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Literature Text
Let's get out of here, you and I
(while the evening is spread out against the sky—
and, you know, patient etherized upon a table,
muttering retreats, one-night cheap hotels, oyster shells),
and while we run, shall I compare you to a summer's day?
You are more lovely and more innocent
than a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water
and the blood of innocence; sing your song
of sixpence, your queenliness, and bake your pie
to be sold by the little goblin men with their whiskers
and their rat tails, so that the hollow men, the stuffed men
may shamble down and, raging against the light's dying,
may take their pies with them as they climb Mt. Fuji,
losing pieces of themselves, but slowly, slowly.
Do I contradict myself? No, I don't, it's just that
my vast multitudes are smarter than your vast multitudes,
so you can never hope to comprehend my world
of etherized, shambling, snail-like rat-tailed hollow men
whose world will end
in both fire and ice, slowly,
not with a bang but with a whimper.
(while the evening is spread out against the sky—
and, you know, patient etherized upon a table,
muttering retreats, one-night cheap hotels, oyster shells),
and while we run, shall I compare you to a summer's day?
You are more lovely and more innocent
than a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water
and the blood of innocence; sing your song
of sixpence, your queenliness, and bake your pie
to be sold by the little goblin men with their whiskers
and their rat tails, so that the hollow men, the stuffed men
may shamble down and, raging against the light's dying,
may take their pies with them as they climb Mt. Fuji,
losing pieces of themselves, but slowly, slowly.
Do I contradict myself? No, I don't, it's just that
my vast multitudes are smarter than your vast multitudes,
so you can never hope to comprehend my world
of etherized, shambling, snail-like rat-tailed hollow men
whose world will end
in both fire and ice, slowly,
not with a bang but with a whimper.
Literature
Waiting
If I were to count the ones before,
I'd need to use four walls,
Each little mark, a flame of life,
Dropped like a leaf in fall.
We're all aware, we can't prepare,
We know what's 'round the bend,
We wake and smile even if we know,
Some won't make it to this day's end.
Waiting, waiting, agony,
Like toys on store display,
I look at all of you and think,
'Will this be your last day?'
Look there, a tear.
My reflection cries.
It's just not fair, just sitting here,
Waiting for the end of our lives.
Literature
aches
my body twitches chest cracks cracks
eyes water wrists rolls shoulders fall in tense up
please is not enough
you will not understand any better than i do
why this place smashes a hole under my ribs every passing day
bars my arms in
and nothing is enough but
leaving
is impossible
Literature
Poems
Once in an era ship sailed beyond
They sank below the eternal blue
And their mark would be left
As the eternal blue grew so did the mark
Once in a lifetime story are told
Their story was what left of them
The eternal touch they left for us
Untold truth remembered for Tomorrow
Remembered mistake kept for tomorrow
Keeping away the waiting beast
If the beast awake soon death follow
Keeping keys locked and answers be lost
Suggested Collections
With many, many apologies to T.S. Eliot, Bill Shakespeare, Christina Rosetti, Dylan Thomas, Walt Whitman, Robert Frost, and Issa. (William Carlos Williams is in there too but in my opinion he deserves anything he gets.)
© 2011 - 2024 Stormfield
Comments2
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I am wondering, did you plan out which you were going to use, or did it just come to you?