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Literature Text
Words are not important,
for words can always lie.
But the silence speaks in volumes,
it screams and I know why!
The truth is in the space between,
our words and silence--unseen.
We do not say what we (really) mean,
but we mean what we (really) say;
just in another way.
And we tell ourselves it's ok…well, maybe just for today.
The truth we can't admit, we think is better left unspoken.
Reality won't permit (while wrapped in our gaudy lie),
the thing we must deny,
yet still are sadly hoping.
The unspoken truth is the lie (this is where we begin to die).
But why do we deny,
What we know is real?
And what we feel?
The Words of Silence are cold-blooded killers.
They take you from the inside out.
And you shout,
and you shout,
and you shout.
Words are not important, for words can surely lie.
But silence speaks in volumes, which one cannot deny.
The truth is in the space between our silence and our words.
And cannot bear be spoken as lies.
And so it dies
...and so it dies.
It cannot fit in the spaces that are in between our lives.
for words can always lie.
But the silence speaks in volumes,
it screams and I know why!
The truth is in the space between,
our words and silence--unseen.
We do not say what we (really) mean,
but we mean what we (really) say;
just in another way.
And we tell ourselves it's ok…well, maybe just for today.
The truth we can't admit, we think is better left unspoken.
Reality won't permit (while wrapped in our gaudy lie),
the thing we must deny,
yet still are sadly hoping.
The unspoken truth is the lie (this is where we begin to die).
But why do we deny,
What we know is real?
And what we feel?
The Words of Silence are cold-blooded killers.
They take you from the inside out.
And you shout,
and you shout,
and you shout.
Words are not important, for words can surely lie.
But silence speaks in volumes, which one cannot deny.
The truth is in the space between our silence and our words.
And cannot bear be spoken as lies.
And so it dies
...and so it dies.
It cannot fit in the spaces that are in between our lives.
Literature
The Writer
They said she wouldn't stop, they said the pen had been taken from her hand, that the keyboard had been concealed from her sight, but still, she found the means to write. Her ragged clothes barely had defined colours, her hair had turned lifeless, her lips were chapped and white as her skin, but her eyes, they were eager, longing for something, the brightness in them could fill anybody's heart of hope. That was all what was left of her
hope.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
It was sudden, they say
when she began writing, time after her girl was gone. Back then, before the girl left, no tears would swarm down
Literature
destructive criticism
i love the movies that you find terrible,
and love the books that you find dull.
i love the singers you think are corny
and you hate the songs that speak to my soul.
i love the poets you find too romantic,
and love the shows you find hard to follow.
i love the teachers you think are too stupid,
and you laugh at the insults i find hard to swallow.
i'm in love with a girl you think tries too hard,
and you're happy with being alone.
i love that Disney still makes me cry,
and you love humor that i have outgrown.
you critique my life like it was your own;
say me and my siblings are fighting too much,
say my house holds one too many c
Literature
When Winter Cries
Sometimes,
I lie awake in the darkness,
springs poking my spine,
listening to the snow melt,
and drip to the frozen,
cold ground.
I think about going outside,
standing barefoot in the cold,
wishing for frost-bite...
wishing for something else.
I spend too much time wishing,
hoping,
thinking,
but never praying.
I don't have time for prayer.
...but,
then again,
I don't have time for the rest,
do I?
In truth,
though,
when thinking these thoughts,
I remember how much I hate the cold,
and how much I hate this place,
and what I wouldn't give to be far,
far away with someone I could love.
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This one seems to be misunderstood a lot for some reason. I personally think it's one of my best.
© 2010 - 2024 Questingpoet
Comments50
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Wow. It's very... big is a word I would use to describe it. Big and important, and powerful, though I am not sure how I can explain why I would use those words.
Although I disagree with the "words are not important", I do agree that silence is powerful. So, congrats on making such a hard to describe poem.
Although I disagree with the "words are not important", I do agree that silence is powerful. So, congrats on making such a hard to describe poem.