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Literature Text
my soul song is the
tea kettles whistle
it expells steam like spirits
and we all wish
we could banish our demons
so easily
these walls are held up
by kind ghosts and curious ghosts
they make a house a home
if you let them
why do you think
the sight of a newly vacant lot
is more sorrowful than
the childrens vacant eyes?
we all carry water vapor inside us,
things that tie us down
to this concrete ground
but we are not tea kettles
and my lips
cannot form the whistle-notes
to expel ghosts
so i carry them
we carry them
tea kettles whistle
it expells steam like spirits
and we all wish
we could banish our demons
so easily
these walls are held up
by kind ghosts and curious ghosts
they make a house a home
if you let them
why do you think
the sight of a newly vacant lot
is more sorrowful than
the childrens vacant eyes?
we all carry water vapor inside us,
things that tie us down
to this concrete ground
but we are not tea kettles
and my lips
cannot form the whistle-notes
to expel ghosts
so i carry them
we carry them
Literature
Calm on the Outside
She's hurting,
She's breaking,
She's crying inside.
She's yelling,
She's screaming,
And hiding her eyes.
Yeah you wont,
hear a thing,
It's a-ll inside.
The hurting,
the screaming,
Her smile's a lie.
She stares out,
The window,
And wishes to die.
Or maybe,
When she'll jump,
She'll finally fly.
You cannot,
See her face,
She's hiding it all,
So you wont,
Yeah you wont,
See her fall...
Calm on the Oustside, written by Emma Thrussell, 27/11/12
Literature
I'm fine.
"I'm fine"I see the words on my screen
Reads the words you're willing to share.
But like an iceberg's true form is hidden
You words mean not what they seem
Each time I can see these words
I want to reach out to you
Let my hands travel through the screen
With the speed of light to you
Just so they could hold you
Just so they could catch your tears
Just so they could embrace you
Letting you know you're not alone.
Alas, here I sit and can only stare
At the words appearing on my screen
All I can do is to read and to reply
with three simple letters:
H-u-g
Literature
Poetry,
Poetry,
it’s like cultivating a greenhouse
with broken fingers.
-dp
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