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Daily Deviation
Literature Text
I was cold, you made a fire.
The logs crackled like applause
while you played your guitar
and sang to me songs of love
of broken roads and crossed stars;
with every note I loved you more.
You brought me flowers-
no, in my mind you did,
and that was all that really mattered.
I kept them pressed neatly
between Byron, Keats, and Shelly
and the lines that made up you.
You said that you had always loved me
and that I was the only one,
but I didn't really listen,
I only heard what I wanted
instead of what was important,
your use of past tense regarding me.
I was wrong, I was wrong,
I made you grander than what you are.
I built you up in my mind.
I hid your flaws in the shadows
and let the rest of you shine far too brightly.
I saw exactly what I wanted to see.
I was wrong to make more of you
than what was really there,
but my heart believed in the mirage.
That song you sang to me
has turned to ashes in my ears.
It's my fault for trusting you.
The petals wilted upon reflection,
and in this harsh new light
all the words I used to love
are now an empty page.
You are not a song,
you are not a sonnet,
you are just a man
and I was wrong
but I believed in you.
The logs crackled like applause
while you played your guitar
and sang to me songs of love
of broken roads and crossed stars;
with every note I loved you more.
You brought me flowers-
no, in my mind you did,
and that was all that really mattered.
I kept them pressed neatly
between Byron, Keats, and Shelly
and the lines that made up you.
You said that you had always loved me
and that I was the only one,
but I didn't really listen,
I only heard what I wanted
instead of what was important,
your use of past tense regarding me.
I was wrong, I was wrong,
I made you grander than what you are.
I built you up in my mind.
I hid your flaws in the shadows
and let the rest of you shine far too brightly.
I saw exactly what I wanted to see.
I was wrong to make more of you
than what was really there,
but my heart believed in the mirage.
That song you sang to me
has turned to ashes in my ears.
It's my fault for trusting you.
The petals wilted upon reflection,
and in this harsh new light
all the words I used to love
are now an empty page.
You are not a song,
you are not a sonnet,
you are just a man
and I was wrong
but I believed in you.
Literature
Losing
The thing is, I lose everything.
I've misplaced all the
things I own at least twice.
No thing is safe
from disappearing,
it all slips between the threads
rough stitched fabric
of my universe.A few weeks ago,
a pair of rose colored
rabbit-shaped earrings
went missing.
They must have scampered away
from my bedside table
as I slept.and yesterday too my class ring,
with dragon insignia
carved into its metal side,
lost so many times
I've just stopped looking.
It always turns up again
like a hungry cat.Long ago I bid farewell
to a book of poetry
by Billy Collins,
each page dressed
in a suit of marginalia,kissed my favorite teacup goodbye...
Literature
The Old Man
The old man's wife passed away a few days ago.He wouldn't like me writing it that waya fan of George Carlin, the thought of 'soft words' tended to make him cringe; he would have preferred 'died' or 'shuffled off her mortal coil.' He said that second one plenty. Every few years now one of his friends shuffles off their mortal coil, and he always says it that way when he finds their name in the obituary. 'I guess Mavis shuffled off her mortal coil. A shame. She had the most wonderful rack as a young woman. Would've married her if I hadn't met Julia.'The old man wasn't exactly politically correct. Come to think of it, he was a bit of a canta...
Literature
lemon
we walk down the streets
of a city named after the last thousand years.a breeze floats by
and for a moment your hair lifts off your shoulder.the way it doesn't touch you,
i want to touch you.there are traces of lemon in your light,
a vague sense of mint on your fingertips.the way honey tastes
drifts inside your shirt.entering the city
walking calmly while the light fallsis like listening to your voice,
like waiting at the bell by the riverfor a clamoring to do justice
to the patterns on the water.the way the bells never end
i want to brush my hand against yours.the way you drop lemon into your water
i want to live.
Featured in Groups
I was wrong to make more of you
than what was really there,
but my heart believed in the mirage.
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Thank you for the Daily Deviation!! 

than what was really there,
but my heart believed in the mirage.
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Comments112
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Except for the context provided by the first line, I would have thought this could have been about a religious figure/cult leader/prophet. It is, to a great extent, a flaw in humanity that attraction is neither decidable nor rational under normal circumstances. One day, perhaps, our ability to see things will become deeper than two or three dimensions. Until then, at least there is art.