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Literature Text
Who understands my yearning for winter,
In this land of heat and sun?
The sultry weather has conceived
An agony similar to drowning-
Overwhelming during summer's peak.
An ache grew for the bitter-sweet
Bite of frigid cold, where the
sun's heated gaze could not warm.
On tepid evenings, I languished
Over old memories of snowy nights-
So painfully quiet that each flake
Sounded like a pin dropping.
Cold, but pleasantly so- under
The bundle of quilted jackets, the
Chill could not penetrate.
New snowfall twinkled so sweetly
Under the glow of ancient streetlamps,
Leaving an impression forever
treasured with a deep anguish.
In this land of heat and sun?
The sultry weather has conceived
An agony similar to drowning-
Overwhelming during summer's peak.
An ache grew for the bitter-sweet
Bite of frigid cold, where the
sun's heated gaze could not warm.
On tepid evenings, I languished
Over old memories of snowy nights-
So painfully quiet that each flake
Sounded like a pin dropping.
Cold, but pleasantly so- under
The bundle of quilted jackets, the
Chill could not penetrate.
New snowfall twinkled so sweetly
Under the glow of ancient streetlamps,
Leaving an impression forever
treasured with a deep anguish.
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Literature
an acrostic
an acrostic and so, another late august and i hear a calling: so again, our slim measure of day dies. methodic rhythms, clockworks call out to the dark - sooner oh, sooner. leaves have turned already, i say aloud. an echo sing-songs bleakly, they just don't know it yet - time flies too quickly, more so with age. and i wish i could slow it i write an acrostic. and i cry some - so cathartic MaggotsX @ 08.30.2023
Literature
on the last day (day 265)
there’s a price for seeking more learned that the day I arrived thought it one I’d paid before with the part of me that died but that wasn’t quite the score not how debts are satisfied becoming part of the lore day 265 on the last day of spilled ink when this tab’s all but come due each a part, a missing link to these days I’ve suffered through do I still stand on this brink do I take the written cue on the last day of spilled ink when this tab’s all but come due on the last day of this verse when the bardo’s path is run each part that I have rehearsed will be reduced to just one will I find means to reverse what it is I have become on the last day of this verse when the bardo’s path is run there’s a price for questions asked learned that the day I arrived thought it was paid in the past but its costs were still applied to the overarching task these days I’ve tried to survive could it be this is the last day 265 on the last day of spilled ink as I
Literature
Stream
Through the falling leaves And under the golden boughs Flows the cleansing stream
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I never thought I'd miss the snow so much!
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