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Literature Text
Autumn trees bear the weight of death flowers
And poisoned by the sands of cruel time,
Crying after bygone springs' faded away dance
Whispering hymns of eternal night
Flying, melting into air...
Dreaming at the gates of death.
Put roses on the altar of dead angels,
Fight with broken wings of faith,
Close your eyes and wait to see
The light of the snow of decay
Crying under deaf soil, in a heavy coffin
Lies the sacred grail to be filled
With warm blood and tears of snow
And with the bones of dead angels
Flying, melting into air...
Dreaming at the gates of death.
Rising from the core of earth,
Bringing dark instead of dreams
Came the time of eternal winter
And the dance begins...
And poisoned by the sands of cruel time,
Crying after bygone springs' faded away dance
Whispering hymns of eternal night
Flying, melting into air...
Dreaming at the gates of death.
Put roses on the altar of dead angels,
Fight with broken wings of faith,
Close your eyes and wait to see
The light of the snow of decay
Crying under deaf soil, in a heavy coffin
Lies the sacred grail to be filled
With warm blood and tears of snow
And with the bones of dead angels
Flying, melting into air...
Dreaming at the gates of death.
Rising from the core of earth,
Bringing dark instead of dreams
Came the time of eternal winter
And the dance begins...
Literature
Fragments
Ici
Ni nuages
ni bruit
et le sol
est trop lisse.
Je vais mentir.
Qui suis-je?
J'ai grandi d'un seul coup et très vite, comme une enfant qui saute et dont la tête reste accrochée, suspendue dans les airs, pour seulement s'apercevoir alors, en regardant en bas, qu'elle ne lévite pas, mais a un corps plus grand qui a poussé sous elle.
Etat des lieux
- Quarante et un morceaux d'un vase balancé.
- Six morceaux d'une assiette écrasée sur le mur.
- Onze morceaux d'un livré écharpé sans pleurer.
- Trois morceaux de la table assommée d'un poing lourd.
- Xanax, Tuinal, Prozac, Wisterol, par milliers.
- Deux morceaux d'un seul nous, désespoir distendu
Literature
A Poem About Nothing
And so, I lay down on the road, in the sun, and baked on the asphalt.
The man with the gas mask fetish scares me to death.
I want to die it black hair, straight and sleek, over the lack thereof eye.
The world, indeed, shall be overrun by oysters, but it won't matter because we'll all be dead things.
What if everyone else is me too?
Dear Hamlet, the answer is to not, or at least to pretend so as to get through the being itself.
Spoiler alert: you've nothing to worry about.
Because the above states the answer to all of my problems, I'll say
Literature
Quiet
One day
I woke up to the sound of breaking.
The fire was outside my window
And the smoke streamed in over my head
And the sirens, oh, the sirens
The red and the blue and the red reflected
On grey and black and grey and death.
I thought about how my heart
Had ached and my lungs had burned
And I closed my eyes.
One day
I woke up to the sound of stillness.
The needle sunk in my wrist
And the blurriness clouded my vision
And the beeping, oh, the beeping
The red and the black and the red smeared across
The white and grey and white and nothing.
I thought about how my mind
Had ran and my muscles had atrophied
And I closed my eyes.
One day
I woke
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This is my second poem. If you find mistakes in the language I used, please let me know!!!
© 2008 - 2024 Lilith-Awaken
Comments6
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This is an interesting piece. The tone seems very reminiscent of the Gothic poets of old, which is definitely a big bonus. Pulling off that sort of language can be tough, but I think you succeeded for the most part.
One thing I might consider changing is the overuse of the word "death" or variations thereupon. In places such as "Flying, melting into air.../Dreaming at the gates of death", it feels very poet and proper. Elsewhere, however, I think it gets a little too heavy-handed. I would look at the third and fourth stanzas in particular and see if you can find a different, more powerful image to use in place of "dead angels". That would really help this poem shine, I think.
Good job all around, though! I enjoyed reading this and I wish you the best of luck on your future writing
One thing I might consider changing is the overuse of the word "death" or variations thereupon. In places such as "Flying, melting into air.../Dreaming at the gates of death", it feels very poet and proper. Elsewhere, however, I think it gets a little too heavy-handed. I would look at the third and fourth stanzas in particular and see if you can find a different, more powerful image to use in place of "dead angels". That would really help this poem shine, I think.
Good job all around, though! I enjoyed reading this and I wish you the best of luck on your future writing