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Literature Text
I thought I saw each day flow by,
from final rest to birthing cry:
the total sum of deeds undone
are bleached beneath the blazing sun
and offered up to passers-by.
The crows will claw, the seagulls cry,
the terns will carry tidbits high,
the pterodactyls catch and run—
I thought I saw.
But vivisect or vivify,
the price will never be as high
as back when I had purchased one
brand-new, and clearly underdone;
to Zeus in gratitude, I'll testify:
"I thought I saw."
from final rest to birthing cry:
the total sum of deeds undone
are bleached beneath the blazing sun
and offered up to passers-by.
The crows will claw, the seagulls cry,
the terns will carry tidbits high,
the pterodactyls catch and run—
I thought I saw.
But vivisect or vivify,
the price will never be as high
as back when I had purchased one
brand-new, and clearly underdone;
to Zeus in gratitude, I'll testify:
"I thought I saw."
Literature
Hate
I hate
I hate well
I hate feverishly
I am the churning acid in your stomach
I am the blood pounding in your head
I am the white-knuckled fist clenching to strike
I am the red haze dimming your eyes
and clouding your mind
I am the rage that lashes out at the weak
the small and defenseless
justified by tears and fueled by alcohol
I hate passionately
I am the shaking in your hands
and grinding teeth
nails digging into your palms
I am everything you hate
boiling to the surface in a froth of
bile
blood
and excrement
I am the indiscriminate spray of bullets
at the school
church
nightclub
I am the madman raving on the news
heaping blame
Literature
Rosebush
If I were to tell you,
"Life is not a bed of roses."
Would you still continue
To pull the weeds from beneath the rows?
If I said,
"There are some wounds that cannot heal."
Would you still reach between the brambles
And allow the thorns to pierce your skin?
Were I to mention,
"Even the brightest of flowers
Will eventually succumb to time."
Would you still cut the heads
In preparation for the new spring buds?
You simply smile and say;
"Yes.
For even the most vapid vine deserves to be cultivated.
Only then can it bloom
And truly enjoy its time in the sun."
Literature
nothing good happens drunk
I swayed into the kitchen. I might still be drunk, I thought sourly.
Awkwardly bending my knees, I scanned the bottom shelf of the fridge. What should you eat for a hangover? I recalled some article from Pinterest and grabbed the almost empty container of yogurt.
I found a pack of pecans and tossed some into a tiny sandwich bag. I proceeded to crush the nuts with the blunt end of a vodka bottle. Crushed pecan nuts will absorb the alcohol in my stomach, right? I thought back to my drunken stupor at the bar and cringed.
The door swung open and she walked to the sink, water bottle in hand. “I feel like complete shit,” I said. She
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a·poth·e·o·sis n. 1) The act of deification. 2) The high point or climax. 3) The epitome or best example.
Originally inspired by a timed prompt in the #CRLiterature chatroom; reworked into something a bit larger in scope.
Yes, this is a rondeau. The extra foot in the penultimate line is deliberate: it's a modified alexandrine, and its inclusion has been my small contribution to the form.
Originally inspired by a timed prompt in the #CRLiterature chatroom; reworked into something a bit larger in scope.
Yes, this is a rondeau. The extra foot in the penultimate line is deliberate: it's a modified alexandrine, and its inclusion has been my small contribution to the form.
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Comments19
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I'm loving the rhythm in this. Gorgeous work!