Are you the providence destined for me!?
The Honor Titan, hammering my soul,
Brazen in your form, my Wolf so lovely.
Clever, kind, the perfect half of this whole.
You: this adequate Neko's Okami!?
Still, more than the sum of your body,
Still, more than my impressions and flawed verse,
Still more than a poet, a man: ready.
You are the honesty of comedy,
But you are more amusing than any.
You are the reflection of birds feathers,
Yet, you transcend my claims again: honey.
I give up, give in, I illustrate not!
My words: tokens, to your romantic thought.
Singing and Signing by NarnianQueenForever, literature
Literature
Singing and Signing
Marissa couldn't help but smile at the sounds of laughter coming from the seat behind her in the van. She loved hearing the twins laugh, even if she didn't know what it was about. She couldn't very well see what they were signing to each other, after all, since she had to keep her eyes on the road. But the pure cheerfulness in Breanna and Marius' giggles lifted her heart – Marius' in particular because he couldn't even hear the sound himself.
As she turned on 5th street in the opposite direction from their house, Breanna's voice suddenly piped up from behind her. "Oh! It's Friday! We're going to the church?" Marissa nodded. "That's rig
You'd have to be There by Defender-of-Man, literature
Literature
You'd have to be There
Some stories simply cannot be told.
You have to feel it,
taste it,
smell it for yourself
to know what it was like.
To know why
I can’t tell it with simple words,
and to understand why
I can’t even think of
speaking of it without
tears.
These spoken sounds could never
make you see the perfect peace that
comes with a sunset over the mountains.
They can’t make you feel the
indescribable swelling of
joy in your chest at the
laughter of an orphan boy.
They can’t make you hear the
heavenly cadence of
two languages interweaving as
two cultures sing
praises to the same God.
Words can’t capture what the
heart can&
This life is a wrong stride
A place where I can't hide
A path where I think that I can die
See I'm not, or was, or even should I may be
But there's parts of me, that will run into the fire like this machine.
See, here I am the greatest
But there I'm just fading to nothing
But I'm something even with me fronting
It's like I'm locked in a box
No key, no air JUST LOCKED WITH MY THOUGHTS
I still know I'm the greatest, though all my colors still changing.
Am I alive? hmm debating.
The more I think, the more it gets scary.
I was a rainbow.
Red, blue, Green and White, but I got lost again by night.
See its our minds that make us cry.
Yet were sti
Incommunicable Connection - Poem by ShimmeringDewdrops, literature
Literature
Incommunicable Connection - Poem
How can this be happiness?
And how can this be joy?
Those words are so inadequate
The feelings just can't be described
The warmth I know within my heart
The way my soul is filled
The thorough ache when we're apart
Yet how with one touch trembles fast turn stilled
What does it feel like to be with you?
How could I even say?
It's not as though I wouldn't ever want to
But every phrase I speak just sounds cliche
And though I try my best to show you through actions
There's only so much that a mortal can do
The grandest gestures could never convey even a fraction
Of this immeasurable love that I have... for you
Hot cup of tea,
white lines waving and dancing.
Textbook in hand,
and I guess all I can feel is some sort of intrigue.
And sadness. Memories come back.
It's a nostalgic feeling, really.
It's been years since I've felt this particular sadness.
It's not the same sadness as watching your favorite character dies.
It's not the same sadness as when your favorite show ends.
It's not the same.
I can't quite describe it.
It's like a calling.
Something itching in the back of your mind.
It promises you a sort of control,
some form of protection.
It was a bit odd because it hurt.
It made me feel alive.
-It felt good.-
It started small.
I ex
-the world won't stop
turning, won't stop
these papers flying
off-bound
for an unfamiliar
black-hole. when did
the earth, turn into
the palm
of your hand
-like an engraved
initial, left behind
by a ghost
that was meant
to be your moon-