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Literature Text
A heartless light that burns above,
And rain bleeds upon the ground.
I searched the sky to find God's love,
Though birds and bugs were all I found.
If somewhere in the darkened heaven
Or in the depths of stormy Earth
Exists the cure to weakness given
I know not how to judge its worth.
For in this life our time is fleeting
And lends not to a journey long,
And every breath a wasted greeting
Spent longing after tonics strong.
So if the search yields no elixirs
Before our bodies waste away
Through empty glasses and chased mixers
The Reaper we'll not keep at bay.
And rain bleeds upon the ground.
I searched the sky to find God's love,
Though birds and bugs were all I found.
If somewhere in the darkened heaven
Or in the depths of stormy Earth
Exists the cure to weakness given
I know not how to judge its worth.
For in this life our time is fleeting
And lends not to a journey long,
And every breath a wasted greeting
Spent longing after tonics strong.
So if the search yields no elixirs
Before our bodies waste away
Through empty glasses and chased mixers
The Reaper we'll not keep at bay.
Literature
Empty Gardens
It was a wine-petaled pansy
that my mother pruned from the garden box;
it reminded me
that I had blossomed late and wilted.
At fourteen I created pansy petals of my own,
waking up with hot-fisted cramps
and the proof I was a woman.
I was not a rose, perennial,
as I went from blooming monthly
to not at all.
I would rather spend a day
curled up like the fetus I may never carry
than flat on my back wondering
why God allowed worse women than me
to bear children.
Literature
How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
Literature
Still
He was waking or he was falling asleep, neither, both at once. This was a dream. This was the only thing he had ever known. It made no difference, he trailed his own body like ripples after a rock, smoothing and breaking and smoothing again.
His feet moved tirelessly, without thought. No longer human, only the Walk was real. For minutes, or for months; time was fluid and distant. Walk.
He broke and a low mountain pulled him forward. Smoothed. Broke into flatlands, into shallow water. Into the evening, into the weak dawn.
Smoothed, back into the soft yellow lights behind his eyes. Walk.
****
He was not alone. This thought came from his bo
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Another poem I wrote yesterday while at work. Originally was supposed to be about a toad I saw, but got completely sidetracked and went with it.
© 2014 - 2024 JustAnotherWeekend
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