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Literature Text
I won't try to make you happy,
because I know you've done the deal.
I won't try to cheer you up,
because I know the feelings you conceal.
I won't try to fix your words,
because I know that they are real.
I won't try to heal your wounds,
because I know they won't be healed.
I won't try to help you at all...
Because I know
how
you
feel.
because I know you've done the deal.
I won't try to cheer you up,
because I know the feelings you conceal.
I won't try to fix your words,
because I know that they are real.
I won't try to heal your wounds,
because I know they won't be healed.
I won't try to help you at all...
Because I know
how
you
feel.
Literature
Apocalypta
Dawn breaks soft,
You are sun glare
in the rearview;
and I, the heavy mist
ahead
on a road that forgets to end.
Literature
Secrets
She had a shadow that followed her,
and would scream in fright.
It bore a whisper of death
of which she had no delight.
So slowly she wrapped around her neck
What was to be hope.
That no one would ever find out
Exactly what was spoke.
Literature
Idols
“She had everything you could ever want, and yet she let it all go up in flames.
“She won hundreds of awards for her flights, and she’d tell so many stories from all the places she’d been; places you could only dream about going: Africa, Paris, London, Australian, you name it; she’d been there. She was this shining heroine in the Aviation industry dominated by men. But everything went downhill one flight.
“The turbulence was extra strong, or so they say. The plane was going down. She tried to call for help, but no one answered. It was her, one other passenger, and one parachute. She knew what she had to d
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© SpiderwebWisher 2013
A short poem I thought of when I read a comment on a deviantART poem about someone loosing another, and not knowing until it was already over. I was going to attempt to cheer the person up, but I stopped myself, because I knew it was beyond my power. I stopped, because I knew how that felt, and I knew, that I needed much more than a stranger's helping hand to heal my scars.
Dedicated to that commenter. You know who you are.
A short poem I thought of when I read a comment on a deviantART poem about someone loosing another, and not knowing until it was already over. I was going to attempt to cheer the person up, but I stopped myself, because I knew it was beyond my power. I stopped, because I knew how that felt, and I knew, that I needed much more than a stranger's helping hand to heal my scars.
Dedicated to that commenter. You know who you are.
© 2013 - 2024 SpiderwebWisher
Comments47
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Yeah, that sense of identification and the calm sorrow that comes with knowing there is nothing you can do to help...I've been there my friend.