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Literature Text
Drops of blood run with rain,
A stream, a river, an ocean of pain.
A sword in my hand, a gash in my side,
My Country, my people, my child lost in the tide.
The enemy long gone to slay my home,
My knees in mud my thoughts on the roam.
Life is leaving me yet all I can think,
My child alone, my Kingdom on the brink.
Smoke from burnt flesh wander as ghosts,
Fire and man together without host.
Hanging my head, my friends dead at my side,
I’m here alive, but my hope has died.
Yet, soon, so to will I.
A stream, a river, an ocean of pain.
A sword in my hand, a gash in my side,
My Country, my people, my child lost in the tide.
The enemy long gone to slay my home,
My knees in mud my thoughts on the roam.
Life is leaving me yet all I can think,
My child alone, my Kingdom on the brink.
Smoke from burnt flesh wander as ghosts,
Fire and man together without host.
Hanging my head, my friends dead at my side,
I’m here alive, but my hope has died.
Yet, soon, so to will I.
Literature
Fallen
When I was little, I held my hands up
and there was always a bigger pair
there to pick me up, raise me up
Dark and cold both accumulate near the ground
but I had found
a path to heaven, now forgotten
as the earth turns 'round;
So overcome by confusion, how...?
I can't cast my demons out
one devil still pulls me down
off the earth and off my gentle cloud
I lay upon the ground,
bloodied, broken, beaten down
and lament my fate, silenced now
He recalls his immoralities as if
they were someone else's little slips
and though his words have scarred me
much deeper than any knife or whip
he parades through town, a man, a god
going on about life as
Literature
Her Life
I saw her life in those eyes
with cut-throat stares
and withered looks of daze,
each lid half open
and their cores darted where
they thought it was safe.
Her pupils swirled as hurricanes
with streaks of rain
maroon across a razor blade.
Sharing what words can't speak
and luring in the
sting of the day.
I saw her life in that skin,
painted with a tiny needle that could
delve deeper in what she knew
and who she was, then what.
Like an apple tossed aside to rot
darted across were plum-hue stains
and beautiful scars, an abstract dance of
healing and hurt.
Covered in what she screamed,
her body was masked in poetry,
long-tol
Literature
A Gift
I keep thinking about burying myself in your embrace, my face in your hair. And while I regret the fact that we both seem to be too much of damaged, quietly broken cowards to even talk about that night when we so naturally, seamlessly, gravitated towards each other, seeking warmth and comfort underneath the covers - using our sleep-pliant bodies to protect each other from the night - I am glad that it happened at all. Because to know that it is not a thing of fiction to actually feel like that in someone's arms… I am afraid you will never know how much of a gift it was that you unwittingly gave me. Still, I would give near anything for
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Whoa. This blew my damn mind! You, my friend, are going in my favorites.