Rose Girl and Granite Man by toastwriter, literature
Literature
Rose Girl and Granite Man
She was a rose with thorns ingrown,
carrying the burden of her many pricks and problems,
so that someday someone would pick and treasure her for,
that short while until she was no longer pretty and then discarded,
in place of fresh flowers,
because for her it was better to consume her faults and be held,
than simply be another flower trampled.
He was a granite man chiseling himself away,
with painful precision to go from what was to what was wanted,
so that someday someone would look at him as art for,
that short while until he was weathered and then ignored,
for uncracked new statues,
because for him it was better to change himself and be s
For years have gone by
Without a single word on the page
The ink has all dried
And the thoughts left unscathed
But how can one take
The beauties in life
And bottle them up
Only to scribble them down
Words cannot express
The light of a sunrise
Or the glint in your smile
Or the spark in your eyes
Yet, I have tried
At a painstaking pace
To turn this task
Into an arms race
But emotions aren’t only sorrow
Nor are they Only Light
And storms do not always
Last the entire night
So let us Dance on Water
And calm the frantic souls
Because words are not only knives
But they are serotonin in whole.
Those who make their thoughts to money
Always grinnin', always punnin'
Don't ever make these plans disappear
We disagree on this degree
Fell off the flesh in misery
In misery
Hypocrite Hippocrates
Veils in the courtyard,
A healing mess
Stumblin' mumblin'
A newer faith
Derailing the larynx
Did I trust in the wind
Or did I trust in you?
Coaxial hybernation
Printing dotted lines
Onto patience:
Your lie is not combustible
You are no longer trustable, so
Happily surrender
And don't go no further
Like piss made of whiskey
Or blood made of murder
Who's going to clean that up?
Control does shift in shape when
The mind abandon
That dated manuscript, sliced and diced
And spilt all over the long lecture hall
And hunger, empty in the scraps soaked
In cups of snotty tea spattered on walls.
Oh, why the silence, why the still?
Why pause, I pray oh wherefore sir?
It's only - just a moment like the rest.
The day is Tuestay and this
-a pen produced from the pocket of my shirt-
Is the same as always.
A perfect fit.
On a Reflection of Myself by TheFlyingSniper, literature
Literature
On a Reflection of Myself
The smooth old face, the stylish caste,
The specs with wise insight,
The tallish man with heavy gait,
Now dwarfish troglodyte.
The feasts for friends he entertained,
The merry act of eating,
Now addicted lips tremble for
A vile liquor’s off’ring.
He tried to think the best of men,
By choice no evil heard,
He hears now a murderous voice,
Whispering Satan’s word.
To charity he looked so keen,
With virtue his eyes shined
But now he looks upon the world
With villainy in mind.
He liked the air of wealth, the hall
His pet delight, and yet,
That sinister block of building,
Indulgence here was met.
There was one place he went t
Gunfire
Raining fire
Concussive sounds
These are the spawn of War of the World
Depression
Suicide
Bullying
These are the spawn of War of the Mind and Heart
I like fall.
It's pretty.
I love to see the leaves fall.
It's fun to pile them up.
I wait all year for the cool weather.
Time to break out the sweaters.
I save up for tea.
A nice warm sip to keep me warm.
I like fall so much.
It's a shame it wont come around.
At least not until next year...