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Literature Text
Underwater smoke, murky cliche`d depths,
a chapel abandoned and soaked white shores.
A city damned from the start,
cornered on a 'now' lake bed
and fed into a watery throat.
Sunlight sifting through like dust
enough to illuminate the
hollow bones of seven decades past
that still walk familiar boulevards to
that church, to
that general store, to
that school.
They're not supposed to be here,
and we turn away now faced with the fact
that murder is too commonplace
on this planet we've come to shape.
a chapel abandoned and soaked white shores.
A city damned from the start,
cornered on a 'now' lake bed
and fed into a watery throat.
Sunlight sifting through like dust
enough to illuminate the
hollow bones of seven decades past
that still walk familiar boulevards to
that church, to
that general store, to
that school.
They're not supposed to be here,
and we turn away now faced with the fact
that murder is too commonplace
on this planet we've come to shape.
Literature
It wasnt rape
His touch felt exelerating on my skin
going under my skirt
i smiled through the kisses
he picked me up and i wrapped my legs around his torso
i don't ever remember feeling this good
his hair was so soft on my skin
i could smell his cologne
i felt him inside me floweing togther like water
belonging wanting needing
passion overwhelmed me and i screamed in pleasure
the intensity and vividness seemed like a dream
but i wasnt a dream
i had to much effect for anything that wasnt real
even though the smallest trace of it feeling hole still is remembered in my mind
i feel like that time was so distant from now
before all this h
Literature
Cover
Cover
Hello,
Do you know me?
If you don’t by now you won’t.
Did I tell you? Would you listen if I did?
To the end of these words.
The closing of the book.
The dust,
It must be overlooked
For I know the rest of my story will be.
Leftovers of life to be shoved in the corner of the room.
Never restored or remembered.
Just whispers into the unknown of emptiness.
The unknown before me.
So much silence,
Looking to the fog:
The mystery,
The sense of loss,
The future.
If you remember me:
Then, now, forever.
Then I’ll live on through thoughts,
Through wishes.
In the end my true desire
Is but room in the soul of the world.
To be reme
Literature
Dromomania
Every day I turn the key in the lock
Hoping to find you
tucked into the white folds
of an envelope,
of the bath towel I left on the sofa this morning.
But you and I, we haven't the breadth for that sort of thing.
I wish I could send you something of spring,
some distended meteor green with hope.
I'm watching the last of the oak leaves cling
stubborn
and I think
spring may not be coming this year.
There is no birdsong, there is
the furious sleeping of toads in the mud.
I came on the bench
where I slept in the warmth of your memory
this time last year.
Now the thought seems less mine and maybe it was
me you'd dreamt beside,
m
Suggested Collections
Full Title: The View From A Yellow Submarine.
Written OSAI 2006.
Written OSAI 2006.
© 2009 - 2024 seussical-love
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I really like this
...and the rest of your stuff
...and the rest of your stuff