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Literature Text
The trees are singing,
A beautiful song,
The branches are waving,
The whispers are long,
And deep in this forest,
Far past the old pine,
You can find me there,
And you can be mine,
If you come to my palace,
And knock on my door,
I'll tell you a story,
As you sit on the floor,
Of a land before troubles,
Hatred or strife,
A place which could hold,
The essence of life.
A beautiful song,
The branches are waving,
The whispers are long,
And deep in this forest,
Far past the old pine,
You can find me there,
And you can be mine,
If you come to my palace,
And knock on my door,
I'll tell you a story,
As you sit on the floor,
Of a land before troubles,
Hatred or strife,
A place which could hold,
The essence of life.
Literature
Do you feel the same?
I'm still just so lost
Can't believe my sadness
You shouldn't leave
What can I say?
I never felt this way
Tried to ignore it for months
I can't hide no more
Maybe it's too late?
My blush increases every second
You know I like someone
But you don't know it's you
Maybe it's true?
You make me smile
I talk happily with you
With you I feel safe and happy
Do you feel the same?
Literature
to become nothing
Nameless, faceless plague,
Thickly seeping into a cracked vessel,
Imbibing every cirrus, every eager breath.
The sludge trudges,
The Black contracts, bereaved,
The verdant grid, relieved
The sluggish spell begins to quell
Ardor,
Now only a whimper on fragile lips
Nameless, faceless plague
Swelling in congruence with every slower swipe
Maneuvering the psychic climate
Into Barrenness.
The Black is marvelously alluring,
She charms only genuine energies, vexes them.
She works against the Organic propulsion
Whose effort honors
boundless proliferation
Nameless, faceless plague
Abiding in once animate ducts (shrinking and vascular)
Clogging and
Literature
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me?
Why do I care when she doesn't talk to me? It's not like it matters, it's not like it's hurting me...
Well, no, maybe that isn't true. It is hurting me. Why does it hurt me? It shouldn't matter that she isn't talking to me. It's not a big deal. It's not like she's ignoring me...
What if she's ignoring me? Is she ignoring me? She tells me she's busy. I believe her I really do, but there's always this part of me that tells me I'm just annoying. Why would someone want to talk to me? I'm not good enough...
I'm never good enough. I push myself, put so much pressure on myself. People tell me I'm good at things, but I can't see it. I can't belie
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A poem about a forest.
© 2013 - 2024 etfonehome1
Comments3
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This is a very tranquil and lovely poem.
Simple, but very well written. I like it!
Simple, but very well written. I like it!