time, but I am in much better shape than I was in October. My knees are almost completely better thanks to physical therapy, and my back only hurts when I am stressed. 

I can't fairly call any of you my friends without telling you about my life and how I'm doing. I also think there are a fair number of artists that suffer from similar problems to mine: physical and emotional pain on a level that they don't know how to overcome. Hope is out there, friends, whether it seems like it right now or not -- I can say that looking back, of course, on the darker times. It's much harder to think you'll be saved when you're drowning than when you're on the surface. 

If anyone has any questions for me, or wants to talk, or wants me to read their work for proofing or editing (I have now studied literature in school for several years) etc., I would be happy to do all of that. I wish I had reached out more in the past few years to my dA family for support. 


  • Listening to: Music In Me - Roksonix
  • Reading: The Book of Lost Things - John Connolly
  • Watching: American Dad
  • Playing: Sky Dancer
  • Eating: Oatmeal
  • Drinking: Iced coffee


Add a Comment:
oviedomedina Featured By Owner 5 days ago
And again, thank you! :)
tirasunil Featured By Owner 5 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
Of course. :)
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2017
Thank you for the favorite!
tirasunil Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Of course. :)
XxSkullcandy713xX Featured By Owner Edited Mar 29, 2017  Student Writer
Hi there! Thank you for joining :iconxx-book-worms-xx: I'm so glad you decided to become a part of our group! I hope you enjoy your stay with us, if you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask me ^^

:bulletgreen: Please look at this -> for information on folders :bulletgreen:

Have fun and enjoy your stay with us at Xx-Book-Worms-xX :D
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2017
Thank you for the favorite!
tirasunil Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
oviedomedina Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2017
Thank you for the favorite!
tirasunil Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
PennedinWhite Featured By Owner Feb 27, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the watch, dear! :rose:
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