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Literature Text
Walking from the present,
Pages in my hand,
Hanging low by my waist,
They almost stopped me loving my ambitions,
So I dragged my feet a little,
The ground staring up at me,
Like humans to the stars,
I can't do this any more,
My heart has crumbled,
Into your shards of iron.
Pages in my hand,
Hanging low by my waist,
They almost stopped me loving my ambitions,
So I dragged my feet a little,
The ground staring up at me,
Like humans to the stars,
I can't do this any more,
My heart has crumbled,
Into your shards of iron.
Literature
the wind's story
the air was thick and sharp with the smell of salt. wind gusted across the beach, kicking up dusty piles of sand. it was midnight.
a young girl with fiery hair stood there, digging her toes into the cold, white sand. she had the anxious, exhilarated look of someone breaking the rules, and yet she couldn't bring herself to regret coming here; the alternative was being at home in bed, watching the walls around her shiver every time her father sucked in a loud, rumbling breath. best case scenario, she'd simply be dreaming - and this was better than dreams.
she took a deep breath and called the wind by name.
it was loud at first, coming in a
Literature
sunshine shaking
morse code upon collarbones and
sun-bleached smiles. she
wasn't ready. she wasn't ready.
he had open arms like
the song about the london bridge;
chlorine baptized him a new
man. innocent, innocent,
what did you see
when you kissed her? the
pearls upon the waves, the
silence upon the shore. was it
quiet enough to hear
the break? thunderous blue, the
chasms of her eyes.
I was
Literature
clouds
in a train of slides,
my fourth grade teacher
showed the class
nimbus, cirrus, cumulus, stratus.
she said clouds are water
in crystal form.
she got it wrong.
clouds have eyes,
lashes
and tear ducts.
how does she explain
why it rained
that summer noon
when you sailed towards
the crescent moon?
the clouds and i cried
because we all knew
the moon will sail back
but this time without you.
© 15.March.2012 :house:
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