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Literature Text
From a babbling brook
To a luscious river she took
you to a place of worth,
The water rose
Where the river ran free and wild
with a passion to nourish
riverbanks made to flourish.
All life, so alive.
A life, set alight.
A light, seen ablaze
The Water Rose danced and swirled
Cries of joy swelled as she curled
The water rose crashed and whirled
Cries for help were swept and hurled
a maelstrom of desire
plains flood in senseless ire
A light, extinguished
waves, in ceaseless pursuit
waves, drown the mouths made mute
A life, relinquished
but time waits for none and winds would lie
but one more death awaited, as even oceans do run dry
No life, around to hear
The last remaining wails
tempered by
The silence
None around to fear
what the lasting calm entails
As the water rose, had risen, and returned.
To a luscious river she took
you to a place of worth,
The water rose
Where the river ran free and wild
with a passion to nourish
riverbanks made to flourish.
All life, so alive.
A life, set alight.
A light, seen ablaze
The Water Rose danced and swirled
Cries of joy swelled as she curled
The water rose crashed and whirled
Cries for help were swept and hurled
a maelstrom of desire
plains flood in senseless ire
A light, extinguished
waves, in ceaseless pursuit
waves, drown the mouths made mute
A life, relinquished
but time waits for none and winds would lie
but one more death awaited, as even oceans do run dry
No life, around to hear
The last remaining wails
tempered by
The silence
None around to fear
what the lasting calm entails
As the water rose, had risen, and returned.
Literature
vigil
i am the quiet flush
of lamplight in the night,
the burnt sienna outskirts
blending into black
somewhere beyond my halo.
i linger in streetlight coronas,
muffling unsteady footsteps
and casting shadows
onto cast-off luggage.
i am the afterglow of cigarettes,
encased in smoking spirals
coiling slowly through the dusk.
i melt in doorways and
exhale in undertones of silence,
an insubstantial murmur
blanketing nocturnal streets.
Literature
Winter
I remember winter in
the old stove we huddled at,
an audience of shivering limbs
within cold walls.
There was a desperation to this closeness
that love could never inspire. It glowed
within us, a common flame
we dared not feed, and through
the night we curled in embers
and burned ourselves to sleep.
I could almost remember summer’s
cotton arms, the playfulness
of ocean waves in August. Those dreams
wished to drown us beneath memories
and wishes, but
in the moment before we awoke,
as the tide cried
for me to stay, I always
always swam to shore.
Every morning, I breathed snow-capped
mountains in the air. They were nothing
more th
Literature
on a clear night
(i)
I try to be tall sugar cane
weeping warm honey and milk
burning still;
my heart keeps telling me
who I really was before.
(ii)
I let you crawl inside
and we'll pretend that feeling rage
surging through your veins
where your sins laid
is black and white.
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