check it out!!!

If you would like to see my more professional works, visit my page at work. http://demetrewinfield.hubpages.com/ I have several articles on various topics that may, (or may not) interest you.

We are The Same

When I look at you,

I see myself in the mirror.

Fighting through clouded days,

Hoping they get clearer.

She shouldn’t have to cry,

How come no one hears her.

He has his dreams,

Wants to fly,

But its as if the devil is standing nearer.

And it got weirder.

When our roll models do wrong.

But we refuse to let that get in our way.

So we stand strong.

But for how long?

Even Hercules’s legs grow tired.

Wars will never stop,

And some simply cant get hired,

Or they’re getting fired.

Even if you start to move higher,

You still feel the heat,

Because hell is getting hotter.

A dragon that harry potter couldn’t slay,

And no one was there to save the day.

So try to sprout wings and take off,

Like a crow at play.

But don’t go too far,

Less you drift off into outer space.

vampire virtues: the prologue

For thoes who were not quite sure where to get my book, here is the link.
enjoy
http://www.lulu.com/shop/demetre-a-winfield/vampire-virtues-the-prologue/paperback/product-15981449.html

thank you germany :)

This is just a simple post of thanks. This goes out to everyone who has shown his or her support by visiting my page. This really means more than you may think. Special thanks go out to the great country of Germany. I noticed that Germany is the second supportive country in the world that actively visits, or maybe happens upon my page. To be honest, I have received more support from Europe in general than the United States, which is where I reside. It makes me wonder. Has the United States really become so self absorbed that they cannot even recognize talent? I know that money is important, but the arts should never be forgotten on the level that is has.

 

So once again, thank you Europe, and especially Germany.

Whispers

At night,

the wind howls from the mountains,

but your voice is all I hear.

Whispering my desires,

calling out to my fate.

It is cold,

and I quake,

and try to hide from your hideous face.

To my utter misfortune,

you continue to haunt my heart,

tearing apart my mind,

running my emotions dry.

Taking what little time,

I had to think about my life,

before you decided to take it away.

Still I follow you,

like a lost dove.

Or I try to.

It must be love.

Why else would I trudge through this heartache?

Your plague spreads on the winds of your voice.

do i truly,

have a choice?

black and white

Overlapping shadows everlasting      

Deepest black cloud avoiding forecasting

Innocent minds in a corrupt world of

Demons and devils, storms and perils

Bleaching their skin white

With terror

A clashing contrast that leaves no

Gray.

 

No medium line of equilibrium

No borderlands of hope or rejuvium

Their minds will never learn

As their desperate cries, go unheard

Raw emotion that is a constant burn

That is ever churning

As the surface remains unveiled

Our inner truths show in their

Outer lives

Whispering to us until

All dies.

Personal Challenge

There was one time in my life when my beliefs and ideas were challenged as an artist. It was relatively recent being that I was in eighth grade. I had adapted a dark tone to my art and writing. It reflected on me, and the secrets that I believe everyone has. This society is too afraid of being judged, and rather follow someone else instead of being an indivisual. This occurs especially with this generation of youth.

During the middle of my eighth grade year, a teacher introduced me to the young authors competition. She had been constantly telling me that my poetry was phenomenal an enchouraged me to compete. Naturally I was excited. Ihad never been acknowledged for my writing by anyone other that family.

As soon as I arrived home, I began to work. I created my own cover design, binding and all other parts of the book from scratch. Then, I began to pour my heart and soul into words. I had written some of the best works of that time of my life. I was very near a state of ecstatic pandemonium when I turned my book in. No one could have told me anything was wrong with it. I only saw perfection.

About a week later, my literature teacher pulled me aside to deliver crushing news. My book was not even entered into the competition. According to her, and the rest of the council, my work was too "negative". I was told that it sent an anti-positive message to the readers. This also started talk among the other teachers about what was going on inside my home. I was livid and hurt by the fact that my book, which had so much energy and heart, was not even submitted. Instead, I was constantly watched and immediately judged.

For a moment, I began to think my book was not submitted because it was poorly written. I began to question my ability as a writer. Then, after a few weeks, I realized that I had breached a part of their minds that they were afraid to explore. From then on, my drawings and poems took on an even darker flair. That incident became my motivation and fuel.

I had refused to let that rejection change my artistic style or ideas. Instead, I let it be my drive. Sometimes my work would have an opposite overall theme, but even then there is something dark somewhere in the content. That experience has molded me into a stronger writer and an overall more observent person.