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Literature Text
The sea has always been bittersweet to me.
So vibrant, yet so deadly.
So beautiful, yet so dark.
So vast, yet the horizon really isn't that far.
Just five kilometers away, heaven and hell clash.
With clouds and waves they war, and the question really is...
which is which?
Behind one, empty space,
in the other hides the monsters of the earth.
(well, if you count us out,
that is.)
So vibrant, yet so deadly.
So beautiful, yet so dark.
So vast, yet the horizon really isn't that far.
Just five kilometers away, heaven and hell clash.
With clouds and waves they war, and the question really is...
which is which?
Behind one, empty space,
in the other hides the monsters of the earth.
(well, if you count us out,
that is.)
Literature
In Distraction
Sing me the song of old silence in the hours that wandered away for the voice of creation is howling of more than I could ever know and yet I still seek it, still listen I am lost in the wonder and noise where did my long silence go?
Literature
Do Not Ask Me To Remember An Alzheimers Poem
"Do not ask me to remember, Don't try to make me understand, Let me rest and know you're with me, Kiss my cheek and hold my hand. I'm confused beyond your concept, lm sad and sick and lost. All I know is that I need you, To be with me at all cost. Do not lose your patience with me, Do not scold or curse or cry. I can't help the way l'm acting, Can't be different though I try. Just remember that I need you, That the best of me is gone, Please don't fail to stand beside me, Love me 'til my life is done." Owen Darnell, a man whose wife died from Alzheimer's.
Literature
Afterthoughts
i remember this place the words that i wove the feelings i scrawled up and down the walls begging to be heard fits of tortured agony broken by the occasional flash of mirth i remember this place because it never really left me still do i scrawl and kick and writhe though i know now myself just a little better; i know now that this pain is real i look over my old scribbles; many i find half-baked, embarrassing rants i've aged out of some stab at me like daggers for they remain sharp i collect them for my archive; the rants, the tortured paragraphs, the immature lashings out and the un-deft allegories all i gather the chaos, the erratic verse, and put it away in a tidy little box perhaps someday i shall revisit this and wince
inspiration, at long last.
© 2013 - 2024 Aborro
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