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Literature Text
I want to write,
But you - my muse,
You're all my words
Can find...
I want to write,
But every word
Dripped in ink,
May as well be
The blood of
Our hearts
I want to write,
But thoughts
Of your eyes
Make my heart
Flutter faster
Than lashes
I want to write,
But I see more
Of your image
Than I do,
This paper
I want to write,
But I want these
Words to be for you
I want to write,
But I'm at a loss
For anymore subjects
That may capture
Your attention
I want to write,
But you -
You're a writer too
I want to write,
But your words
Mixed with mine
Simply don't flow,
As they do alone...
I want to write,
But I'm afraid
My muse and I
Are simply no
Masterpiece
But you - my muse,
You're all my words
Can find...
I want to write,
But every word
Dripped in ink,
May as well be
The blood of
Our hearts
I want to write,
But thoughts
Of your eyes
Make my heart
Flutter faster
Than lashes
I want to write,
But I see more
Of your image
Than I do,
This paper
I want to write,
But I want these
Words to be for you
I want to write,
But I'm at a loss
For anymore subjects
That may capture
Your attention
I want to write,
But you -
You're a writer too
I want to write,
But your words
Mixed with mine
Simply don't flow,
As they do alone...
I want to write,
But I'm afraid
My muse and I
Are simply no
Masterpiece
Literature
The Journey
Beneath my skin, my veins pulse with desire
To know why I am here.
As I journey to find the answers to life,
I sail through the monotonous seas
That stretch forever beyond the horizon.
As my ship sails towards the dry land,
Mountains tower before me,
Filling me with both awe and intimidation.
But the mountains are eroding as time passes by,
Into merely fragments of what they once were.
I move my eyes and watch the glaciers
Melt slowly into rivers.
But even though they disappear,
They melt to provide water for all life on this planet.
You could say rivers are created by glaciers for a purpose.
I ponder those mountains and glac
Literature
Real Estate
The cost of intellectual property has gone up.
I can already feel the ideas curdling like milk,
Strings of silver silk lining
Tangling it up so neatly--
A package for the loan-shark in my bed in the morning.
A message to my lover, to whom I owe such a debt:
All you ever do anymore is take.
My poems crumble at the touch,
Fading into the clusters of Sunday brunch and Family Guy reruns.
What's the price of the two seconds of quiet
Without a pile of unfilled lines awaiting my autograph
Ruffling through the papers you'll have me sign-
What wouldn't I give to sign with the devil, over you...
Teetering on the corner of thought,
My pen limp and b
Literature
La caja (algun dia)
Tirada en el patio esta la caja, sin etiquetas ni marcas, una simple caja. Todos pasan, pero nadie mueve a la caja, estática e inerte percibe los pasos, esos pequeños murmullos que la hacen recordar que no está sola y aun así el abismo continua.
En todos sus años de caja esta ha estado cerrada, pues ningún hombre ha decidido hacerse cargo de la solitaria caja, la cual carga con su contenido en el exterior; una caja inversa quizás será.
No tendremos remedio que contar que esa caja olvidada por todos más presente no podría estar, es el ombligo del mundo. Tras de ella se esconde la línea qu
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Not that my heart is actually broken, but I began thinking - what happens to a writer of any sort when they fall in love with their muse? And nobody quite notices, but every inked word they write, drips in the soul of their beloved muse...
Comments16
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I broke my heart writing for someone, writing all of my soul to her, but she wasn't what I though she was. I broke it so hard I hardly can write poems for anybody now...
Even more worst for the heart when you notice this person don't care about you at all...
Even more worst for the heart when you notice this person don't care about you at all...