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Literature Text
There were Rhododendrons
In the corner of the park.
Pure white flowers
Except one that was dark.
There was music
Dancing in the air.
Right behind us on the bench swing,
It followed us to the stairs
This is not to a person
It's to a place.
Where we tossed rocks in the ocean
Where we left a trace.
In the corner of the park.
Pure white flowers
Except one that was dark.
There was music
Dancing in the air.
Right behind us on the bench swing,
It followed us to the stairs
This is not to a person
It's to a place.
Where we tossed rocks in the ocean
Where we left a trace.
Literature
Virginal Year
It feels like poetry for a new beginning:
Running in slow motion,
Laying a fresh path in the
Tentative first snow of a virginal year.
Your hand shapes a safe home in which my
Shivering fingers nestle;
You sow a field of forgetting
Over the weary road behind.
Untouched and unafraid, this
Unfamiliar unconditionality, this
Darkness so vivid, this
Uncertainty so certain.
We build that which is
From that which we were.
In the sanctity of our year,
In the unwritten and pure,
You and I are as new in this moment
As ever we have been.
We are here.
We are now.
We are.
Literature
five people who mean a lot
a: thanks for teaching me how to laughsometimes it is nice to get lost in rolling laughter and hysterical giggles. around you i'm unconscious of worldly things as our jubilance brings me to greater heights and it becomes easier, and also desirable, to live in our moments.
c: your passion can ignite my sometimes dry-stick souland you know better than most that i'm not the kind that sits around the bonfire, but with you i'm reminded that there's more to life than the to-do list and i can relegate it to kindling as we roast marshmallows on its remains.
a: you've always had my back, my darling, and it can't be easy. i'm fairly heavy
Literature
notesleep
playing my emphases like harp strings
your voice smokes thru the oaken bramble
pour a carbonated apology, a sun-stained
mile marked envelope, two ill-fitted birds,
hands small holes right before a rush of river
what it feels like being swallowed from the outside
crushing rings into truth serum, pretend
to be out of tune with that deception
I have been unable to parse my own persona
a pink cotton voice I remember thru the phone
I remember because it formed me into a granary
one crop after another of patriarchal idioms
whisper my secrets so softly into a glint of red hair
a saucer-eyed lace pattern cut into pine paper
I practice radical self lo
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Yeah, so this was actually very emotional for me. Don't think it's prissy.
© 2013 - 2024 Echo-of-Echo
Comments5
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It sounds like you have fond memories of this place.