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Literature Text
I sometimes dream,
I dream of being a gentler soul.
I often wish to love.
To spread peace as monk,
Or spread love as a priest.
But my soul can not be calmed,
Anger still burns within me.
Anger for what has been done,
Anger for what will be done.
I know only wrath.
To strike out in retribution,
To rage like a beast.
I sometimes dream,
I dream of being a gentler soul.
I wonder,
Will I ever find peace?
I dream of being a gentler soul.
I often wish to love.
To spread peace as monk,
Or spread love as a priest.
But my soul can not be calmed,
Anger still burns within me.
Anger for what has been done,
Anger for what will be done.
I know only wrath.
To strike out in retribution,
To rage like a beast.
I sometimes dream,
I dream of being a gentler soul.
I wonder,
Will I ever find peace?
Literature
...
what's the point of china, if it
never gets used. just sits on
the shelf, collecting dust.
that's all were good for
anyways,
the looks.
then we break.
[i'd pour you a cup of tea right now,
but it's really poison .]
Literature
Storm Ravaged Hope
Petals are a scatter
Across rain torn grass,
Vines caressing leaves
Fallen from bare trees
To the right, the garden
Holds a scene of crush -
Remains of rose petals
Create a scene of red
Shimmering beneath
Lightning strikes
One blood red petal fallen
For every death occurred
In this unknown village
But there in the midst
Lies a rose of black,
Drenched in sorrow
From its very tip
To the loose roots
Remained in the soil
A few darkened petals
To remember our losses,
But a living death
Meant for true hope
Literature
Sad Poem (Written on a Monday)
Inside our house, surrounded
by plants, that soft light—
the weakest shade
of gray and waiting
to turn it all yellow.
I have slept and slept
for days now,
unfolding into small
moments, only to see you
orbiting our mattress,
waiting for some type of
human reaction, any
kind of movement.
I need a haircut.
I need to shave and go
to work and forget these
days of no control
where I’m a child again,
reeling and afraid that it
will always be this way,
that I will always be in my room,
alone until someone calls me down
for supper, and then a bath,
some prime time television,
and straight to bed.
I am locked outside of something
Suggested Collections
In the end I am not a forgiving person. I will hold a grudge for as long as I live. I have come to rely on my anger to better myself. Though many believe it wrong.
Without my anger what would I be? Can one truly calm a storm? Can a soul such as mine know peace? I don't know.
Without my anger what would I be? Can one truly calm a storm? Can a soul such as mine know peace? I don't know.
© 2013 - 2024 Infinite-Word-Forge
Comments4
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I like the questions you're addressing in this piece, and wondering how to escape anger you've gotten used to harbouring. I don't connect personally, because I tend to take the opposite route and be overly forgiving, but nonetheless this is well written and I love your word choice and the repetition. I'm surprised this doesn't have more comments!