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erin-holston
erin-holston
Maine “The real war will never get in the books.” -Walt Whitman
They say that man is not immortal I beg to differ For it is the living that keeps man Forever Legacies and words stay longer than life And when passed down through time and minds alike That is immortality Man's own personal Immortality
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May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
Man Vs Immortality
There There is where it sits Something like a picture But pictures do not hurt Maybe like a fire Without the heat and light It casts a shadow but has no form It sings a beautiful song with no voice "Oh Darling", it whispers But it is not there The sound never reached the air But I heard it "I hear you" I call I'm shouting to nothing "That is good. It seems nowadays I am nowhere at all." "The others said I'm crazy." It laughs and sighs "They always will crush what they don't want to realize." "They said you are not here." More noise from nothing But the picture became brighter The flame grew like wildfire The shadow became larger The song was now louder The colors and sounds Swirled in my head A booming voice from the empty corner said I am alive and I am here Hope is what you see And hope is what you hear
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
HOPE
Books and stories promised me a lot more Than I ever got from you With every page turned, Another pledge was fed To my youthful tongue. You were supposed to decide If my prince charming Was really a prince Or charming at all. You were supposed to see past my mistakes And supply wisdom to surpass them. You were supposed to hold me so tight That I would be reminded Your heart, Is also mine. I was a child. I believed that you could do no wrong. But all you ever did was wrong. You marked me with your words Bruised me with your touch Made me believe that I, Was not worthy of your wisdom That you sat high on a golden throne, While I shined the steps, That rose you up higher. Strenuous years of wishing and waiting Finally amounted To a girl Becoming a women And realizing, Books and stories promised me a lot more But I could be a better writer
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May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
Books and Stories
We break things that have not been broken Because we believe that everything broken Goes back together Human beings are a thing of carelessness We throw things that shine up into the air Just to watch it linger and catch the sunlight Then in crashes and shatters Gracefully slicing our skin into perfect lines of symmetrical irresponsibility It's just enough pain to make us hurt Hurt enough to realize our mistakes But the scars aren't deep enough to remind us For the time to come Because one day the sun will be shining bright And we'll hold that pretty glass structure of Hope and happiness, Completion, complexity, Danger, dignity, Strength and solitude And we'll throw it up into the air Just to watch it shine Even when it shines just a bright in our own two hands
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May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Glass
I love you as much as the ocean loves the shore. I always come back, never expecting more. Driven by the moon, an everlasting routine. Thirsting for some form of serene. I'm only saying this because it's a force of nature. And I like to believe that you aren't that kind that would denature I'll believe anything to convince myself that I would never purposely do this. Something among this oceanic abyss.
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May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
Oceanic Abyss
We're all expected to be perfect in this imperfect world Perfection is shoved down our throats Into our lungs until all we can do is inhale it into the walls and then Breathe it out. Out into the atmosphere of insecurity and illusion For others to helplessly breathe in It encases our words Lacing them with a sort of silence that demands to be heard Like the dark you begin to see it Then at once it becomes your aphotic solitude You don't know how to turn the light back on You're forgetting what your skin looks like All you can do is rely on your touch to feel who you are and what you've become Words spoken into the black are what you react to Plainly following the sound like a child Hoping that words that taste as sweet as the rain Bring you back to the surface of yourself The self that others told you to hide away The self others told you was wrong In your darkness you find that you are also an ocean Dark and looming Absorbent of the sun Home to beautiful things that people fear Consistently lapping at the shore Hoping one day you'll get closer to the land you desire What you don't realize is that your darkness is others light Your ocean is where the land dwellers so desire You may be dark, you may be scary You may be imperfect But that doesn't mean you're alone
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
Imperfect
I never knew that a person Could be a prison. That their words would be bars, Trapping me inside of their indignation. I never knew that a person Could be a prison. At least, Not until I met you.
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May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Prisions
I was never meant to fall in love with you. Love lives in books, And on billboards. Love is loud. Love is unkind. You made love pick me up at my door, While being pulled by four white horses. You made love beautiful, And caring Tangled, but easily unraveled. Love was not something I was supposed to experience, At least, Not with you. You see, I am missing more pieces than I ever even started with, And it hurts to know that you would forever be Picking up after me, Carefully trying to put them back where they belong. As I gracefully dance off the cliff of cliche, I'm going to say to you, You're much too good for me. I was never meant to fall in love with you Love lives in books, And on billboards, And in you.
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
Books, Billboards, You
We write about things that hurt us Because scars last much longer Than the echo of laughter
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
Scars
I want to run. I want to see the dust hover between my feet and the earth as I glide over everything that matters in life. I want my hands to catch every star in the sky and re-paint them all over the mountains. I want the breeze to tie my hair in knots like grass dancing with its neighbors in a hurricane. The air I breath being fresh, rolling in my lungs like the tide. I will take the road less traveled by. I will dance in the darkness with the trees as my audience. The rustle of the leaves will be my music with no tune. I will watch the sun advance from the horizon and brighten the world, absorbing every bit of darkness. I want to take a leap of faith, but build my wings on the way down with whatever falls with me. I want to be lost, but found in myself. I want to wake up but still be in a dream. I want to be fearless. The monsters will never chase me again. Their shadows won’t lurk in on the sidelines. I will swim along the bottom of every lake, looking up at the sun dancing across the ripples of water. I will be the lion at the top of the mountain, the breeze blowing my mane in my eyes, I shall not fear. I am the king of the jungle. All because I want to run. I want to run, but where? Where is everything that I yearn for? I want to run so I will I will run with no directions no maps no worries I will run. Erin Holston---June 2014
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May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
The Will to Run