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Literature Text
Near vibrant flowers, emerald vines
curl and crawl across covered meadows.
They embrace, black vines dancing
upon skin. Glorious body art.
Dark ink curls, blossoming first
flowers, flourishing sweet summer.
Yet tips bare brown fruit, withered
wrinkled skin as amber sheds life.
Ink fades grey, dancing patterns cease
as vines drop last fruit into fresh snow.
curl and crawl across covered meadows.
They embrace, black vines dancing
upon skin. Glorious body art.
Dark ink curls, blossoming first
flowers, flourishing sweet summer.
Yet tips bare brown fruit, withered
wrinkled skin as amber sheds life.
Ink fades grey, dancing patterns cease
as vines drop last fruit into fresh snow.
Literature
Writer
I am a scientist;
Pinning down ideas
like butterflies
preserving them in
their fragile beauty
as I take away their freedom,
their life.
I am a parasite;
sucking the soul out
of music and leaving it
a hollow shell
that plays like
the noisy silence in
my ears.
I am a thief;
taking what is not mine,
the world around me,
and pouring it into
a mould that
I claim is
my own.
I am a blasphemer;
playing God in a
sacred place, changing
the world to my
liking when the orchestra
is not under my
conduction.
I am a liar;
selling false havens
to lonely runaways,
giving them a glimpse
of a world more glamorous,
more fantas
Literature
The memiors of a poet...
A poet is no mere
artist, that incites and writes,
- but dares to
fabricate, the nothings into
- - extrasensory realities,
beyond all imagination.
Like a painter,
the poet needs oil & ink,
- to set the eyes
and mental capacity,
- - into a hypnotized state
of suggestive attention.
As a quilter,
the poet weaves
- embroidered tapestries
with spectrum;
- - that only prisms
could master -
- - - with simple imagery.
The poet revives,
the deadened, flat soul
- of sentence,
to have a personified
- - existence among our
world of third dimension.
The poet's life,
isn't just a joy
- but a pain;
to tell the world
- - from their hands
littered with
Literature
Which Bathroom?
I am not a boy, not a girl
skinny pants with no bump
hips hidden by long shirts
yet I tape my chest everyday
so I can look like me
these eyes look past shapes
seeing souls and inner thoughts
hearing those judgements who can't stand
to stay in somebodies head
'Are you a boy or a girl?'
Can't i just be a person?
walking and talking just like you
moving to the beat of time
The thumping in my chest
ba-bump
ba-bump
ba-bump
singing of a free land
free to express how I want
as a person who likes people
without:
a)Female
b)Male
because I am
c)Both
d)Neither
depending on the time of day
but that cannot be
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The first serious poem that I wrote for Creative Writing :3 It was accepted for an anthology as well!
© 2013 - 2024 dwkeiko
Comments7
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Congratulations! That's awesome.
I really like this. The imagery is awesome. (Apparently the only word I can think of is awesome lol.)
I really like this. The imagery is awesome. (Apparently the only word I can think of is awesome lol.)