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Literature Text
"There's a girl walking in a desert
with no winds, endlessly circling,
wearing a scarlet dress or blue jeans -
whichever you prefer.
She should be thirsty, tired, hungry,
and a million other things - why, yes,
she should be bloody terrified!
Being in a desert with no winds.
But she seems calm and unperturbed,
almost as if she was used to all of this.
What do you think, is she bored?
You would be, I have no doubt.
So let's give the hourglass a shake,
watch her tumble and make an angry,
tiny fist at you when she hits the glass.
And look! Now she laughs.
Can you see?"
"Who is she?"
"She could be you, or me,
someone you love,
someone you hate -
mayhaps a bit of both?
She could be old, or young,
she could be no she at all! What she is,
in the end, is whatever you wish to see
because she's not from this reality.
It shan't surprise you then,
that whenever you look at her,
she could look different, until
you can't see her anymore.
You know, she is but an hourglass girl -
one day you might set her free, and
she will tell you her own story,
about the girl that held her world."
with no winds, endlessly circling,
wearing a scarlet dress or blue jeans -
whichever you prefer.
She should be thirsty, tired, hungry,
and a million other things - why, yes,
she should be bloody terrified!
Being in a desert with no winds.
But she seems calm and unperturbed,
almost as if she was used to all of this.
What do you think, is she bored?
You would be, I have no doubt.
So let's give the hourglass a shake,
watch her tumble and make an angry,
tiny fist at you when she hits the glass.
And look! Now she laughs.
Can you see?"
"Who is she?"
"She could be you, or me,
someone you love,
someone you hate -
mayhaps a bit of both?
She could be old, or young,
she could be no she at all! What she is,
in the end, is whatever you wish to see
because she's not from this reality.
It shan't surprise you then,
that whenever you look at her,
she could look different, until
you can't see her anymore.
You know, she is but an hourglass girl -
one day you might set her free, and
she will tell you her own story,
about the girl that held her world."
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(A little longer. Stay. )And the Days may lay its tendrils around Our pale wrists, the flood may Sweep us away without An afterthought. But today The flowers shatter their souls (Like fleet. Like snow. )We Press our prints in the pink blankets Soft. Wordless. Not a sound Rolled around on the shedding (If you say go I will run) into The the far distance. You drink Words like honey thick and dripping Cloying, to ease the sadness sour Stored at your throat like a lost Scream. (There are knives in your bones You say, knives that cut with every embrace To love you is to wound you, a kiss Shatters as much as a punch Now go) your words grow black Into black iron claws that dig Into my flesh as i (run) Traps behind kind words that melt Here is my sincere rotting heart Leave me awhile, no, with a Light finger I cling to the hem of your shirt (No, stay) so what tore us apart The falling sun paints your face And for a frail second it was as if I saw the darkness within you, behind Scars and
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Written for Poem-A-Day's first annual contest, for which every participant gets their own prompt. The deadline is October 7th, so if you want to join, leave a comment on the linked journal, get your prompt and get writing!
My prompt was illusions and hourglasses.
My prompt was illusions and hourglasses.
© 2014 - 2024 miserabel
Comments2
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This has some really interesting imagery in it. I enjoyed reading it.