For the Love of Writing by Loftydreams101, literature
Literature
For the Love of Writing
All I am is the helpless stray
So hot on her wandering trail
Through the awful and balmy trees
But it’s worth the dismay
The bloodshed
All the full nights in tears
In the agony of an ego’s sure death
But it’s worth every door slammed shut
Her every brisk cold word of critique
That cascades with laughter
“Your pride must die
In this life-long dance
That deprives you of wind, every now and then”
“All your pride must die
For the good of your bottomless eons of craft”
For the greater good of words
For the love of romantics
Looking for a meaning, or a chair. by GentlePeace, literature
Literature
Looking for a meaning, or a chair.
The bed creaks when I walk down its ladder,
louder than a rocking chair.
I never did mind it; it reminds me that it's still intact.
My room looks like a basement,
a basement with a view on the side.
Exactly what you'd think the inside of a mildly clean vacuum looks like.
I'd like to expand; have more space.
But, I'd have nothing to fill it with.
It would just be like everything else in here.
I have a table that looks like it had its legs cut off
since I need to be hunched over to "comfortably" use it.
It's not that bad; I enjoy the pleasantries that a stiff back snapping can bring.
I have a picture frame hanging on the wall. It'll