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Literature Text
In the middle of a long forgotten field
Made beautiful by her presence
She sits under the willow
Counting hour after hour
As she waits for the sun to sink under the horizon
A pen whisks it's way across the page
Etching words she cannot verbalize
Filling up the empty spaces in her heart
Explaining the distance in her eyes
Velvet night engulfs her world
A notebook, a pen, and a
Trying-so-hard-not-to-break-but-already-broken girl
She lays her companions down beside her
And turns her tearful gaze up to the sky
Thinking, "Night's like this are worth the pain.
The stars don't know how much joy they bring."
Little did she know
They were thinking
The same thing.
Made beautiful by her presence
She sits under the willow
Counting hour after hour
As she waits for the sun to sink under the horizon
A pen whisks it's way across the page
Etching words she cannot verbalize
Filling up the empty spaces in her heart
Explaining the distance in her eyes
Velvet night engulfs her world
A notebook, a pen, and a
Trying-so-hard-not-to-break-but-already-broken girl
She lays her companions down beside her
And turns her tearful gaze up to the sky
Thinking, "Night's like this are worth the pain.
The stars don't know how much joy they bring."
Little did she know
They were thinking
The same thing.
Literature
A message to the broken
You drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Literature
And he saw the moon.
Hidden away
from his heart and home
and after his tears
had been stolen away ,
he looked up to sky
and saw the moon.
He wondered what this radiance
that still shined upon him
was, for even the sun
had forsaken him
and he blessed it
and deemed it his savior.
Hidden away
from love and light
and after his hope
had been stolen away,
he looked up
and saw the moon.
And each night he prayed
to its light's benevolence
and would place a chair
beneath it and reach
believing
he was closer to its kindness.
Hidden away
from his wonder and worry
and after his care
had been stolen away ,
he looked up to sky
and saw the moon.
And he began to believ
Literature
I love... and hate being a writer
I hate being a writer
yet I love it too
though such ambiguous feelings
cannot be explained so simply...
I loathe the unsterilized ink
which continually poisons my veins
and pumps from an all too emotional heart
yet when this ink is set free
breathed from my syringe of a quill
I'm assailed by such a breathtaking sense
of relief and release that I forget
and become intoxicated on my own vile.
I abhor my blank eyes
which so incoherently delude me
as to what is real
that I am faced continually
with the realization that reality
will never be enough for me
and yet these blank eyes are the same
on which I paint such beautiful fantasies
and exper
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The stars think you're beautiful, too <3
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Comments11
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Very mature and loved the ending, a great way to end such a melancholy poem.