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Literature Text
Black as night
And white as day,
The raven and the dove.
Both symbolizing
The trueness of
The young girl's first love.
His hair would flow
And his words would sweep
With voice she'd never heard.
With grace and beauty
And shimmering peace
Of that gleaming bird.
His eyes would pierce
And his thoughts would kill,
But she could not, would not hear.
If only she could feel,
Then she would have known
That he's the one to fear.
She did not listen
To her brain and
Instead to her heart,
The foolish thing that
Didn’t know what's right.
They could not be apart
That is it then.
Her time is done;
The girl is no more.
Her life had ended
With a single shot
From the one she did adore.
And white as day,
The raven and the dove.
Both symbolizing
The trueness of
The young girl's first love.
His hair would flow
And his words would sweep
With voice she'd never heard.
With grace and beauty
And shimmering peace
Of that gleaming bird.
His eyes would pierce
And his thoughts would kill,
But she could not, would not hear.
If only she could feel,
Then she would have known
That he's the one to fear.
She did not listen
To her brain and
Instead to her heart,
The foolish thing that
Didn’t know what's right.
They could not be apart
That is it then.
Her time is done;
The girl is no more.
Her life had ended
With a single shot
From the one she did adore.
Literature
Euphrosyne
dawn.
legs splash from milky sheets.
she rises from the bed like a wave
and crests, just before bare feet touch wood
and fog crawls across the mirror.
midmorning.
footsteps leave damp prints on the floor.
she sings in muted tendrils that float through
hollow rooms.
the sun dries her hair with copper fingers.
noon.
the shadows bunch beneath her feet
and she tosses them across the sky-
painting clouds over the staring sun.
mile-long legs stretch across the world
and she
makes love to the hand-me-down earth.
afternoon.
her quickened breath becomes the wind
and sails ships across the seven seas.
dusk.
when the sun grows w
Literature
Glass
I always laugh when you refer to me as glass.
Not just because of the way you say it,
(glass-as-in-gas).
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.
Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.
Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.
Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.
Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.
I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.
No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite
Literature
plumbum
she has a heart of gold
and she, a heart of lead
and she, a heart of uranium.
and they go walking sometimes, the three of them.
gold is confident in her worth,
untarnishable
bought and sold and bought and sold
the virgin whore
and lead behind,
heart heavy in her chest
guilt from bullets
and pride from pipes
and anxiety from irreparable brain damage
and somewhere off to the side treads uranium,
tumors growing,
white skin glowing,
thin frame for a dense core.
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Written my sophomore year of high school in the middle of the night. The first verse came to me and the rest wrote itself.
Quite sad, but very powerful. Do not trust your heart completely; it can be led astray.
Poetry © Colette Adatto
Quite sad, but very powerful. Do not trust your heart completely; it can be led astray.
Poetry © Colette Adatto
© 2012 - 2024 cg-adatto
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