ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Trees are crying leaves of brown,
and the winds caress them,
hum to them.
Its touch is warming, like a breath of sun,
and it's voice is soft, tender as a
strum of the harp.
But the wailing continues,
and the sky responds by
adding its own voice, own tears.
And the rain is cold, cold.
Numbers dwindling,
trees gather to mourn.
Oak, Willow, Elm,
it all matters not.
For when volcanoes erupt,
their pride is forgot.
Their children play at war,
tell them they are "sorry,"
beg for their forgiveness,
and go back for more…
But trees are strong,
and the world is huge,
and the world is huge,
while the babes are seedlings,
just sprouting forth,
and Mother would be happy
just to see them live.
and the winds caress them,
hum to them.
Its touch is warming, like a breath of sun,
and it's voice is soft, tender as a
strum of the harp.
But the wailing continues,
and the sky responds by
adding its own voice, own tears.
And the rain is cold, cold.
Numbers dwindling,
trees gather to mourn.
Oak, Willow, Elm,
it all matters not.
For when volcanoes erupt,
their pride is forgot.
Their children play at war,
tell them they are "sorry,"
beg for their forgiveness,
and go back for more…
But trees are strong,
and the world is huge,
and the world is huge,
while the babes are seedlings,
just sprouting forth,
and Mother would be happy
just to see them live.
Literature
Against Nature
"Mommy!" The call shatters the peace I fumble to carry like a bell in an abandoned cathedral. I can't stop myself from looking for the little girl whose voice pierces my heart.
I can't find her. The park is full of children - too full. Shrieks bleed with laughter, buried under the heavy pounding near my temples. Children push against me, protesting as I rush by. Heads raise as nearby adults track me with wary eyes. They see a frantic parent searching for her child, but no amount of sympathy inspires them to do more. The sharp tang of fear burns; no matter how quick I am or how many times I search the colorful maze of jungle
Literature
How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
Literature
Sorrowbird
I watched him flap helplessly between the teeth of a barbwire fence, screeching for help.
"Papa, look Papa! A boy!"
My papa stood dazed for a moment, dust billowing at his legs, his eyes teetering along the field. It wasn't until later that evening he told me he hadn't understood what I had seen. What he had seen.
With grass tickling the backsides of my legs, I bounded toward the boy, "What are you doing? Are you okay?"
As I approached him, I felt his skittish eyes rake across my every movement. With his ten-year-old arms slung inside the gaping maw of a fence and darkened feathers pasted along the creases of his face; he looked squarely
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
This is the longest poem I've ever written. I'll need to edit a lot,
but for now, I hope you enjoy.
but for now, I hope you enjoy.
© 2012 - 2024 Swiss-Dilettante
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In