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Jemariku menari di atas aksara.

Kemari sayang,
nanti malam aku akan ceritakan pertarungan antara Putri Cina dengan Amir Hamzah,
dan Pangeran Bulan yang tak pernah datang.

Tragedi Sampek yang menjelma kupu-kupu disusul kekasihnya.
memilih abadi dalam dunia baka,
ketimbang hidup 100 tahun bersama lara.
aku akan tutup dongeng malam dengan kisah kita yang abadi dalam dimensi khayal.

"Selamat malam."
Mary Frances Oct 2018
Understand and know me
not just by reading
the summary and the prologue.
Read all the chapters
until the last period
where I bared my heart.
We've been judged by other people but they haven't read everything. All they know are the things being passed on from one mouth to one ear. It would really help if they will take the time to read everything before they make judgments.
UA Aug 2018
Oh Summer Tree, oh Summer Tree
So many things you get to see
Oh Summer Tree, how big are thee
I wonder what you can tell me...

"thєrє íѕ ѕσmєthíng thαt í mαч hαvє

α ѕtσrч ѕєttlєd ín mч crσwn

  mαч thч ѕσul вє quєnchєd wíth thíѕ tαlє

ít'ѕ quítє thє ѕtσrч ѕσ prσfσund"

There used to be a boy quite sharp
He lived inside a place like ****
However, he'd not fall apart
That's something everyone could tell

Another boy afar away
Who lived inside a darkened land
He almost gave his life away
But light from kin had used their hand

The boy of **** was well quite known
A pretty one of rumors told
No one knew what he was in for
You would think someone's soul was sold

The darkened boy with eggshell skin
He lost all but his saddened mom
She melancholy from her grief
He was the one who reached the calm

The boy of **** had hellish kin
One from drug kings, one from fight queens
He saw it all when mother worked
Under the ground in ****** scenes

The mom of dark hated her son
The one who got to live a life
She left him for the streets and drugs
Still there, yet somehow out of sight

**** boy did hate his upbringing
He did not want to be like them
For school was his way to winning
No way he could live in that realm

This is where dark boy had lost it
And this is when he tried to fade
Light’s hand gave him a wake-up call
Granny, from the states **** boy stays

**** boy conquered a tough challenge
Till one of fire ignited
His mom and he was asked to leave
Dad’s greed came from what he sighted


"lєt mє tєll чσu thíѕ hєrє ríght nσw

чσu knσw thє ѕtσrч єndѕ nσt hєrє

thє tαlєѕ tσσ lσng, wє muѕt dívídє

wє ѕhσuld ѕkíp tσ nєw pαrtѕ tσ tєll"

Oh Summer Tree, oh Summer Tree,
Can you go on, please keep telling,
I want more, yes, your stories sear,
I wonder how did they get here,
We will move on, not here but there,
Part 1 will come when coasts are clear.
I wouldn't see the point in continuing this story if no one likes it. We'll see, but it's up to if anyone even sees this.
Lily Apr 2018
Everyone has a story, a reasoning behind
Their actions, their words, their thoughts.  
They have a prologue, which sets the scene,
That reveals important things if you bother to read it.  
Their first chapters are important,
Telling you the basic things about
Their personality and sense of self.  
Most people read these chapters,
But the further you get in someone else’s story,
More people lose interest, willing to keep the story,
To put the book on the shelf, but then
They forget about it. Or they just don’t care.  
The last chapters, which bring us to
The point that the person is in their life right now,
Are the ones that are the least read,
Except by those who are closest to them.  
If you truly care about someone, you will
Read their story from beginning to end,
Word for word, line for line.  
Yet there is danger in knowing a person’s story.  
Whilst reading someone’s story, you could
Fall in love, like a soft breeze on a warm day that
You hardly notice, but when you stop and
Think about it, was there all along,
And you should never have taken it for granted.  
When that happens, embark on a new adventure,
Creating a new story with them,
Starting with the prologue and not ending until you
Type the final letter.  
Because no one likes an unfinished story.
Sky Yang Apr 2018
turned 25 and thought
gotta go back,
high-time for home

