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Literature Text
The dust from the old road was caught in the fading light. The jeep bounced along the path, slowly ascending the mountain.
Two people rode inside, neither watching the magnificent sunset.
They stopped at a flat, grassy area. Leisurely, they unloaded their supplies from the car. They laid the blanket on the grass, brought the picnic basket holding the wine, then sat down beside each other, facing the east.
They talked as it got dark, waiting for the main event.
The moon rose in its majesty, full and bright. They watched, in awe.
They had never been much for sunsets.
Two people rode inside, neither watching the magnificent sunset.
They stopped at a flat, grassy area. Leisurely, they unloaded their supplies from the car. They laid the blanket on the grass, brought the picnic basket holding the wine, then sat down beside each other, facing the east.
They talked as it got dark, waiting for the main event.
The moon rose in its majesty, full and bright. They watched, in awe.
They had never been much for sunsets.
Literature
Writing of joy instead of depression
Love is full of mania and exuberance
The thrill of finding new things-
and a million different paths
unexplored- tumultuous and tangled.
My love for you feels like forever,
as if it has always been;
waiting inside of me
-for you.
You lighten my heart,
and brighten my days
-And the moon watches over us
as she waxes and wanes
between our nights.
I can see a future with you,
A lifetime of happiness and joy.
But I am afraid:
Afraid of nearly tasting it, on the tip of my tongue,
so fearful that it stops my heart-
and time when I'm with you.
I want to grasp the future,
Touch it, feel it!
While you press against me,
encircling me in your
Literature
Post Traumatic Storm Disorder
Wake up every morning to snow.
A blanket so graceful, inviting sleep,
Just a rest in bliss forevermore:
Full of nightmares from which you shall wake up no more
Watch yourself smothered as if a lobotomized man under a pillow,
Crushed under an infinite blizzard death becomes pleasure,
Even while demons haunt you in hell,
You'll beg an end to the storm just so as to shrivel in your cell
Did you ever give permission to this storm of noise?
The snow is but a symptom; sleep an effect,
The storm is baked based on one defect,
Based on the fact your life automatically provides permission for everything it destroys
It is done, hurricane finished an
Literature
Feel
Sand beneath your feet
You walk but do not see
Hide between the trees
Feeling nothing but the cool breeze
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FFM Challenge: Drabble (i.e. write a story with exactly 100 words).
I quite like moonrises. The mountains get this ethereal glow just before it comes up.
I quite like moonrises. The mountains get this ethereal glow just before it comes up.
© 2011 - 2024 J2571
Comments4
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A nice little mood-piece, well done!