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Literature Text
i managed to slip into the routine of watching for your silhouette
there was something comforting in the ritual,
the way that the shadow caressed your body
grasping you in its amorphous embrace
but then you left and even the
soft pitter-patter of rain upon the rooftop is no comfort
to my parched and barren heart
because i thought you would always love me but
but. but (there is always a but, it seems)
perhaps i shouldn't have been so trusting
you said you loved me and always was your favorite word
but i cannot seem to reconcile myself to this loss --
the emptiness that you left behind is tangible
it's too bad my dreams aren't real.
there was something comforting in the ritual,
the way that the shadow caressed your body
grasping you in its amorphous embrace
but then you left and even the
soft pitter-patter of rain upon the rooftop is no comfort
to my parched and barren heart
because i thought you would always love me but
but. but (there is always a but, it seems)
perhaps i shouldn't have been so trusting
you said you loved me and always was your favorite word
but i cannot seem to reconcile myself to this loss --
the emptiness that you left behind is tangible
it's too bad my dreams aren't real.
Literature
To depression, for creating days without end
Wake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those qui
Literature
Pines
The pines bend over
Crooked
Dark against a satin sky
Old and wind-twisted
Weary of winter
of going on
They stretch in a sweet spring sun
Stretch, straighten, and start over
pale new needles poke
out of paper-crisp wrappings
tender and soft
having never seen a winter
Literature
She Was With the Stars
The amber girl
was preserved perfectly
and her silky hair and porcelain skin
gleamed like a doll's
But the scientists weren't able to keep
her soul burning
because though she was in the
glass case filled with chemicals and fluids
and they were desperately trying to pump
oxygen into her lungs,
her mind was still up in space
with the stars
So the sun was extinguished
despite the cries and mournful screams
because they had
broke her
and the many who looked up
at her light and glory
slowly began to rot away
And so not a single thing was solved
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basically i don't know what i'm doing with my life (other than writing bad poetry at obscene hours of the night. although tbh this is the first time i've written poetry in a while.)
© 2012 - 2024 ahintofwanderlust
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