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Literature Text
The evening brings my dreams to life
They always dance before my eyes
It hurts to see them come so close
Distance is something I despise
You are my biggest dream of all
But right now you're so far away
I'm always seeing your face everywhere
Someday I hope to make it stay
When I left my heart did not come with me
At all times I can feel it's pull
I can hear it's voice telling me to come
This dream of mine is beautiful
Late at night you walk into my dreams
Sometimes I'm not sure I'm asleep
Because it all feels real to me
There are times I'll actually weep
Being far away just feels so wrong
Inside I know I'm out of place
In time the distance won't be there
When I reach I'll actually touch your face
They always dance before my eyes
It hurts to see them come so close
Distance is something I despise
You are my biggest dream of all
But right now you're so far away
I'm always seeing your face everywhere
Someday I hope to make it stay
When I left my heart did not come with me
At all times I can feel it's pull
I can hear it's voice telling me to come
This dream of mine is beautiful
Late at night you walk into my dreams
Sometimes I'm not sure I'm asleep
Because it all feels real to me
There are times I'll actually weep
Being far away just feels so wrong
Inside I know I'm out of place
In time the distance won't be there
When I reach I'll actually touch your face
Literature
The Death Within Life
Raging Seas
Dark skies
Endless tears
Cold fires
That is what life is.
No fairy godmothers
or knights in shining armor.
Only witches and cauldrons
recipes for disaster.
There are no three wishes
or steeds that fly.
No hero, no powers,
certainly no rewinds.
Life is but time
flowing forward.
Spent by little moments
we call ours.
It is never enough,
not once.
Fragments engraved
they're left to remain.
Not even our mind, our knowledge
can prolong our hours.
To live them as they come
seconds remembered, never forgotten.
To let them pass
by our envy and our pride.
No wonder we are fools
both then and now.
Not one of us
Literature
left
there comes an evening
each october
when spring is broken:
winter sweeps back in,
swallowing the coast.
the hours are drawn,
long, and quiet -- save
for storming wind --
where pride recedes
to leave the heart
ill-watched, unguided,
for this eve only,
to remember what it has lost.
hands, thick with cold,
shallow-lung'd and lonely,
waiting for chamomile to steep,
sleep to steal:
as the night ticks through
each moment is meticulous,
sliced clean from next
by key-stroke --
throat-formed,
shaped on tongue to fit:
each syllable is moulded
carefully composed,
pressed to curves by thumb
and folded
until, at last,
something of beauty is wrought
Literature
don't you stop 'til you know you're gone
the bone-flutes are flooding out my lucidity.
nothing makes sense, but everything belongs.
the sheets are oily and hot on my skin.
exhausted, i try to escape,
only to drop out of reality and through the floors.
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I went on a trip a little while back, and got back just over a week ago. I went to visit a woman I love more then life itself, and I had to leave to come back here. The distance was difficult before, but it's even harder now that I've actually been with her in person. It's hard being so far away, but it's something I've got to live with.
That is what gave birth to this poem.
That is what gave birth to this poem.
Comments5
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Very nice work, David. It actually reminds me of a poem I wrote myself about a week ago, however yours is a bit more hopeful, I should say. How long until you two lovers can be together once again, if it's not too intrusive to ask? I do not pray, but if I did, it would be that the time passes quickly for you.