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Literature Text
A brown straw hat.
Pale blue eyes
And hands that
Wring when he cries
In his misery.
A rough-red beard.
Bone-bent nose
And hands that
Paint the sunflower
And the rose.
A patch of soil
A fixture of stone
The hands that
Praised the Lord alone
Lie buried, finished in their toil.
Pale blue eyes
And hands that
Wring when he cries
In his misery.
A rough-red beard.
Bone-bent nose
And hands that
Paint the sunflower
And the rose.
A patch of soil
A fixture of stone
The hands that
Praised the Lord alone
Lie buried, finished in their toil.
Literature
I Loved A Girl
I loved a girl – she smelled like August melancholy,
sweeter still,
she carried the scent of festival emotions,
tempered by the midnight flames
and fireflies' glow.
I loved a girl – her hair, the gentle hue of embers,
reflected dancing candlelight,
while in her eyes, as brown as mahogany,
I discovered tiny galaxies,
but most importantly – I saw my smile.
I loved a girl – I sensed her heartbeat,
playing to the rhythm of my breath.
Her every word,
imprinted tender cherry blossoms,
onto my soul.
I loved a girl – her lips tasted like morning air
cool against my heavy forehead,
her skin, softer than satin threads,
Literature
Remember That Girl?
Remember that girl, so innocent and sweet?
Who lived in a fantasy and believed in dreams?
That girl who would laugh and smile just for fun?
From monsters and terrors she never had to run?
That girl who let her imagination run free?
Unafraid to be all that she could be?
That girl that would never submit to the dark?
With so much spirit and so much heart?
That girl who would stand up for what was right?
Who was unafraid to live and enjoy her life?
That girl whose eyes were lovely and bright?
Who believed the only limit was the sky?
Well…
She's gone now and she's been replaced
That sweet little girl has be
Literature
I loved a girl.
i loved a girl.
i loved a girl with a love
for cummings & sandburg
& sexton.
i loved an unflinching
poet of a girl.
& with no better diction:
they called the shaking fists
at her sides, her silent act
of pacifism, cowardice.
i’m the coward;
she bled for the both of us.
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A small poem dedicated to Vincent Van Gogh.
© 2012 - 2024 TheLastIconoclast
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