(home-time for High)

took the bus, route 31
to the
moral-less high-ground

(text my sister)

"no ID, aware, i'm going"  

look up. and
here we are again, big city
New City  
south-side, home despots
licking baby bottle pop
soda-can sidewalks

little brown brother
drinking Fanta with friends
smoking hot-***
at Chang's
like apostolic gang
(gang gang)
High's homecoming
(southside Chicago)

inspired by NCT's new song "Yestoday"
go see English lyrics vid
it's lit
Mark's verse
Dian Eka Mar 2018
To Kiss a Picture of You in Mind
To Have a Dialogue Turns Into Monologue
It is All in My Prologue Scenery
Before Bedtime
The Epilogue Says
"Distance, my Dear....."
Lights sputter,
Ringing in your ears,
Held tight in hope's embrace.

Tears pour,
Muffled screaming,
Everything you knew is gone.

Ground is shaking,
Dust in your fingernails,
Blood on your arms,
Curled up, you pray this isn't real.

A bright flash.

What happened?

~Robert van Lingen

A poetic prologue to One Year,
a short novel by Robert van Lingen
A poetic prologue to One Year,
a short novel by Robert van Lingen
Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
Stepping through
come along
with the light
spring paintings.

Time slips by
with the vivid
saturated films.

The void you left
was filled
with the best
sad stories.

Your being
Is art.
this is the context of Un-Muse. a prologue that came to me as an epilogue, i guess life isn’t always linear.
Bryan Oct 2017
To those of you who know me,
You know me not at all.
To those of you who don't:
These are my beacons in the fog.
These words have been my anchor.
They've been there to break my falls.
I've illustrated my escapes
From within these empty walls.
On these pages are the prices
That I've paid for life's surprises.
I've lain waste to pens revising,
Re-copying, refining.

Not all of it is exciting,
Nor sad, or uninviting,
But I gain pleasure from these words,
And from the simple act of writing.

And so for this I'm pleading,
And maybe even needing:
Take pleasure from these words,
And the simple act of reading.
B Irwin Aug 2016
This is a very shortened version of the book introduction (my first oh geez) that I am working on. It's a concept collection based on the moments and people in our life that we often forget or overlook, though these moments create large impact on ourselves as people. We often find ourselves passing hundreds of people who's lives we will never touch. The strangers that allow us in for a short period of time are the people that touch our lives in unimaginable ways.

Do you remember the stranger who you fell in love with on the plane? How your entire life was built in seconds, painted with only the colors in the eyes of a beautiful stranger?
Do you remember the man on the plane that told you everything and listened while your dreams unfurled, so far away from the world that you truly believed in them?
I have always found memory funny. I find the faces of people in the bottoms of bottles or the bass line of an old song. We often forget that their are people who we love so temporarily that we only see flashes of them when our lives are the most human. When we are sitting in a nostalgic playground, or we lay in the dark, believing we can stare at the stars forever.

We are often wrapped up in the idea of someone loving us eternally. Humans are obsessed with the idea of people holding us for the rest of our lives because it is scary to think somebody cannot contain our chaos for more than several minutes. People often overlook the instances in life that are filled with emotion from a stranger.
Our lives are collections.
Collections of so many words that we’ve forgotten and people who’s faces we can’t recall anymore because we’ve only known them briefly. We are all just instances that have led to the person you are today. I hope you have remembered all of the wonderful strangers that have created you. If you don’t, write them down. Keep a collection of the people that you have loved with your all in just a simple moment. Write out your memories and hold them dearly.
These are my strangers.
Maybe it was you. Maybe, to you, I was them. Here’s to you, here's to us, here’s to all the strangers I have ever loved.
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