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Literature Text
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead
[A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]
She stood facing brok'n mirrors
Brok'n up like her core within
Trying to see herself clearer
She wipes off fog with a napkin
They ready-mapped her world for her
She is their 'scape-goat, their pennant
Before it starts it is over
Her dreams burn and ashes scatter
She is a plummeting buoyant
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant
She remembers her love before
She's out of color, her cheeks pale
Scampering naked on cold floor
Searching for herself tooth and nail
He cracked her shell and then her heart
Though she's far too strong in the head
Although once feeling pulled-apart
She will find herself part by part
In the now she chooses to tread
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
No more talk of what can't come back
Nor words to promise what's to come
He is the one who's lost his track
They can't make her ever succumb
She picks up her palette and knife
New colors to paint her current
There is no getting without strife
There is no struggle in dead life
No point to survive on resent
Act, act in the living Present!
There's new news all up and about
An untapped God- given talent
Who was once sinking and in drought
Is now rescued free of ailment
We're to choose our paths, not be led
None can stand in another's stead
The universe in us embeds
Our need to be free and wingspread
I'll face each morning with blood red
Heart within, and God o'erhead
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead
[A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow]
She stood facing brok'n mirrors
Brok'n up like her core within
Trying to see herself clearer
She wipes off fog with a napkin
They ready-mapped her world for her
She is their 'scape-goat, their pennant
Before it starts it is over
Her dreams burn and ashes scatter
She is a plummeting buoyant
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant
She remembers her love before
She's out of color, her cheeks pale
Scampering naked on cold floor
Searching for herself tooth and nail
He cracked her shell and then her heart
Though she's far too strong in the head
Although once feeling pulled-apart
She will find herself part by part
In the now she chooses to tread
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
No more talk of what can't come back
Nor words to promise what's to come
He is the one who's lost his track
They can't make her ever succumb
She picks up her palette and knife
New colors to paint her current
There is no getting without strife
There is no struggle in dead life
No point to survive on resent
Act, act in the living Present!
There's new news all up and about
An untapped God- given talent
Who was once sinking and in drought
Is now rescued free of ailment
We're to choose our paths, not be led
None can stand in another's stead
The universe in us embeds
Our need to be free and wingspread
I'll face each morning with blood red
Heart within, and God o'erhead
Suggested Collections
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My first poem in Glossa form
A contest entry for #formfindsfunction's first contest!
I do hope this is done correctly, I would be grateful to receive feedback
Let this is also be my missed NaPoWriMo day 17 entry
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED!!
PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Critiques:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
A contest entry for #formfindsfunction's first contest!
I do hope this is done correctly, I would be grateful to receive feedback
Let this is also be my missed NaPoWriMo day 17 entry
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS, ALWAYS LOVED!!
PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Critiques:
Which line did you like the least?
Which line did you like the most?
Was there real impact at any instance?
Comments39
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*very loud claps* the rhyme is a mix of Robert Louis Stevenson, Melvillle, and a bit of Service added in (the last one was an american poet of the early 1920s or so, a contemporary of Stephen Crane).
Beautifully written. The last stanza in particular.
Dee, I beg of you to write such works in the future - you're a good rhyme and meter. Honestly.
Beautifully written. The last stanza in particular.
Dee, I beg of you to write such works in the future - you're a good rhyme and meter. Honestly.