We are Laura, Will and Larry.
We are willfully illiterate.
We are leery of reading.
We literally won't willingly learn to read literature.

Well, if law required we read, would we refuse?

Alright, whatever.
We won't really worry, will we?

Someone told me once
To think of something constant
When it got too much
To look at the moon
And marvel at its permanence
Yet, if you could leave
Falling so far out of my sky
I know nothing is constant
If not you,
Then not even the moon.

In our foreplay,
Which is currently just a wordplay,
The punctuation can be ignored.

I gazed at her, the warrior woman,
standing on the hill
where crum'bling stones of castles made their home.
Her form against the solemn sky stood noble, tall and fierce;
tenacity bespake her ev'ry stride.

The clouds before her only served
to frame her fairer still;
through richly dark, they parted just enough
to filter drops of sunlight to where she stood like the moon;
an argent gleam shone in her mane and eyes.

I frowned at her from where I hunched,
longed for her iron will,
clawed my lackluster hair and tore my heart.
The flat grey fog above the hole where I shrank in the dust
had only seen me cower, curse, and cry.

As we prepared to march again
I struggled up the hill
in hopes that I could find what grace she knew.
I didn't know she was still there, her back against a rock;
I caught her eye and realized

she had been crying too.

LISTENING TO WHAT'S...NOT THERE!

I always listened to
the dud notes

the mute notes that went
doh instead of do

as the music stumbled
but recovered just in

time to be
embarrassed with

the piano going all shy
at having let out

a no noise note.

I watched fascinated
as the key was depressed

and an awkward silence
tried to catch up with

the rest of its
brother notes.

Soon they were
the only notes

I listened to
as I

strung them
together in my mind

a musical necklace
of a silence

like snow
falling

as the dark caught up
with the light

and turned it
into the night

before Christmas
Eve's

eve.