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Literature Text
The machines had long since gone quiet. Silent corroding, crumbling sentinels whose fervent labors for man had mercifully ceased, standing guard over a distant past of convulsive, divisive change. Electricity, fossil fuels, nuclear energy, corporations and governments with their self serving pressures, stresses, meaningless efforts and way of life all lie unceremoniously buried there with them.
Mankind historically romanticized their past, spending ludicrous amounts of precious time and dwindling resources in the fruitless effort to uncover and learn from those long dead, failed civilizations.
Blinded by the lust for fame and notoriety they easily missed the point.
Yet the answer was there all along, right in front of their faces. The ancestors had left behind one truth that no amount of dust could bury.
The great lesson screaming out from all the chaos and rubble,
"our children, this is what NOT to do".......
Mankind historically romanticized their past, spending ludicrous amounts of precious time and dwindling resources in the fruitless effort to uncover and learn from those long dead, failed civilizations.
Blinded by the lust for fame and notoriety they easily missed the point.
Yet the answer was there all along, right in front of their faces. The ancestors had left behind one truth that no amount of dust could bury.
The great lesson screaming out from all the chaos and rubble,
"our children, this is what NOT to do".......
Literature
cladach eachtrach
Our shadows were children
the horizon a nightlight,
my skin Vodka white
in the womb
of the Atlantic,
bioluminescence
like sparks
conducting electricity
strip wire symphony,
naked limbs paired and
easily divided
in the remainder
wading
between constants;
prenatal combination,
the tide rolling in contractions,
and like ships to harbor
it bore us to shore.
Literature
and even so, you stayed
I taste rain on your lips
and I know you’ve been
writing poetry again.
I breathe into the touch
of your fingers
cascading in a soft scale
down the cage of bones
around my heartbeat.
you kiss me
knowing
the colors that drift
in my mind
like water beneath
all the bridges that were
burned for me
and you stay.
Literature
scattered
We leave pieces of ourselves in the corners
Of bookshelves, stuck between the pages
And in the hand painted wooden bowl
Collecting dust and spare change.
My fingers grazed a fragment
When I saw a photograph of you today
And my lungs caught on the memory
Of the first words you said to me
Lingering like a ghost breath
In the soft curve of my earlobe.
(“Hi, mind if I ask you
Some questions?”)
I hid inside the rain to drown out
The sound. The wet grass stuck to my toes
And the droplets rolled down
Over the shirt that my mom told me
Makes me look like I’ve got a chip on my shoulder.
(She thought her rebel was a princess
Bu
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