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Literature Text
Imagine, if you can, the line,
That’s separating “Yours” from “Mine.”
The rose, the blood, the heart divine,
That’s set in ice, cut crystalline.
Imagine, if you will, the pain,
That’s separating “Loss” from “Gain.”
Vampiric demon, she is lain,
Yet beauty, lovers, will remain.
Imagine, if you could, the guide,
That’s separating “Loved” from “Lied.”
And as you watched her, she still cried,
The kiss of death; her victim died.
Imagine, if you would, the speed,
That’s separating “Haste” from “Heed.”
The lies of life this girl must lead,
The blood that she must take to feed.
Imagine, if you may, all this:
From devil’s love to demon’s kiss.
A mortal life this girl will miss,
To have, instead, Vampiric bliss.
That’s separating “Yours” from “Mine.”
The rose, the blood, the heart divine,
That’s set in ice, cut crystalline.
Imagine, if you will, the pain,
That’s separating “Loss” from “Gain.”
Vampiric demon, she is lain,
Yet beauty, lovers, will remain.
Imagine, if you could, the guide,
That’s separating “Loved” from “Lied.”
And as you watched her, she still cried,
The kiss of death; her victim died.
Imagine, if you would, the speed,
That’s separating “Haste” from “Heed.”
The lies of life this girl must lead,
The blood that she must take to feed.
Imagine, if you may, all this:
From devil’s love to demon’s kiss.
A mortal life this girl will miss,
To have, instead, Vampiric bliss.
Literature
Writing
Writing.
It is – a craving.
It is – an obsession.
It consumes the mind.
It consumes a life.
It builds empires,
And it burns them down.
It creates a family,
And it tears them apart.
The Writer.
They are – obsessed.
They have – a craving.
Always thinking,
Always writing.
Constantly consumed
In their next word.
They love this passion,
And hate it as well.
Consuming every thought –
Every action.
Unable to resist,
And unwilling as well.
Needing it,
Loving it,
Hating it.
The Writing.
A work of – sweat.
A work of – tears.
Written with blood.
The never-fading mark
Of a craving.
Of a writer.
Literature
All I Have to Tell Intro.
Introduction
It feels like summer has arrived. The sun is far enough below the horizon for it to be acceptably safe for me to witness this moment of natural majesty without becoming fertilizer for Mother Earth. I'm greeted this warm dusk to the most gorgeous colors the Creator could have designed: an almost neon purple painting the sky, and lining the stretching blue clouds; and red, covering the bottom of the highest clouds closest to the sun, as it completes its dive for the horizon; with bright orange and pink nearest the sun, contrasting the green British landscape below it as far as I can see. No painting could ever rival this.
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A poem that I can't really remember writing. But still...it's kinda different to my usual style. Tell me what you all think.
© 2003 - 2024 thisgirl32
Comments84
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great job! I really like it, and I like how you made the effort to make it rhyme, it isn't easy finding four words that fit together...
Well, keep up the good work!
Well, keep up the good work!