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Literature Text
The open road is a daunting passage
,
as much as the one tunneling inwards .
It allows us room for every painful challenge ,
when they concern the echo of hesitant words.
The walking wounded drift beside desolate highways ,
mouthing the silent prayers of what the ravaged say .
Their absent shadows proof sunlight tends to betray;
they survive by their wits and the moonlight’s sway.
They need a purpose,
they want their innocence returned .
They want a reason,
they need for love to be reaffirmed.
But their shame binds them ,
so they’re mentally insolvent .
When made to pay the price ,
for their history’s involvement.
The open road is a scary dream sequence,
as much as the one that's suffocating inside .
It forces us to face the fact we must grapple with,
doing what is needed just to chip away at our pride.
The stagnant wounded exist in a state of suspended animation,
The humbling spiral within damnation, mouths a trembling oh
The very silhouette of what Fear drowns and what Fate throws
They want a purpose,
they need their light sustained.
They need a reason,
they want their fright contained.
But their shame blinds them ,
so they’re woefully unskilled .
When it comes to choosing,
a healthy way to be fulfilled.
Our open roads can be cut off too abruptly,
as suddenly as reason that fuels the heart.
If foundations start to shake violently,
and nothing's left to sustain the spark.
The fatally wounded haunt neglected cemeteries ,
moaning woeful songs inspired by fragmented memories.
Their visages are proof of how mortality comes about its way ,
if it wants to be no longer and hands die by the grieving blade.
They needed a purpose,
they wanted hope to be ignited .
They wanted a reason,
they needed love to be requited.
But bitterness undermined their motive ,
and they swore they were beyond repair .
When suffocating loneliness felt pressured to pay the price ,
for the love that the focus of their affection refused to share.
as much as the one tunneling inwards .
It allows us room for every painful challenge ,
when they concern the echo of hesitant words.
The walking wounded drift beside desolate highways ,
mouthing the silent prayers of what the ravaged say .
Their absent shadows proof sunlight tends to betray;
they survive by their wits and the moonlight’s sway.
They need a purpose,
they want their innocence returned .
They want a reason,
they need for love to be reaffirmed.
But their shame binds them ,
so they’re mentally insolvent .
When made to pay the price ,
for their history’s involvement.
The open road is a scary dream sequence,
as much as the one that's suffocating inside .
It forces us to face the fact we must grapple with,
doing what is needed just to chip away at our pride.
The stagnant wounded exist in a state of suspended animation,
The humbling spiral within damnation, mouths a trembling oh
The very silhouette of what Fear drowns and what Fate throws
They want a purpose,
they need their light sustained.
They need a reason,
they want their fright contained.
But their shame blinds them ,
so they’re woefully unskilled .
When it comes to choosing,
a healthy way to be fulfilled.
Our open roads can be cut off too abruptly,
as suddenly as reason that fuels the heart.
If foundations start to shake violently,
and nothing's left to sustain the spark.
The fatally wounded haunt neglected cemeteries ,
moaning woeful songs inspired by fragmented memories.
Their visages are proof of how mortality comes about its way ,
if it wants to be no longer and hands die by the grieving blade.
They needed a purpose,
they wanted hope to be ignited .
They wanted a reason,
they needed love to be requited.
But bitterness undermined their motive ,
and they swore they were beyond repair .
When suffocating loneliness felt pressured to pay the price ,
for the love that the focus of their affection refused to share.
Literature
differently (v. 2)
i.
if I had known I would die tonight,
I think I would've kissed her.
I think I would've told her to stay with me under
the umbrella for just a moment longer
instead of letting her walk into her home
with a flash of a smile back to me
and a "get home safe."
I think I would've pressed that button on the handle
letting the umbrella collapse above us,
fall to the pavement,
let the torrential rain soak us,
and I know I would've kissed her
before she had the chance
to say something.
I know I would've let the rain just pour down on us while
we kissed there,
until she pulled away and laughed –
god, I loved her laugh –
u
Literature
Descended To The Yard (Updated)
Descended to the yard
Thirty men without jobs
Descended to the yard
Descended to chop logs
The damned winter
The cold misery
Away from women
Steps closer to the flames of Hell
Of Hell
Descended to the yard
Working for a long while
Sixty days to work hard
Thirty men in denial
The boss of our "corp"
Got us by the bucks
Away from love
The head inside the oven of Hell
Of Hell
Descended to the yard
There's no work left in town
Descended to the yard
Far from the world, shut down
I`m calling the great Satan
I know about the old legend
The one of the flying canoe
Please send us home, we know you could
I wanna fly in the firmament
See again, just fo
Literature
Heroshipping...
Pokemon fan fiction short
Heroshipping
Skit
“Who the hell is this kid?” Ray asked as a general question, starring down at the red headed boy in front of him who glared back with emerald green eyes.
“Why don’t you try asking me what my name is?” He demanded.
“Oi! They make them so feisty now a days.” John commented to one in particular, “Especially the short ones.”
“I thought we were supposed to be meeting someone who belongs to a shipping that the author just found out about.” Cody said, “It can’t be this kid, can it?”
“Colosseumshipping is the only
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Your way with words is exquisite. Masterful strokes of ingenuity painting a very vivid image in any reader's mind