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Literature Text
I woke up
One morning
With wings.
I flew up
Into the air,
Spoke with the birds,
Met trees
Eye-to-eye.
But I awoke,
Wingless,
Bound to the ground.
I got up
Another morning,
And could breathe
Fire.
It was scary,
I thought I would
Burn my house with
A sneeze.
I was relieved
When I found myself
Safe in my bed.
Another time,
I awoke in the forest,
No longer human.
I joined my wolf pack,
Running rampant in the woods,
Scattering snow and dirt,
Howling at the sky.
We killed a deer.
I woke with the bloody taste
Still in my mouth.
A few days ago,
I woke up,
And I was invisible.
I walked through the halls
Of my school,
No one spoke to me.
No one saw me go by.
I didn't awake though,
It simply wasn't
A dream.
One morning
With wings.
I flew up
Into the air,
Spoke with the birds,
Met trees
Eye-to-eye.
But I awoke,
Wingless,
Bound to the ground.
I got up
Another morning,
And could breathe
Fire.
It was scary,
I thought I would
Burn my house with
A sneeze.
I was relieved
When I found myself
Safe in my bed.
Another time,
I awoke in the forest,
No longer human.
I joined my wolf pack,
Running rampant in the woods,
Scattering snow and dirt,
Howling at the sky.
We killed a deer.
I woke with the bloody taste
Still in my mouth.
A few days ago,
I woke up,
And I was invisible.
I walked through the halls
Of my school,
No one spoke to me.
No one saw me go by.
I didn't awake though,
It simply wasn't
A dream.
Literature
Turn my words against me.
I want my words to take
root in your stomach and grow
up your esophagus, the calyx
of your tongue brushing the edge
of your teeth until the words blossom
from your lips in a slow
explosion of elegance, jawline
trickled with nectar, charming
hummingbirds and honeybees
with the promise of butterfly kisses.
Literature
Finger-Length
the space between us
becomes further and further,
as you drive your motorcycle
along the coastline -
your body shielded by your
leather jacket;
your unshaven chin caressed by
the wavering hands of the spring.
you pass an empty church,
filling with the stinging, soulless
curse of saltwater
(like my heart filling with despair.)
the deathless gods
attempt to undress my mind of
images of your handsome face,
(it does not work…)
and the mortal men ignore
my pleas and search for you.
once finger-length apart,
lying on the sand,
the sea nibbling at our toes –
now,
the distance increases,
and lying on the cold g
Literature
-
death knocks on your
door with a crooked little grin
and tells you that he'd like
his tea with two sugars, please,
and that you'd better start packing;
but only bring your valuables
because he's got no room in his hearse
for remorse
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I wrote this during the 2011-2012 school year. Feedback is, as always, appreciated.
© 2012 - 2024 Synesthi
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