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Literature Text
Soft eyes
Gentle eyes
The only part that are human
Out of place
Lost in a face
Composed of unjaded hatred
They betray you
And expose you
Let me know your real
Its hard to believe
When everything I see
Is hard and cold and evil
The way you look
The way you act
You love to be despised
Its all you get
I'm surprised yet
That you have such beautiful eyes
The eyes of someone
Who's been through a lot
Who's made it through the fire
You're the fire now
You're vicious and proud
But you'll always have soft gentle eyes
Gentle eyes
The only part that are human
Out of place
Lost in a face
Composed of unjaded hatred
They betray you
And expose you
Let me know your real
Its hard to believe
When everything I see
Is hard and cold and evil
The way you look
The way you act
You love to be despised
Its all you get
I'm surprised yet
That you have such beautiful eyes
The eyes of someone
Who's been through a lot
Who's made it through the fire
You're the fire now
You're vicious and proud
But you'll always have soft gentle eyes
Literature
The Smallest Things
I didn't know how To see the beauty in life Until the first time I held your hand. The sun dipped below the horizon Painting our little world a rosy pink. We've grown so much since then. Your touch still makes me just as red As the first time And you taught me how to love The smallest things.
Literature
in the box
is a brain, removed from shell
disconnected
from signal wires. still viable (?)
maybe.
blue teeth and instant grams
and gallons of conceit;
our granular portrait no longer flatters
unless dull spots and imperfections are rendered
out in the wash--
we mask and filter, ask and answer,
bask in banter
understanding no one ever even thinks
to change the thought they've already had.
old news, rotten
if revisited. inquisitive
minds have nothing better to do
but second guess assumptions,
better than first-blush conundrums
that don't fit the formula we've written
for how the world works;
it's absurd to think
this is where our
Literature
Stargazing
The moon was full tonight. It sent an otherworldly glow throughout the woods, gently illuminating the foliage that surrounded me. The horizon still had a hint of a soft purple glow, as the sun had just set. Dusk was my favorite time of day, and now night was upon me. Recently, I had taken to night walks in the forest. It was the perfect remedy to a long stressful day. The trees never demanded anything of me. They just lushly bordered the sky as I picked my way along the path. I guess there really was no path, but I knew these woods pretty well, even in the dark. I was pretty far away from town, which was exactly what I wanted. Crickets sang
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I wrote this a while back when I saw a picture that gave me this inspiration. The inspiration is embarrassing... but I like the poem regardless.
© 2011 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
Comments4
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Ahahahaha, that artist's comment is quite cute - now why would it be embarrassing? We are all driven and inspired by such different things! The darker structure of the poem, though, does make me wonder - it must be terribly fascinating! It must have been alluring, to look so cold but feel so beautiful.