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Literature Text
On the last day of the World
we discovered,
(of all things)
wine favours the liver
far better than brandy.
Remember when
there were so
many goddam miracles,
we couldn’t seal
the embankment?
Those bricks wept
of hand-blood and
still they poured unstoppable,
those weird
serendipities,
like leadlight
candles,
through stained glass
moulds.
And You?
Well, You grew my feet,
to fit certain sandals.
But hot blotches and spacious
sizes are no substitutes
for freedom.
Objective philanthropic growth?
Oh please, life was never so big.
And Myths?
I declare, what lit
and talking box,
will tell me what to think again?
What sediments of wit and foreplay
slip though these waves of mud?
Show me your chaos and
I will present to you
the gift of perfect order.
And Time?
History built stone sticks,
from earth and wood,
to hold our strange desires.
Sand to glass,
towers with cloud views.
Rivers swerved
and diffused,
and we forgot to ask,
if they could ever disappear.
(Turns out they could.)
And They?
Well They emitted
a kind of melancholy joy,
on the last day of the World.
Through tender introspection
and newspaper print
that sat slippery
across borders,
wallpapering the children
with prophecies and idylls,
for all that mattered
in the end.
Thoughts?
Yes we learnt of the dream,
save its origins.
Seems those always are, even when
pulled inside out,
further from the soul
as one could ever be.
Wouldn’t you know it,
turns out we
were all different
in the end.
On the last day of the World,
wine
was judged better
than brandy….
And Me?
Well I remember,
when Love was a good word.
we discovered,
(of all things)
wine favours the liver
far better than brandy.
Remember when
there were so
many goddam miracles,
we couldn’t seal
the embankment?
Those bricks wept
of hand-blood and
still they poured unstoppable,
those weird
serendipities,
like leadlight
candles,
through stained glass
moulds.
And You?
Well, You grew my feet,
to fit certain sandals.
But hot blotches and spacious
sizes are no substitutes
for freedom.
Objective philanthropic growth?
Oh please, life was never so big.
And Myths?
I declare, what lit
and talking box,
will tell me what to think again?
What sediments of wit and foreplay
slip though these waves of mud?
Show me your chaos and
I will present to you
the gift of perfect order.
And Time?
History built stone sticks,
from earth and wood,
to hold our strange desires.
Sand to glass,
towers with cloud views.
Rivers swerved
and diffused,
and we forgot to ask,
if they could ever disappear.
(Turns out they could.)
And They?
Well They emitted
a kind of melancholy joy,
on the last day of the World.
Through tender introspection
and newspaper print
that sat slippery
across borders,
wallpapering the children
with prophecies and idylls,
for all that mattered
in the end.
Thoughts?
Yes we learnt of the dream,
save its origins.
Seems those always are, even when
pulled inside out,
further from the soul
as one could ever be.
Wouldn’t you know it,
turns out we
were all different
in the end.
On the last day of the World,
wine
was judged better
than brandy….
And Me?
Well I remember,
when Love was a good word.
Literature
The World at Sunset
The World at Sunset
At sunset,
The world seems peaceful,
So beautiful,
And so wise
It is somehow difficult,
To imagine,
That so many,
Are denied
Denied the chance to watch,
This splendor,
And it's glory,
Denied the chance to see,
The leaves,
Green and golden,
And denied the opportunity,
To listen to their story
When they are bathed in crimson,
Washed by the suns waning light,
They become an image,
Not erased throughout our lives
Those last days of summer,
Are remembered for many things,
I remember them most for,
The crimson washed,
Green, golden leaves
jlp July 28, 2009
Literature
feelingfunny
catfish in a fish farm
staring at the sky
to dream about the sea
Literature
Brand New Day
Maybe it's time
To say good bye
Leave behind
Those darkened skies
Let go of the pain and doubt
Allow that flame
To burn itself out
Rise from the ashes
To a brand new day
Shedding the depression and misery
Burying the guilt
And forgive yourself
Accepting the hand
You've been dealt
So you can see
How wonderful you are
No need for tears
No more scars
Just you with the world
At your feet
Imagining the wonders that await
This is your life
Start living it again
Don't waste another minute
It's time to begin
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"Ramblings after seperation (from body)"
Words from the last day of any poet, living or dead. These are mine and I am both.
Simply Poetry Final day poem.
"Ramblings after seperation (from body)"
Words from the last day of any poet, living or dead. These are mine and I am both.
Simply Poetry Final day poem.
© 2009 - 2024 brassteeth
Comments32
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Lovely.
are you really that attached to your commas? It might be happier if you shed them. But that's a teeny complaint in a world of compliments.
are you really that attached to your commas? It might be happier if you shed them. But that's a teeny complaint in a world of compliments.