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Literature Text
Blinding light pierces my eyelids
as I awaken from acrid
dreams; and the truth from me has hid
all I undid, all I undid.
You said I would never find you
but then I broke through the preview.
Though I wish I could renew
all that you knew, all that you knew.
Please hold me close and watch me burn
just like the rings around Saturn.
I’ll let you go: pseudomodern
words in pattern, words in pattern.
as I awaken from acrid
dreams; and the truth from me has hid
all I undid, all I undid.
You said I would never find you
but then I broke through the preview.
Though I wish I could renew
all that you knew, all that you knew.
Please hold me close and watch me burn
just like the rings around Saturn.
I’ll let you go: pseudomodern
words in pattern, words in pattern.
Literature
Shrouds for a ship.
The ship, and nearly all her crew and passengers with her, were lost on the 22nd of May. On the 24th, Dorothy started making model boats.
Her fingers hurt a little, of course. Red, cold, and sometimes even damp, they caught on the makeshift sails and left unsightly blotches on the hulls. The hulls were one of the hardest bits. Hours were consumed by the whittling and painting and drying. The rigging was even worse; the threading she used was almost impossible to keep a tight grip upon, and the variations of beige and brown and black meant they often vanished entirely if dropped to the dirt floor. As for the masts, these took an enormous amo
Literature
Curtain
I resurfaced,
the taste of salt and rare coins in my mouth.
I moved upward
like a swimmer
and kissed you properly so I might not
be alone.
The streetlight poured silver down your chest
through the open window
and your hair
sank pale and fragrant
into the edges of my vision
in the dark.
I could not see your eyes
so much as sense them,
as if they were familiar stones on a path I only walk
when I am in love.
I watched the curtain swaying nearby,
numb and ornate and rhythmic,
now and then touching your shoulder
the way I used to wish I could.
It moved like a sleeve
just before a hand emerges,
restless yet un-alive,
prophesying in half-
Literature
Krasis
we are but remnants
of warmth, imprints
of colors;
time piranhas
to our footpaths,
our blooming forgotten
in the face of a blue moon,
autumnal harvest wreckage,
long-necked and
searching
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Day 21 of #ProjectDFC's December Form Challenge.
DFC Form Chart 2013.
Form 21: The Monotetra
Not good, but not bad either.
I promise I wrote this on the correct day, I just haven't been able to post until now.
#Glory-Be-Project
DFC Form Chart 2013.
Form 21: The Monotetra
Not good, but not bad either.
I promise I wrote this on the correct day, I just haven't been able to post until now.
#Glory-Be-Project
© 2013 - 2024 LionesseRampant
Comments4
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This is most certainly good. The imagery here is wonderful. Great job!