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Literature
The Exchange
He didn’t heed the warnings, When he sought financial gain. He set fire to his temple, But could not control the blaze. He fled the scent of burning, Sought to make his claim. He made a pyre of the building, And the city he left to raze. He made a fortune from their fear, As they suffered for his sake. He built a shelter out of gold, Above the smoke and haze. He let the world fall to ruin, Scorched all the lowly ants. He said let the people burn, For their anguish is what pays. He’ll watch the skyline smoulder, And smile all his days.
Literature
Burning through
A calm day, shining sun
no wind blowing
not a clouds to see
up to the horizon
Then comes a gust
dust gets stirred up
blows past so fast
leaving just cold skin
shades behind my back
rise up from the dark
covering everything
like walls of concrete
the blue and stars
swallowed up in ashes
reaching for the sun
with choking fingers
seep into my head
strangling me inside
the thoughts i had
so free on wings
replaced by a whirl
devoid of colour
where cracks unfurl
drowning out the light
starless black night
as if stars had died
threatening to swallow
all of my world
Still far away
a blaze still burns
resists all the skies
that bo
Literature
Burnt-Out Cigarettes
Smoke rings
from the corner of her mouth
she watches amusedly,
as they float off across the empty parking lot
stemming from the top of her beat-up Chevy.
pretty things
worn to cover up the bruises on her wrists
the bruises on her fists
from the fighting that she does
when she gets home.
For her life
she's fled
away time and time again
but eventually
her eyes lost their luster
and her voice lost it's spark.
A cloud loomed over her,
one with weapons made of words
and bruises following after.
He was a beast.
Her mom couldn't see through the love she held for him
after being alone for so long.
She couldn't see the trail of cigarettes
the black as
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December 1st on the December Form Challenge.
This is an epistle, a poem in letter form. Also it rhymes. I think =TheSkaBoss is still in my head from last April about rhymes. Also, I was listening to this melancholic, though positive, song: Not Perfect.
I wish our culture didn't stigmatize miscarriages so much. At a time when people need the most help and support, they get false, get-me-away-from-here sympathy.
December Form Challenge 2013! Live it and Love it!It’s that time of year again… DFC! Who’s ready to tackle the December Form Challenge for 2013?
This year follows the same format as last year with visual prompts to give you a bit more to play with.
Please check out The DFC Form Chart 2013. All of the days are outlined with forms and prompts and explanations for each.
If you can’t access the pdf, please don’t hesitate to note me (=kiwi-damnation) with your email address and I will send a word version to you.
All entries (that we know about) will be getting collected and placed into our designated DFC 2013 folder so that you can all peruse each other’s work. If you want your work included, you can either submit it to t
This is an epistle, a poem in letter form. Also it rhymes. I think =TheSkaBoss is still in my head from last April about rhymes. Also, I was listening to this melancholic, though positive, song: Not Perfect.
I wish our culture didn't stigmatize miscarriages so much. At a time when people need the most help and support, they get false, get-me-away-from-here sympathy.
© 2013 - 2024 ShadowedAcolyte
Comments12
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Love Tim Minchin. Love that you wrote this about a miscarried baby.
And I'm so sorry for your loss.
And I'm so sorry for your loss.