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Literature Text
You are the sounding sea as it
builds a sinister storm of criticism
before you unknowingly exercise
you power upon my soul.
You reflect the churning sky
within your waves; highlighted gray
with wisdom, kissing the rough rocks
that mingle upon the steep shoreline.
You erode my heart
with each rise and fall of the tide,
and every moment of time;
all stands still when I'm near you.
We live apart; you remaining clueless
that without your storm, I'm useless.
builds a sinister storm of criticism
before you unknowingly exercise
you power upon my soul.
You reflect the churning sky
within your waves; highlighted gray
with wisdom, kissing the rough rocks
that mingle upon the steep shoreline.
You erode my heart
with each rise and fall of the tide,
and every moment of time;
all stands still when I'm near you.
We live apart; you remaining clueless
that without your storm, I'm useless.
Literature
It Is Hope
Dollar signs swarm like wasps,
Threaten to sting from all directions.
They thicken, become the fog of depression,
The choking, crippling fog, threatening to solidify,
Become the dark abyss, the place knowledge fails
to picture out of pure terror.
But then, a spark.
Will it ignite?
What is it?
Employment? Success?
Happiness?
It is these things and more, yet it is not.
It is hope.
Literature
coming home
moments no longer
hang
delicately suspended
waiting
instead
deliriously happy
racing the storm
running down a street
thunder and sheets of rain
all around
wind curves around
pushes forcefully forward
leap
storm raging
pulls
up
Literature
Everything I Can Never Say
I open my mouth to tell you;
close it.
Open. Close. Open. Close.
I'm faced with a challenging problem,
can't even begin to tell you--
And I know, baby, that I can tell you anything--
something that cannot be said
in three words?
I struggle with this everyday;
Telling you my heart is afloat,
in boats, on oceans, through turbulent storms
(Not really, but the feeling is indescribable).
You see,
I feel like I've known you for years;
being with you is like coming home.
The feeling of slipping my fingers into yours
Isn't anything new.
no- it's a rejoining of self;
My soul finding it's mate, in
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Comments5
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the end is just fabulous.