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Zoe Grace 22h
To read is to breathe
To write is to drink
To listen is to eat and
To wonder is to believe
Literature is energy for the soul
I dip my index finger into a cold butterscotch pudding,
closing my eyes as i bring it to my warm lips and a burst of surprising flavors enter onto my taste buds.
Sweet, Caramel oh so creamy....this is why i love my pudding.
I love pudding.
Unread my buried poems
in worldly words of mouth
Unread the drops of water
from spilled ink on the ground

The breath of mouth
You unread when covered
with the dying roses
unread the doubts
unread the doubts
unread the doubts
of the mouth

Unread the walls of caves
from tongues of creepy lions
Unread the burning love
when falling on the clouds
In dusty foam unread
Unread the words of mouth
The builders let me visit here
free to roam the halls.
They’ve built some walls
and stairs
to upper floors with streaming light
and to a darkened basement.

I’m honored to be allowed here
to write words on the wood
to see pages posted that could
render me speechless if I let them.
But instead, these writings of pain
these revelations of shame
are like knives that pierce my heart
and I pour it out on the floor
and ceiling and dark corners
through the windows
into the night
into the light.

The builders nail their dreams
and desperation and beams
of hope, desire and grief
and lattice of love and belief
trying to do their part to complete
the work of this edifice rising
each day each hour
we builders immigrants
looking for home.
Dedicated to the poets here on this site, other fellow writers, and to my wonderful wife.
Cloud Giante Oct 15
It’s not so scary down here
Rock bottom has a queer feel
Pressures of a reality you deny
Become too obviously real
Eyes pierce the veil seeking light yet
You’re no longer the passive observer
Down here you’re forced to face yourself
Don’t look away lest you be the loser
Just writing my thoughts
Norman Crane Oct 7
remember when
we met between the lines
two pages
by a thread of time
Elena Mustafa Sep 30
As i sleep
I am on the cloud
Above the desert
As i read til midnight
The moon lights up my
And not sprays
Mist to cool me off
Elena Mustafa Sep 30
On cloud above
The desert
I rest and read a book
As the moon
Gently rains on
Me a mist
To cool me down
Ces Sep 27
I am a frozen brick
In this cold, dark room
Hunched and aching
As I flip the virtual pages
Of an e-book.

I am in full defiance of sleep
Waging a bitter war against somnolence
For just one more page.
Norman Crane Sep 21
Give a man a book,
He'll burn it for a day.
Give a man a typewriter:
His mind will burn forever.
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