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Literature Text
why are leaves only beautiful after forsaking the tree,
famed after death and disregarded in life,
vibrant hues of scarlet, citrus, and amber,
glorifying inevitable wintertide.
bearing lightless days and passionless nights,
sheets upon sheets upon sheets of ice,
thus we lie dormant in wait such as the fickle fox,
for aforesaid tree to bloom anew.
budding saplings and reincarnated flora,
kept dreary by steadfast deluge,
each waking hour spent in promising revery,
of cordial skies and clearer times.
solar beams with euphony of avian cries,
drowned not by sea but sweltering warmth,
barricading the subconscious to a single thought,
"I look forward to autumn, I hope it comes soon."
famed after death and disregarded in life,
vibrant hues of scarlet, citrus, and amber,
glorifying inevitable wintertide.
bearing lightless days and passionless nights,
sheets upon sheets upon sheets of ice,
thus we lie dormant in wait such as the fickle fox,
for aforesaid tree to bloom anew.
budding saplings and reincarnated flora,
kept dreary by steadfast deluge,
each waking hour spent in promising revery,
of cordial skies and clearer times.
solar beams with euphony of avian cries,
drowned not by sea but sweltering warmth,
barricading the subconscious to a single thought,
"I look forward to autumn, I hope it comes soon."
Literature
sometimes i am
sometimes i am a little bird singing to you from a wooden box fragile colorful and small sometimes i am a roaring river carving my way through the earth wild foaming and reckless. sometimes i am stained glass pieces of a shattered church window broken sharp and scattered. and sometimes i am only bones water and atoms and i do not know what to make of myself.
Literature
the book
It felt like the book wouldn't let me rest, like it wanted to tell me more, like he wanted to tell me more. Wherever I went, I'd see his eyes following me - in the corridor, outside the window. But he didn't mean to haunt me. He was just a desperate soul, wanting to be understood, every fine detail of his story should be visualized, analyzed, then crystallized, like it meant something after all. The more I let myself fall into this, the harder it was to stop. Already now I felt our spines tenderly woven together, a fragment of someone else in me, that would stare at me through my own eyes in the mirror.
Literature
aliunde || {allwhere}
i am elsewhere:
silence, the sound of knowing
drifts in a solar {d|h}aze
beyond bounds
& you are here,
nestled at the heart{h} of me
twined & twisted into burning coils;
a flutter of a b{r}eat{h}
& i am here,
ever hovering in the vast
space that separates
inhale from
ex{hale}
& you are there:
{re}birthing an immense conflagration
from a single glowing ember
that blinks sleepily
in the light
& i am there:
my home this satellite
adrift, caught between a comet
& the moon
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Comments6
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Beautiful imagery here.
Description reminds of an old adage that I hold close whenever introspecting - "You may have what you want but you cannot want what you want"