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Literature Text
There wasn't much I could do, you were the king and I was your muse.
I remember that before, not long ago,
You'd always invite me to stroll through your gardens in the afternoons,
So much so that until now I believe I've memorized each flower--
Perhaps as much as the number of times you've said, "I am in love with her."
I remember that before, not long ago,
You'd always invite me to stroll through your gardens in the afternoons,
So much so that until now I believe I've memorized each flower--
Perhaps as much as the number of times you've said, "I am in love with her."
Literature
Consumed
She was a mismatch
of auras,
the colors of
burnt summers
and wool-weave
winters,
freely
giving herself
to the world.
Her paths threaded
upon ruins,
of the abandoned,
the tattooed broken,
the vacant lost eyes.
She unraveled
her soul
with those who
devoured her
at night,
cutting out pieces,
against will,
to immortalize
power,
never love.
Those pieces
she gathered
into herself,
mending
their jagged ends,
burying down
the hurt.
So to re-emerge
onto the world,
a newborn
of distort,
ready,
yet again
to be consumed.
Literature
In March
Gray clouds on brightest blue
Slowly go thudding by.
So they buried Old Man Winter.
I say that he did not die.
The boring sun cannot blot out
The crimped dread from land and sky,
Tensing for a reckoning.
I'll burn again, by and by.
The bare trees stand straight, sky-pulled,
Against the wet and melting snow.
What has all winter clung to branch
And trunk, that makes all outlines glow?
It is not time for April rains
To lull the thing that clings to bed.
The God is on the land again,
And is singing in my head.
Literature
The Owl's Advice
The owl spins its head around.
He’s read the ground, ocean, and air.
Yes, this wise fowl has seen it all,
Preening with prideful, peering eyes.
He hoots at prey while perched above,
“Hoo-hoo”-ing to besmirch the food.
Winged justice screeches to below,
Calling woodland pests to confess
And screeches also at the hawk.
The owl’s speeches will be shared
Whether they asked for it or not.
Owl feathers hold their range of sight.
The creatures beg for their release.
They say, “preacher, we are dying.”
The owl said, “Just look around,
Behind and ahead, then flee death.”
He cried with a tail in h
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Goodness gracious, these emotions are everywhere, aren't they?
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