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Literature Text
Promise of the night
Lamps open their eyes
Lights prepare their beauty
To be seen again
Clouds offer their bodies
To its veil of blackness
I follow them blindly
Into the realms unknown
Promise of the darkness
I can hear its whispers
Teasing my cold skin
Evading my eager mind
Promise of the night
And its toxic vapours
Its distinguished smell
Its forbidden freedom
I let myself be fed
The electric tranquility
When the day has died
When I can be born again
Lamps open their eyes
Lights prepare their beauty
To be seen again
Clouds offer their bodies
To its veil of blackness
I follow them blindly
Into the realms unknown
Promise of the darkness
I can hear its whispers
Teasing my cold skin
Evading my eager mind
Promise of the night
And its toxic vapours
Its distinguished smell
Its forbidden freedom
I let myself be fed
The electric tranquility
When the day has died
When I can be born again
Literature
if you have ghosts (you have everything)
my hands were blue and so was i
and i had everything:
a christmas tree
a guitar tuned by humidity
a dark library underneath my pillow
and a voice whose words jerk, jut
and stab quietly into one another
so i may never understand;
it was two AM, dawn of a decade
and here a ghost has me motionless in 1933.
--
i never met my grandfather till today--
he dies in 1975
and in 2020 he is born
at the bottom of a drawer in the kitchen,
his coffin and crib:
he is swaddled in moth-eaten dishtowels by a nameless undertaker
(or perhaps an autophagic author himself);
his crib and coffin:
he is buried a lifetime
(deaf to my cacophonous lifetime et ceter
Literature
A Dream Never...
A thirsty soul derailed
A life wasted and failed
A dream never to be
A poor spirit, that's me
A mortal on this path
That's filled with woe and wrath
A dream never come true
These days I do so rue
And I want
And I need
And I wish
To proceed
I don't know
I don't care
If I get
Anywhere
A person lost all hope
They tried their best to cope
A dream never realized
Existence so despised
And I want...
A human that fell down
They greet the cold ground
A dream never grew wings
A puppet on life's strings
Literature
Not Here
I cannot reach you
no matter how far
I stretch my heart
you escape my arms
and I grasp the nothing
of where you refuse
to be.
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I love it when it's that time of the day in summer - it's almost dark, yet warm, and you can walk and watch the city prepare itself for the night. It's when I feel the most free - shed of all problems of the day, eagerly awaiting what secrets I can learn and what emotions I can discover.
© 2014 - 2024 Elendurwen
Comments25
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Dusk. Twilight. I always love transitional phases of day, especially the interplay of dark and light, of light into dark and rebirth therefrom. Good stuff. I also like your reincarnational thematic, I have a similar motif in my rambling poetry.
Good work, Bud!
Good work, Bud!