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Literature Text
The shadow of a man who claims
He is the only god
Hangs over this house; he tightens our
Nooses and rocks each
Chair under our feet, preaching a good book's
Holy passages with his sinner's tongue
And I
Can feel this silver bullet in my hands
Gently singing to me, a
Symphony of aching memories and
Promised lullabies from faded
Lifetimes ago and ten (thousand) years away
To put me to sleep at last
(Perhaps this
Lovely, little notion
Will remind me how to dream again).
There s a glimmer that was lost long ago
In the eyes of a blonde-haired boy. And the man
Who knows nothing
Of anything
But poetic injustice and
Cruel ironies
Laughs
As the child breaks a little more.
(And that pretty
Bitter thought in the back of my skull
Starts to look a little
Sweeter.)
The nomad lady
Tried to make a home for herself
And her nomad children
Under the roof of the shadow man
But she could not
Manage
With the charge of another
And so she burned it down
(With the last match from
My book
And we sang together
After so many black winters
At last).
Literature
Blink
“I- I swear, I only blinked, and- and then she was gone.”
She sat at the table trembling, head buried in her hands. The two detectives exchanged looks. One of them, a woman in her late 30’s with thick, black hair, was the first to speak.
“Ma’am, I know this is hard on you, but please. Think back to the last moments you saw your sister.”
The woman, Rachel, spoke without lifting her head, voice thick and quavering with unshed tears.
“I told you,” she said, almost pleading, “We were walking in the park. It was a little after 5:30, and we were the only ones
Literature
The Introvert's Curse
The Introvert’s Curse
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I wonder what this day will bring.
Will there be excitement, laughter?
Adventure, exploration, action?
Excitement grows inside of me!
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I realize that I am afraid of that.
What if something goes wrong?
Why did I make any plans at all?
I feel awkward, silent, uneasy.
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting;
I am convinced excitement is wrong.
Action, exploration, adventure?
I want them no longer; go away!
Silence; racing thoughts race away.
As I sit in a room, alone, waiting…
Literature
ruthlessness
the corners have forgotten themselves, insisting that they are the dust and soot that lies at the surface. to clean out the corners grasping tightly to grime, one must be ruthless. then the corners will be corners again. ruthlessness cuts away what is not. ruthlessness does not cut corners.
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(You can suck my metaphorical dick, you pathetic excuse for a man.)
I needed this.
I needed this.
© 2013 - 2024 SomethingOnceSacred
Comments4
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I like how in the beginning, the lines break at odd, unexpected times, which in unsettling, like the poem (also there's a word for that but I forget it), but by the end, it seems to have more rhythm, but not a happy bouncy one or anything.