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Literature Text
An age can be writ on lust for paper
and the greed for ink and pen.
Page that's blank, each scratch a caper
to peruse the minds of men;
Whose blood is made of heavy lead
with brains of sharpened steel.
The skill of wit to wright
and bend other to their will.
Desire to hear the skirt of words
befouling the page
Destroy the space, create the world
from a corner of the stage.
Maim and kill with birth and life
for such a simple story
to scrawl words so fraught with strife
but inside each pen a story.
and the greed for ink and pen.
Page that's blank, each scratch a caper
to peruse the minds of men;
Whose blood is made of heavy lead
with brains of sharpened steel.
The skill of wit to wright
and bend other to their will.
Desire to hear the skirt of words
befouling the page
Destroy the space, create the world
from a corner of the stage.
Maim and kill with birth and life
for such a simple story
to scrawl words so fraught with strife
but inside each pen a story.
Literature
Descent into Madness
It has returned In the dark silence I sense its presence Watching me Stalking me Mocking me Just like before Lurching in the stillness Hiding behind every turn Staring menacingly It crawls near me whispering of invisible worlds “You’ve ignored me for too long,” its raspy voice exclaims. “I frightened you when you were young so, you simply pretended I wasn’t there For all these many lonely years. I was always near" "Now you’re old and you can ignore me no more” The fear crawls inside me but it no longer trouble’s me I feel myself shattering into a million pieces but becoming a part of a million more I sense comfort and strange familiarity of a forgotten home Slithering softly by my window-seal searching for a crack to float through Its mist mingles and lingers with the steam of my morning coffee There's something inside of us that we're all trying to destroy An apparition, phantom presence that we're trying desperately to ignore It mockingly stares back at me from the
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The Thorniest Stem to Hold
You know, I always did see an odd beauty in the wreckage I could find a certain charm in broken things, like the devastation left by a wildfire or the rubble of a collapsed building, there is a strange aesthetic in the brokenness of both things and people *** I always wondered at the way the life still somehow lingers, like nature takes over abandoned places or grows back from the destruction, the ashes nourish new forms of life, different but just as miraculous, like trees grow out of decaying bodies, or tears cleanse the soul, and broken people have a weird way of still functioning regardless, like heightened empathy and unwanted wisdom grew from all that ugliness, I think maybe my fascination was born out of recognition and the wonder out of hope that maybe something could blossom from the ruins of me too, maybe I could regenerate too and maybe all the wrong that stunted my growth and strangled the life out of every
Literature
To Be or Not to Be
To be or not to be. Like a particle in superposition. Existing as a distinct individual, yet spreading out like a wave. As a baritone, I sang the bass. Merging in a symphony of sound. A drop becoming the ocean, the fundamental ground of being. My feelings shaping the waters. Learning to swim in the storm. Now floating in perfect calm. I am no longer afraid, of what lies in the deep seeking to pull me under. I am stronger than I was before. The chalice is whole once again. Fill it with your bittersweet wine.
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© 2014 - 2024 madam--guillotine
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