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Literature Text
Poetry is:
the adhesive to
a fragmented soul;
broken wings that still dream of
F L Y I N G
how snapdragons breathe stardust
and orchids perform ensembles.
when 'imagination' and 'reality' at last discover a
c r o s s r o a d s,
and rush to embrace one another with fervent limbs.
why gravity seems to f
a
l
l, taking the world with it.
what flows through the veins of every pair of [shipwrecked; star-crossed] lovers.
who I am; who I was; and who I want to be.
Literature
Missing Pieces.
I am a missing piece. Something that someone needs.
But at the same time, I feel so incomplete.
I’ve wandered way too far, wondered for far too long
Am I a missing piece? Or a piece that won’t belong?
Is it possible I’m damaged and not missing at all?
That I’m just as dysfunctional as everybody else?
Pretending to be perfect never softened a single fall.
But neither did admitting that you’re broken and flawed.
A broken missing piece. Is that all I’m meant to be?
There is no master plan that includes the likes of me.
Being all alone, it’s a hurt that will not cease.
A hundred thousand years from now
Literature
reasons why I don't fly away
above half-hearted streetlights and industrial flooding
and vague misinterpretations, I cut
a little too deep.
it always comes to this; hungry shivers,
dry voices, heavy breaths as your eyes
fixate upon a set point in the distance
which you label as happiness, a nirvana
in plain view but too far
for your rubber legs to take you there.
back then we were theorists developing
a new frontier; we were two dreamers,
two corpses on a collision course in
the desperate season. you warned me
there weren’t enough words to say
beautiful; as it turns out, we
were a slip of the tongue.
I woke this morning
a butterfly. you would like
the sun po
Literature
Green Ink
She writes with green ink
eternal scrawls upon the page.
She wrote with green ink,
because it was the color of his eyes,
and the pond in the park,
and the seats on the bus,
and the grass outside,
and rose stems.
She wrote with green ink
even when her boss yelled
and the teacher screamed
and nothing worked out.
Because green was her favorite
and it was his favorite as well
even when he was sick while
his skin was green.
He still loved the color green
when the dirt fell down
when he didn’t recover,
the grass that bloomed
was the most angelic jade.
And she still wrote in green ink
because it was the color of the grass,
and his favori
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Now that I've grown more comfortable with poetry, I realize just how important it's become in my life. And I realize that in a sense, it's always been important to me. As has writing. Poetry is just one big step in my "literary career."
So. This is what poetry is for me.
I wanted to play around with formatting a bit more since I'm still trying to develop some sort of "style," so this was fun.
One of the few pieces I am requesting critiques on, since this is also a piece that is extremely relevant and meaningful to me. Though it may not be as well-structured as some of my other pieces.
So. This is what poetry is for me.
I wanted to play around with formatting a bit more since I'm still trying to develop some sort of "style," so this was fun.
One of the few pieces I am requesting critiques on, since this is also a piece that is extremely relevant and meaningful to me. Though it may not be as well-structured as some of my other pieces.
© 2013 - 2024 lupus-astra
Comments42
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Overall
Vision
Originality
Technique
Impact
Lovely, and with excellent flow. I like how you italicized some of the words, and the style in which you wrote them. Your vision was flawless.
However, I've seen many other pieces similar to this, which brings the originality down a bit. Still, that does not effect the beautiful vocabulary you incorporated into it. I adored the imagery as well.
You technique was quite good as well, I must say, though it wasn't perfect. Honestly, there isn't much wrong with this poem at all. It's an excellent piece, and it does an wonderful job of defining the word "Poetry".
Excellent work!