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Literature Text
you run your fingers
along the broken-brick-down
sanctuary walls
this was your haven, but feels
like nothing under your hand.
you weren't just buried
we aren't all in black today
because of you, love, but those
bells aren't for joy or christmas
you aren't bright. you're almost gone.
you're almost gone, my
slit-winged angel child, and
oh god, i can see
that soon you'll have really left
me alone in the churchyard.
the bells ring for you
today, my dear, old churches
call on God for you
brass and stained glass struggling fast
as you echo off the sky.
along the broken-brick-down
sanctuary walls
this was your haven, but feels
like nothing under your hand.
you weren't just buried
we aren't all in black today
because of you, love, but those
bells aren't for joy or christmas
you aren't bright. you're almost gone.
you're almost gone, my
slit-winged angel child, and
oh god, i can see
that soon you'll have really left
me alone in the churchyard.
the bells ring for you
today, my dear, old churches
call on God for you
brass and stained glass struggling fast
as you echo off the sky.
Literature
breaking up with the day
of nights when we eloped
trodden, the tarmac lax
metropolis skyline looming,
an entire graveyard
of sleeping transmissions,
bricks and beggars
and boulevards littered
bedridden with nap.
we roved the docks,
piers twisted in lumber
moaning, creaking, flexing
with the sea's insomnia
and us overlooking
its abysmal waters.
I stare her heaving bosom
as she reaches my
bony knuckles, clutches
and turns to me
with the full moon in her face,
she says,
Im late.
and I know that the
blood red
sunrise will not be coming up
this morning.
Literature
hibernation love song
wanna bury your
stillbeating
heart in the yard
kneel down
and press my face
to grass grown cool
with shades
of green
you're the wild life
like light
now strange
and scattering
the sound of trains
whispering distant
every evening
bathed in dusk
and I'm just
dust too much
touch
to the back
of your throat
sunken
sunk in skin
and tastes of
settling
sometimes I imagine
you're how I'd want
the snow to be
falling
free like birds
who change back
into bears
Literature
Break
"We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wooed and were not made to woo." - A Midsummer Night's Dream.
When you fall in love it doesn't break. When you hope, when you really hope it doesn't break and if it does you mend it, you bind it, you build it back up with glue or bandages or crumbling bricks. You mend it straight away and you keep mending it and repairing it over and over, even if it's breaking faster than you can fix it. Even if all of a sudden it's not the thing it was to start with, it's just a pile of mending...of mended parts. When there is no broken hope or love left, when there's nothing but dust, you die. In one
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<3
anyway. kind of inspired by lucy's latest. it's a series of tankas, syllable pattern 5-7-5-7-7. it's kind of emo. but i really truly adore it.
anyway. kind of inspired by lucy's latest. it's a series of tankas, syllable pattern 5-7-5-7-7. it's kind of emo. but i really truly adore it.
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Comments4
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love. do i really need to say more? and how much do i love "brass and stained glass struggling fast"? oof. yay.