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Literature Text
It took me years to finally understand
that trying to find home
in someone else's arms
will almost always leave you
homeless.
that trying to find home
in someone else's arms
will almost always leave you
homeless.
Literature
Speaking for the trees
From the tree tops
I can see it all so clearly
The ripples fading further
a tip-toe and a stolen kiss
Outside the hive where we have wandered.
Speaking for the trees,
We stand taller now than ever before
Not to see the writing,
but to hear the whispers
behind closed doors.
I reached...
and touched what I thought was the sun
and noticed it was just beyond my fingertips
but my tiny hand is warmed
by two lips
and that became more important to me
than any sun could be.
Speaking for the trees
Some have made their homes in me
climbed inside my head
behind my eyes
opened the door to my soul
He said he saw a sunset burning thr
Literature
House
I seized the last of winter’s evening light
Dusting earth in dimly somber white,
The poor door of my home so old it spoke
As I stepped out to grasp the fading sight;
And looking upon my house of tired oak
—So full of time that sweeping eyes evoke
The many works of faithful days and hands,
Of carefully carved wooden hearts that broke
With every friend I lost, as grief demands—
Filled with possessions no one understands:
A room by books and letters overrun,
The yellowed heaps where the newspaper stands;
And having neither daughters nor a son,
I then despaired I haven't even one
Who lives to cling to memories, to stay
With m
Literature
Less Than Lost
I tried finding it
in the hips of a
flight attendant
on the way to Buffalo.
I tried finding it
in the obscene
identical
rows of houses
outside Chicago.
In the petal
hair of girls
who do not
want me,
in the eyes of a
thousand hungry
dogs
older than I'll ever be.
In the feather rain
falling gentle,
consistent.
In fields of indian corn
unharvested
purple, yellow, blue,
yellow, red,
yellow.
On the backs of
freight trains, in
drugs and drugs.
I searched for it
in the flat, coastal
forever of Florida;
I searched for it in the
poetic types
and in the ridges
of my nails,
escape is
nowhere
to be
found
and
we
are
all
here.
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© Anca-Ioana Sandu
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© Anca-Ioana Sandu
Find me on:
Personal Tumblr
Blackout Poems Tumblr
Blogspot
© 2015 - 2024 TheGirlOfTomorrow
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