Daily Lit Recognition for July 22nd, 2014
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Suggested by: Rhevenge69
Featured by: chromeantennae
You Never Buy Me FlowersWhen you come home after a hard day's work,
there's a plate on the counter and food on the stove.
Your favorite bottle is chilling in a bucket of ice;
as you relax in your Lazy Boy, I think, "isn't that nice?"
You never buy me flowers
While you watch a movie or go to play Xbox
I'm standing in the kitchen, elbows deep in dishes.
When you say you're tired and you're taking a nap,
my arms are overflowing with the laundry stack.
You never buy me flowers
After you awaken you want a shoulder rub;
I put down the broom and attend to you at once.
Then you go to shower and find a shirt needs sewn;
once the tear is mended tomorrow's lunch must be tended.
You never buy me flowers
When midnight comes and goes we lay in bed together;
I'm almost asleep when you whisper naughty things into my ear.
You roll me over and I sigh as I look right into your eyes
and shout 'You never buy me flowers' and then I roll back over.
This exhibits how a woman will feel in her relationship
at least once. It is a poem that men and women alike can
emotionally connect with, for women are not the only ones
who feel unappreciated in a relationship.
Featured by: TwilightPoetess
Bugging out against the new regime, stopping,
dropping, and rolling the whole way. Greedy eyes,
bloodlust, friendliness astray; natural selection
at its finest.
A stench in the air, dirty tears roll, corpses line
their minds. Leadership takes hold of some, while
others are given sweet extermination.
A group gathers around tents, haphazardly
ignoring wheezing and rasping from the girl
with choked smiles.
Painted with ash and shrapnel, sickness
infiltrate her veins, leaving life weaving through
Her heart wallops as an attack nears, she whispers
a silent plea for the group not to leave. A race
to evade their ultimate fate, discounts her own meeting.
This post-apocalyptic poem from WistfulNebulae
ponders the question "what if"
--and will leave you wondering.
Featured by doodlerTM
The Museum of the MindIn reality, the past holds little significance. We can romanticize and exaggerate those moments all we want, but they will remain ghosts.. Nothing more than images inside our heads, and the way we feel about them is a choice.
We are, in part, the sum of everything that has ever happened to us... But more than that, more powerful than that, is the blinding strength of our present consciousness. To believe that any of the hardships, joys, failures, or triumphs we experience in youth are truly relevant to the present moment is a conscious choice one makes. It is not an absolute reality that these instances hold sway over the present. The most common argument for that is, "Those moments make me who I am today." No, they don't. You make you who you are today. You are a separate entity entirely from your memories. Your present mind creates the image of self you currently have, and at any moment you can change that image. All of those memories are just events that
A well-written reflection
on memories and the past.
Suggested by: RayneHaos
Featured by: SpriteBlayde
Her Name Was AliceI knew I'd never forget those days as they unfolded while the sun slowly fell over the horizon. We sat together in every class, laughing at whatever jokes were told, no matter how distasteful they were. We didn't really have anyone but each other. I'd tell her of my worries of becoming someone man enough to replace my late father, and she'd tell me about her hardships. The trouble she had covering her bruises, or her constant fear of displeasing her mother.
In the evening, we'd watch the sun fall over the river. Though as soon as those streetlights came on, we had to rush home to avoid the wrath of our parents. I often would stay up wondering how she was. I'd wonder about all the pain--emotionally and physically--she would constantly be in. I often found myself craving the sunlight, signalling the start of my daily cycle with her.
It wasn't until I turned fifteen that I realized I had fallen for her. She was perfect in beauty and in grace. A beauty that the rest of the worl
From the suggester: "...it's fueled with emotion
and is just simply beautiful despite it's dark theme."
Featured by: Malintra-Shadowmoon
LA GARDIENNE DU VIDE (+audio horror style)
LA GARDIENNE DU VIDE
"MON COEUR EST FAIT DE VIDE ET MON ÂME DE MARBRE,
JAMAIS JE N'AI CONNU LA LUMIÈRE OU BIEN L'ARBRE ;
IMMOBILE JE VEILLE ET MON OEIL VIGILANT
PROTÈGE LES ROIS MORTS DE LA FRANCE D'ANTAN.
JE GARDE, Ô VISITEURS, LE VIDE DE LA TOMBE
QUI SOUILLE LE SILENCE AUSSITÔT MEURT ET TOMBE !
LA CRYPTE EST INTERDITE, UN PASSAGE EST SCELLÉ,
CELUI QUI, S'APPROCHANT, SERAIT PAR TROP ZÉLÉ,
CONNAÎTRAIT AUSSITÔT LE SORT LE PLUS FUNESTE...
MON CONTACT EST DE GLACE ET JE DONNE LA PESTE.
N'OUBLIEZ PAS CECI : EN BAS, C'EST LE TRÉPAS,
DEPUIS MILLE ANS J'ATTENDS - VOUS NE PASSEREZ PAS !"
Frantz, août 2012.
A traditional poetry piece in an ancient
French classical style with a horror touch
about the void of the graves and their guardian.
All around encountering death
in beautiful descriptive passages.
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Prepared by: TwilightPoetess