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Literature Text
I lost him
in the ruins of his lungs.
Everyday
I go out of myself
looking for him
in the mirror
& autumn eyes
filled with dirt water
is the only resemblance
I struggled
to paint his face
with
Dear grandfather,
I go out looking
for you everyday in the cemetery
hoping your soul
could knock at my eyelids.
I lost everything
in the ruins of your lungs
but your hands
are the only things
I yearn for.
Literature
I do not like you poets
I do not like you poets
breathing into my sorry head
like the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million times
folding up my lungs
to place them neatly into a wastebasket
how can you make me stop hurting
& then just leave me
a limp lettuce leaf
on the backside of some dirty napkin verse
I am not the jealous type
but I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's been
send her drunk texts
all night
because I'm too tired of filling up my skull
with cicada skins instead of led
while you make it all too easy
to sleep through a heartattack or two
my pygmalion, my god, my thing of legends
tell me
when you were being taught the siren's son
Literature
Dear Wartime Widow
Dear Wartime Widow;
You don't know me. Well, you do; I was your neighbour, we lived beside each other for two years and I watched your huskies while you were on duty in Afghanistan. I spoke with your husband daily and gave treats through the fence and cried a little when I woke up one morning and saw your eldest dog had passed away, the others huddled close to it as if to keep him warm. Your husband, he had the same name as my daughter and we chuckled whenever this not-so-strange occurrence came up in conversation and his hair was red like fire.
I used to watch him, a Goliath of a man, digging the garden in your backyard, rebuilding the fen
Literature
Grandfather
I recall,
He was white.
But, not the
--"controversial at political dinner parties" and "this racist comment will cost him the election kind"--
Stark, snowy, riveting white.
His hair was always victim to the static that came from
resting against
the mountain of pillows that topped off his hospital bed.
He always lay there,
a beacon in the middle of the dark, mudd brown, living room.
I suppose it was hell to live the last of his life there,
but at six, I thought he was God,
living on a cloud that was Heaven.
I remember his warm hands, their blue lines, and their wrinkles,
the way his smile never met his eyes--
and his eyes said he
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Dec. 02, 2013. (Holy shit it's December 0_0)
Uhm...what to say xD
My grandfather died when I was two and up until this day I really miss him. Well, he accompanied my mom and my dad when we were dead homeless and I wouldn't be alive without him. I want him to be more than a faint memory, I want him to be real even though I can't because he's the reason my parents survived that critical year and I just want to thank him.
He died of lung cancer which is why I dread smoking above anything. I hate it when my mom or dad smokes because I see him dying even though I wasn't there as a witness. I'm a very sentimental person, okay? :/
DLD for December 18, 2013 Daily Lit Deviations for December 18th, 2013
SeaPlume's (Very Late) Poetry Screams Winners!
LadyLincoln's November Cancer Journal (read this. it's so touching).
DLD for December 18, 2013 Daily Lit Deviations for December 18th, 2013
SeaPlume's (Very Late) Poetry Screams Winners!
LadyLincoln's November Cancer Journal (read this. it's so touching).
© 2013 - 2024 brokengod--veins
Comments22
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My condolences. I'm open to talk if you need somebody to lend an ear.