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Literature Text
A fallen pen's wounded tip
Now writes with a heavy hand.
Losing its familiar grip,
Unyielding to my demand.
And I curse myself in spite
For the ink now can't be seen.
Lines fading into the white
With nothing to read between.
Words just refuse to conform
As thoughts turn into vapour.
The ones that do dare to form,
End up in crumpled paper
My mind's blank in a standstill
Some spaces that ink can't fill.
Literature
Coming to Terms - Chapter one
Hey there, glad you could make it. It isn't often you humans trust a Vura. What do you call us? Sirens? Oh, never mind. Let us start with introductions. It would do for you to know who I am, as this will be a long tale and will require several meetings between us. I am Meloku deNysa, a member of the Serkan family. Ah, no need to introduce yourself. I already know who you are.
Now, for my story. Myth and legend both tell us that a hero's story starts with an unusual birth. This should have told me from the start that my sister would be such. After all, I carried her. No, she is not my daughter. I am, to this day, what you would call a vir
Literature
aches
my body twitches chest cracks cracks
eyes water wrists rolls shoulders fall in tense up
please is not enough
you will not understand any better than i do
why this place smashes a hole under my ribs every passing day
bars my arms in
and nothing is enough but
leaving
is impossible
Literature
In the Mirror
She cracks the door just an inch, peering through the crack into the darkness of the room beyond. Lightning flashes through the window, illuminating vague figures standing still. Fingers twitching, mind racing, heart pounding, she pushes through the door and reaches to grab the nearest figure. The white fabric slips silently off as she touches it, revealing the chair underneath. A wry grin finds its way onto her face and she moves through the room. Dust bunnies run from her falling footsteps, jumping quickly then slowly drifting back to the floor. She slides the cloth from several pieces, a table, a couch, more chairs, a trunk, a vanity.
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Comments10
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I like your poem very much. Nice attention to syllable count and rhyme-scheme. I first thought this to be about writer's block, as in not knowing what to write about... but the last couplet gives the impression you're writing about something, some loss... and the words just won't come.
On technical/flow note. I'd revise a couple lines (minor changes keeping meaning)
3rd line perhaps - Losing its familiar grip
7th line maybe - Lines fading into the white
12th line I believe you mean the word crumpled rather than crumbled (as crumbled almost always at least implies broken into small bits or crumbs)
Great work as always, friend.
p.s. Sorry I've been gone most of the time these days... the demands of the "real world", always keep me from what I would rather do.
On technical/flow note. I'd revise a couple lines (minor changes keeping meaning)
3rd line perhaps - Losing its familiar grip
7th line maybe - Lines fading into the white
12th line I believe you mean the word crumpled rather than crumbled (as crumbled almost always at least implies broken into small bits or crumbs)
Great work as always, friend.
p.s. Sorry I've been gone most of the time these days... the demands of the "real world", always keep me from what I would rather do.