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Literature Text
You're like another language
Racing through my mind:
I have to choose the correct way
For how your name will slip off
My own tongue,
And before I say a single word,
I check to be sure that I won't
Be your faux pas.
All you leave me with
Is what language you are;
Racing through my mind:
I have to choose the correct way
For how your name will slip off
My own tongue,
And before I say a single word,
I check to be sure that I won't
Be your faux pas.
All you leave me with
Is what language you are;
Literature
Escrtito #2 que te dedico.
Ya mi mente envenenada con tu persona ni siquiera puede recordar la razón del por qué estos sentimientos tan destructivos que siento por ti. Ni siquiera sé si tienen sentido mis palabras, cuando hablo de ti me siento como una loca enjaula. Mi locura es el amor que me provocas y mi jaula el deseo que no sacio. Me siento como una estúpida porque me tienes a tus pies y lo sabes, lo sabes porque mi actitud incontrolable te lo demostró. Hay algo que si recuerdo, aquel primer día de clases, aquel sol de 8am que encendía tu pelo color caramelo, aquella mirada profunda atrapada en el vidrio de tus lentes, las vuelta
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
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
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Not about a person, it was simply inspired by me trying to speak italian when learning french. .-. Tip: don't try and learn four languages at once - stagger your learning so you're not at the same level with everything.
Because I was persuaded with chocolate, here is a friend's alternate ending:
All you leave me with
Is what language you are;
Perhaps that can be left
For our tongues to discover.
(Personally, I think this chocolate tastes better than if that ending were real...)
Because I was persuaded with chocolate, here is a friend's alternate ending:
All you leave me with
Is what language you are;
Perhaps that can be left
For our tongues to discover.
(Personally, I think this chocolate tastes better than if that ending were real...)
© 2015 - 2024 LMW-The-Poet
Comments4
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Overall
Vision Originality Technique Impact3 Stars for technique might be a bit disingenuous since it is my belief that most are worthy of only 1.
Keep in mind I don't take pleasure in quantifying the quality of someone else's self-expression, but, unlike with drawing, it seems very few take the time to place shadows let alone determine which direction they should be pointing.
When a person is an unpracticed painter, none of their shadows agree and they tend to look more cartoony than realistic. This is how I feel about this. You seem to be demonstrating the power of straightening squiggles and doing black splotches behind some things, but you don't seem very careful about what or where you obfuscate. The difference between what I'm described is the same as the difference between a Rembrandt and a Picasso: Rembrandt's to me look like slightly altered reality, while Picasso's seem more like a weird dream brought on by a marathon of Wizard of Oz remakes.
Ironically, language itself I rarely see discussed, even though that's all writers are supposed to be thinking about. I feel like there is so much missing potential in this piece of prose, so much that could be said or could be added. This does come up as an inspiring piece simply by a well-designed lack of "something", so again I hate to put numbers to how good things are.