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Literature Text
You smile,
Teeth gleaming,
Eyes shining.
You look at me,
At my eyes,
Deep down into them.
Past the green surface,
Through the pupilic abyss into what normally remains hidden.
You see me.
You see the little boy within,
The boy in the corner,
Waiting to be noticed,
As people,
And places,
And lives,
Rush by.
You see the unshed tears,
A reservoir,
Held back by emerald green gates.
You see the hurt,
And the pain,
And the need to go unnoticed.
You see all of that,
Yet you still smile.
Your teeth still gleam,
Your eyes still shine,
And you still look deeply into my pained eyes.
So I smile back,
And you look away.
Then you walk away,
And,
While staring at your back,
I think to myself:
Good thing I'm the kind of man who sees lies behind the truth of every smile.
Teeth gleaming,
Eyes shining.
You look at me,
At my eyes,
Deep down into them.
Past the green surface,
Through the pupilic abyss into what normally remains hidden.
You see me.
You see the little boy within,
The boy in the corner,
Waiting to be noticed,
As people,
And places,
And lives,
Rush by.
You see the unshed tears,
A reservoir,
Held back by emerald green gates.
You see the hurt,
And the pain,
And the need to go unnoticed.
You see all of that,
Yet you still smile.
Your teeth still gleam,
Your eyes still shine,
And you still look deeply into my pained eyes.
So I smile back,
And you look away.
Then you walk away,
And,
While staring at your back,
I think to myself:
Good thing I'm the kind of man who sees lies behind the truth of every smile.
Literature
Accept your Candle, Weep for the Stars
A light I see, far off in the distance. It's a star, I told myself.
No other thought surpassed it, I want to reach it.
I struggle in the darkness, slowly heading for it, not knowing, not thinking.
I know this is what I want. I want the star.
It gets brighter, I can feel its warm touch, though I'm far from it.
Joy overwhelms my soul, I'm so close, so close to
my star. It's my star and nothing else matters.
I reach with my fingers, to touch it.
A candle. A lowly candle, my thoughts shattered.
This is not what I wanted. It's not my star.
I blink, and blink again, I see clearly. Up above.
There are hundreds, no millions of stars.
Why
Literature
Divorce
Before that day,
Sunday mornings had never occurred to me.
I must have slept through their every summons:
I never knew the time sensitive ritual of finding matching socks,
forcing “nice” shoes over misshapen toes,
the silent pact we would share with the warm cushions of the divan
waiting for Mother to ready us, memories that settle in the guts
like a madstone, which I could then pull out of my old cadaver
to save myself in the next life.
There were a few moments. Like that time, in the garage,
basking in Father’s sunrise sorcery as he fired his magic timing light
into the fluttering lungs of an engine, or when he let
Literature
wednesday's child
it is the third of october
and i am building a castle for us
out of feathers, bird bones,
ocean waves and library book pages.
anything to keep our feet from
touching the ground.
you are sin, he whispers
and his fingers trail cold fire
down my side, scorching flesh
and freezing bone;
brittle pieces of me shatter
as they hit the stained linoleum floor.
don't wake me from this nightmare.
i whisper a nursery rhyme
as i walk down our
autumn path.
kamikaze leaves fall, trailing
fire as they throw themselves from
the branches, down, down,
to cold pavement below.
your words echo in my mind
a constant reminder
that i am sin
but you,
you were
ne
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Well then, it has been a little while since I wrote, and this is what I come up with? Oh well, beggar's can't be choosers, and I was definitely begging for a little bit of inspiration. Not that I am all that upset with the outcome, I actually quite like it
Anywho, this was written for Doctrinaire's prompt contest under prompt #4, "Communication, means never doing it." I'm not really sure if this is close enough to the prompt though...some one will have to let me know if this flies or not :/
Also, my main question with this piece is as follows: Is the final sentence surprising enough/does it provide enough of a twist? Meaning, is the feel of the poem completely changed in the last line? Also, do the italics help or hurt the flow of the poem?
Anywho, this was written for Doctrinaire's prompt contest under prompt #4, "Communication, means never doing it." I'm not really sure if this is close enough to the prompt though...some one will have to let me know if this flies or not :/
Also, my main question with this piece is as follows: Is the final sentence surprising enough/does it provide enough of a twist? Meaning, is the feel of the poem completely changed in the last line? Also, do the italics help or hurt the flow of the poem?
© 2010 - 2024 nngross
Comments17
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I read this twice-because each time I was reading it "Good thing I'm NOT the kind of man..." for me the line did change the feel of the poem...because really tho he is hiding-he WANTS to be noticed....especially by HER...and the ending seems too pessimistic for me...just me tho...I loved the flow-and I could visualize this whole "happening"...well done...