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Literature Text
He strained against the current.
The chilling tide seared his eyes.
A flood of kits underfoot,
they pushed and drove him astern.
He sensed the warmth rising;
the heat of the sun or of fire.
He fell into the biting winds,
borne back toward the flames.
The others scurried in terror
from embers that blistered and scarred.
Because the cold had numbed his sight,
he saw that in life he had survived.
And in death he must...
The chilling tide seared his eyes.
A flood of kits underfoot,
they pushed and drove him astern.
He sensed the warmth rising;
the heat of the sun or of fire.
He fell into the biting winds,
borne back toward the flames.
The others scurried in terror
from embers that blistered and scarred.
Because the cold had numbed his sight,
he saw that in life he had survived.
And in death he must...
Literature
The Crimson Winter
It's been so long since then, but I still remember it even now, and I still see red every time I see fresh snow. Like a horrible nightmare you can't awake from, only to realise that what you are seeing is horrifically real. It all started that one December when I had just turned seventeen, I was on holiday and was staying at my grandmothers home. I'd never been there before, but I soon realized just how alone I really was. Remote and far off from any contact with civilization, was her little, two-story house up on top of the mountain, a real “winter wonderland.” No WiFi, only one TV with three channels, it looked like hell, or so
Literature
violence
he spits into the bathroom sink
bones pushing against the skin of hands
that grip each other's shadows
as the breaths come slower.
lips crack and splinter as they stretch
in a smile that tastes
metallic, dull with fear,
maraschino cherry red
what shining eyes, what glinting teeth
look sharper in the light?
Literature
Prepared
I cried until my eyes dried out and the world became black.
I bled until my heart stopped beating and my skin went cold.
I loathed until my soul collapsed and my mind grew dark.
This was when my demons handed me a mask of the face I used to wear and whispered
Go on. Life can't hurt you anymore.
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Poem #4
On my journey to write a poem a day! 4 down. 361 to go.
The piece I chose to use as inspiration is none other than the brilliant TrollcreaK's Blind wolf going the wrong way, rabbits surviving:
TrollcreaK has a brilliantly different gallery! I love her style and am obsessing over certain pieces in her gallery. Such as this one.
This poem is dedicated to you, TrollcreaK.
Keep idling.
TheIdleWriter
On my journey to write a poem a day! 4 down. 361 to go.
The piece I chose to use as inspiration is none other than the brilliant TrollcreaK's Blind wolf going the wrong way, rabbits surviving:
TrollcreaK has a brilliantly different gallery! I love her style and am obsessing over certain pieces in her gallery. Such as this one.
This poem is dedicated to you, TrollcreaK.
Keep idling.
TheIdleWriter
© 2016 - 2024 TheIdleWriter
Comments1
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This is sooooo cool! Thank you so much for this, this is so well written and inspiring!