ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
I noted your birthday going past
another time. I don't remember
your age, but I feel you've moved
to some new place and while I
don't even want to visit, I'd like
to know if you still watch
September passing the way I stop
to sniff the air in May.
You were my first
friend in the bunker - and I may
hate you now by common formula
but I love you in still memory
for holding the gun to my loved
ones in some vain hope that
we could make a run for it together.
And so I love another man
of slow temper and hidden angers.
another time. I don't remember
your age, but I feel you've moved
to some new place and while I
don't even want to visit, I'd like
to know if you still watch
September passing the way I stop
to sniff the air in May.
You were my first
friend in the bunker - and I may
hate you now by common formula
but I love you in still memory
for holding the gun to my loved
ones in some vain hope that
we could make a run for it together.
And so I love another man
of slow temper and hidden angers.
Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Literature
She was Beautiful
We have a daughter
called poetry
quiet with little fuss
looking up
& molding us as god.
Her small verbs
span indifferent cities,
aloof mountain ranges,
& the hours of
blank faced clocks
between sunrises.
She knows there are
worse things than dark
the black waters of the mind
are scarier.
We have created her
from love,
pressed & dried bouquets
& willow sticks
things only we
could make a life from.
One day we'll wake up
as different people
but the magic
of a shared procreation
will keep us tied
wanting to see each other's
newly patchworked faces.
We have a daughter
called poetry
Literature
Shattering.
A woman says take me home and you are struck
by the fear that you will not know how to touch her right, that you
have unwittingly made it this far without her knowing that
this was not supposed to be your life, a life your father
does not speak of and your mother doesn't understand, her eyes
heavy and sad. This is the kind of life that the dishes
will be the undoing of, a glass handled carelessly one day will
break in your hands and that will be the thing you finally
can't handle, your body crumpling against the sink, the weight
of your mother's sadness, the bitter emptiness of your father's
goodbye on the phone, your last trace of
Suggested Collections
The title's just, you know... yeah
© 2007 - 2024 manchaliaina
Comments10
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
i cannot quite find the words to properly express (a problem i often run into when i try to speak w/out my poetry to hide behind) it is wonderfully written though i spose the counselor in training part of me is wondering wat the story behind this is.......