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Literature Text
You don't just walk into a lion's den,
unannounced.
You don't just bow to a King
and then go take his crown.
You go to a preacher to confess;
not brag about the "good" you've done.
You don't just set the whole world on fire
and call it the Sun.
unannounced.
You don't just bow to a King
and then go take his crown.
You go to a preacher to confess;
not brag about the "good" you've done.
You don't just set the whole world on fire
and call it the Sun.
Literature
Metaphysical Pain
Chest pain
Heart pain
Mind pain
Head pain
Two are very physical...
The others, weeellll, they can be too.
It's a suffering that comes from
Not knowing what to do.
It's a suffering that comes from
Wondering what is true.
It's a pain that breaks the body,
Breaks the spirit,
Breaks the soul.
It's a pain that leaves one broken,
Hollow, empty,
Less than whole.
It's an aching pain
That leaves one longing,
Longing for relief.
It's a stabbing pain
That leaves one hoping,
Hoping in belief.
Belief that maybe, somehow,
This pain can soon be healed.
But it depends upon the bridges,
Or the walls, inside, we build.
Literature
The 'Reap'
Silent cries of a forgotten time,
Still linger in the air.
The smell of greed and death remain,
Along with the voice of a thousand tears.
A hideous creature,
Did the town once hide.
Come death to all,
Who did not abide.
A town bathed in treasures,
The creature bestowed.
Until one night,
Long ago.
When men became greedy,
And broke the code.
Telling all who would listen,
Their secret, beyond the road.
But fame and fortune,
They did not receive.
Only a shameful town,
Who brought them to their knees.
For when strangers poured in,
The townsfolk knew.
They had been betrayed,
By this greedy crew.
They were left no choice,
B
Literature
Heart Broken
dark days in harsh places,
where the roses are molding
and the perfect picture he
created is just wasting away
And the stress of the stormy days
is just eating his time's up.
It's eating his stomach lining.
Pretentious for how empty he feels.
A glass clinch tight in his hands,
four ounces of bourbon
down the guzzle
the burn is only thing he feels
still to wallow in lessons
that he's suppose to have known.
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Comments2
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So I shouldn't have done those? Oops. Nice little poem.