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Literature Text
Imagine you find my words
scrawled on paper that has yellowed with age,
all of these lines I've constructed for you,
dug out from the bottom of a dusty box
in a cobweb clouded attic...
imagine that my voice is no longer present
to bring them to life,
would you wish for another second to hear me
telling you what you've meant to me?
And I am not really sure
that words can bridge the gap,
tear down the horizon standing like a black wall
between our bodies,
but I'll never stop pouring myself onto the page
in hope that your eyes still find me
breathing in the spaces between these letters,
that you can still hear me
telling you just how much I care for you.
I know that my words are not diamonds,
but rough stones painted to be presentable,
and I may not be
the most wonderful man walking the earth,
far from it actually,
and that my most valuable possession
if the dual combination of my love and dreams,
but I've given them both to you
and I hope that maybe it can all add up to something
as beautiful as you deserve.
Maybe I can't give all of the things I wish I could
and perhaps I'll never buy you an island,
take you to a distant shore with a sea so clear
you can see miles below,
but when you look into my eyes
I hope that you can see that there are things inside
that belong to you,
that there is nothing in this world
I could ever desire more than your happiness.
I am not the best at giving up on things
that are worthwhile
and I am not the type to quit running
no matter what the weather or the road may hold,
and I know we're worth it,
and I know that you are worth it,
and I believe that you feel the same way
so maybe these words cannot bring us through time and space
but I will keep filling the pages of this book,
filling the world with smears of ink
until I can no longer put pen to page,
until you can fall asleep knowing that you are loved
with everything that makes me who I am.
So long as you will take these words of mine
I will provide them,
so long as you will be unafraid to give love
I will protect it,
so long as you will want this heart of mine
I will offer it,
so long as you will allow yourself to fall
I will catch you,
so long as you will miss these arms
I will open them,
so long as you will dream of me
I will dream of you,
so long as you will love this man
I will be yours.
scrawled on paper that has yellowed with age,
all of these lines I've constructed for you,
dug out from the bottom of a dusty box
in a cobweb clouded attic...
imagine that my voice is no longer present
to bring them to life,
would you wish for another second to hear me
telling you what you've meant to me?
And I am not really sure
that words can bridge the gap,
tear down the horizon standing like a black wall
between our bodies,
but I'll never stop pouring myself onto the page
in hope that your eyes still find me
breathing in the spaces between these letters,
that you can still hear me
telling you just how much I care for you.
I know that my words are not diamonds,
but rough stones painted to be presentable,
and I may not be
the most wonderful man walking the earth,
far from it actually,
and that my most valuable possession
if the dual combination of my love and dreams,
but I've given them both to you
and I hope that maybe it can all add up to something
as beautiful as you deserve.
Maybe I can't give all of the things I wish I could
and perhaps I'll never buy you an island,
take you to a distant shore with a sea so clear
you can see miles below,
but when you look into my eyes
I hope that you can see that there are things inside
that belong to you,
that there is nothing in this world
I could ever desire more than your happiness.
I am not the best at giving up on things
that are worthwhile
and I am not the type to quit running
no matter what the weather or the road may hold,
and I know we're worth it,
and I know that you are worth it,
and I believe that you feel the same way
so maybe these words cannot bring us through time and space
but I will keep filling the pages of this book,
filling the world with smears of ink
until I can no longer put pen to page,
until you can fall asleep knowing that you are loved
with everything that makes me who I am.
So long as you will take these words of mine
I will provide them,
so long as you will be unafraid to give love
I will protect it,
so long as you will want this heart of mine
I will offer it,
so long as you will allow yourself to fall
I will catch you,
so long as you will miss these arms
I will open them,
so long as you will dream of me
I will dream of you,
so long as you will love this man
I will be yours.
Literature
Angstxiety
I am work weak on Wednesday
in a heap of hangover and hesitation
with fingers on a phone haptically
actively anticipating feedback—
I need that why do I need that.
My angst and anxiety
is constant and courses
and throbs with a pulse
that demands concern
of a baby boomer crooning poetic
in the distance to call me antisocial, or you know,
you could just call me.
If being this busy in an age
of constant communication
feels like having slept
but not feeling rested,
I'd rather cancel my plans
like a responsible millennial
and go to bed.
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
misalignment
our hearts became a pair
of unsynchronized clocks
a time-bomb never
meant to detonate;
i fell in love
then you fell in love
but it just wasn't
with each other
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I will always be here, I will always really be yours.
© 2014 - 2024 dreamsinstatic
Comments2
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Another amazing piece. What else to say, it's more than beautiful, it's pure poetry.