Until Eternity's End. by GrubbsWriting, literature
Literature
Until Eternity's End.
You before me, angelic, this vision.
Why do dark tears fall
from those brown eyes, so beautiful?
Why does your face shy from my eyes,
and shroud itself with the hair,
through which I run my fingers?
For what reason, to what cause,
do your limbs tremble in my absence,
and discover tensity in my presence?
Good God, use your lips,
before mine reach them,
as your silence gives consent.
Speak the mind which fascinates my ears,
Spill out the heart that grips tight to my soul.
Bare the soul that mine is forever meant for.
I wish to love you more than you could comprehend,
and purge every trace of affliction...
Bare the soul that mi
Perfection.
She lodges her fingers down her throat.
Clasping onto the wall as she recklessly chokes.
She reinserts her fingers back in forcibly.
Deliriously trying to make her body thinner.
She swoons and slumps to the floor nauseously
As she attempts to regurgitate her dinner.
Her throat aches as she screeches out coarsely,
With her hand covering the image in the mirror.
Her head now rests on the on the rim of the toilet seat.
She wants to eat but she just has not got in her.
She desperately begins to scream out inaudibly.
Her mouth now tastes of something pulpy and bitter.
She examines the red color of the fluid cautiously.
Re
You're a selfish little girl,
I'm sorry that's the truth,
Because with each tear you shed,
The more rotten you see your youth.
You never grew up,
I'm sorry to say,
Because here you are,
Lying to each day.
You should have learned,
I must show you now,
That with a vow to be a friend,
It is you who must bow.
You need to know now,
That it is not your friends who live for you,
You selfish little girl,
It's you who live for your friends,
Because without them you'd be dead.
Why do the wounded favor their wounds,
And the healed preach of wonder?
Why do stinging eyes fill with tears,
When all they want is slumber?
Why does illness fester with infection,
When it just wants a home?
Why do mothers fight in protection,
If their child will live alone?
Why does man destroy the Earth,
When he wants to live happy?
And why does the parasite cling to it's host,
Just to die from it's insanity?
Who am I?
Am I the smile on my face,
The one who fakes my grace?
Who am I?
Am I the pain I try to hide,
Or is this pain who I am inside?
Who am I?
The silent one with no hope,
Or the hopeful one with no silence?
Who am I?
Just a body of flesh and blood,
Or is there a soul living in this mud?
Who am I?
Can I be who I want,
And be there for my friends?
I think not.
Who am I?
I'm who you want me to be,
At least, for now.
The Bullied.
He never enjoyed going to school.
He used to bunk whenever he had the chance.
Although he was not one for breaking the rules.
He refused to submit to their ignorant demands.
He told his teachers about his problems.
How he got bullied every lunch and break time.
They said they would find a rapid way to solve them.
Somehow his confessions filtered through the grape vine.
The bullying became more intense and extreme.
He began wearing long sleeved t-shirts to hide the marks.
He knew his parents would only label him as a troubled teen.
But he yearned for their understanding and supportive remarks.
Eventually he tried tal
Art.
Imagine...
The world is your canvas.
Society is your paint brush.
The people are your choice of colours.
What kind of picture would you paint?
How would it differ from the image that is currently on show?
Would you go mad and rid yourself from all forms of restraint?
Just how far down the rabbit hole are you willing to go?
I ask because every portrait I create,
Is inspired by what is already in front of me.
So is it possible to even recreate,
Anything that the mind is not able to see.
The picture will always be the same
Because this life is all we know.
Where there is compassion there must be pain
Because it us who made
Lost, or Have we Won? by Dragon-Demygod, literature
Literature
Lost, or Have we Won?
Disfigured faces of my peers,
Their blood will rain like angel's tears.
With a heart heavy as bricks of lead,
I led them to their eternal beds.
This is war we have at hand,
But our blood will never leave the sand,
For the war we fight shall not be won,
By any side, or any gun.
Still we fight, but not for pride,
We die in battle, or we die alive.
Hold up your head as it's cut off,
Or what you bleed will be lost in mud.
the grief of the storm by TJBroadhurst, literature
Literature
the grief of the storm
You feel the grief of the storm,
When the rain fell in,
On the weathered stones,
On the buried bones,
And the woman's feral kin,
You found peace
In the ocean
But to the waves you're just another
Sunken ship,
Caught on its westward trip
To discover-
Feel it sink
In suspension
Slowly falling in the murky grey,
Panic starts to play,
With your heavens-
Feel it pull,
Feel it swallow,
Smell the salt,
Hear it bellow,
Feel the sunlight pull you back,
Break the surface skin,
Feel the pain let in
Your heart-
Stand at the edge of the cliff,
Your precipice,
A man can fall or fly,
The purple sky,
But to know a man must leap-