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Literature Text
Write to solve the mysteries that lurk within your mind,
You'll find they'll happily soak your page.
Write to drown the loud voices and waves of anger that bowl you over,
You'll find the sea will calm.
Write to stop the empty thoughts, the boredom and monotone explanations,
You'll find the colour return to life's cheeks.
Write to aid the aching backs that carry a world's weight,
You'll find thanks and easy breathing.
Write to keep the demons at bay,
You'll find the gates of hell were never opened.
Write to the friends you don't know,
You'll find open arms and acceptance.
Write to the ears blocked with noise, mouths filled with words and hands clutching heavy nothings,
You'll always find a pair of softened eyes.
And then write to yourself,
You'll find happiness, at least.
You'll find they'll happily soak your page.
Write to drown the loud voices and waves of anger that bowl you over,
You'll find the sea will calm.
Write to stop the empty thoughts, the boredom and monotone explanations,
You'll find the colour return to life's cheeks.
Write to aid the aching backs that carry a world's weight,
You'll find thanks and easy breathing.
Write to keep the demons at bay,
You'll find the gates of hell were never opened.
Write to the friends you don't know,
You'll find open arms and acceptance.
Write to the ears blocked with noise, mouths filled with words and hands clutching heavy nothings,
You'll always find a pair of softened eyes.
And then write to yourself,
You'll find happiness, at least.
Literature
One Beside the Other
I can't sleep, because sleep and death
are kissing cousins, and I can still feel
death's arm around my shoulder,
a cold, dark intimacy. I can't sleep,
because the day is bleak and reproachful,
saying, You are not – You should –
You are nothing. I can't sleep, because
if I do, sleep will drag me down,
will lock me in and hold its hand
over my mouth. I can't sleep, because if
I do, it's giving into the pills – fine,
you won, now take me down and out.
I can't sleep, because my legs are
too hot and my arms are too cold. I
can't sleep, because when the lights
are out, at twenty, my mind makes
monsters that circle
Literature
If
If you call me the sun,
Then you're the flowers.
I am only light,
But you reflect me
In a thousand vibrant shades.
If you call me a masterpiece,
Then you're the painter.
I am only canvas,
But you give me color and depth,
Clarity and life.
If you call me music,
Then you're the singer.
I am only notes on a scale,
But you give me voice
In a sweet, clear melody.
If you call me your heart,
Then you're the soul.
I am only muscle,
But you help me to beat
In strong, steady rhythm.
If you call me an angel,
Then you're my faith.
I am only ethereal
But you give me form and purpose
To protect what I love.
If you say I make you
Literature
make a wish
i) Her mirror is wrong. It reflects her backwards, the way other people see her; but she really doesn't want to know how other people see her.
ii) There are dead flowers in the vase next to her bed. She picked them one day in an attempt to cheer herself up, but now they're gone and there's nothing to replace them with. So she leaves them there, hoping they make her room seem artistic.
iii) Endings scare her more than anything. When she sees something beautiful she cries, because what's the point in being beautiful when you're just going to disappear? She thinks that nothing matters, and nothing ever will.
stop. breathe. start over.
i) She
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I was working on something else and scrawled this below it. I think it may have come off slightly pretentious, and I apologize for that.
I guess it's just how I feel about writing. Everyone has their reasons.
Did it have proper pacing? I'm not much of a poet.
How was the word choice?
I guess it's just how I feel about writing. Everyone has their reasons.
Did it have proper pacing? I'm not much of a poet.
How was the word choice?
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Comments4
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it's very good pacing and everything isn't something that needs to be worried about as long as the poem is to your liking that's all that matters