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Literature Text
The rising of black
doesn't kill the snow.
The forest goes crack
with each fiery glow.
The flames don't hold back,
alive as the snow down low.
Both crawling like plaque
towards a village not in the know.
Not a soul flees in fright,
all the dogs lay lame.
On the darkest of night,
all the living were tame.
It all ended in white,
under our Lady of Flame.
doesn't kill the snow.
The forest goes crack
with each fiery glow.
The flames don't hold back,
alive as the snow down low.
Both crawling like plaque
towards a village not in the know.
Not a soul flees in fright,
all the dogs lay lame.
On the darkest of night,
all the living were tame.
It all ended in white,
under our Lady of Flame.
Literature
Exhale
Exhale by J.A. Grier
The air was thick
smoke and ash
asbestos maybe, God knows
but certainly
no need to ask
what it is that
billows from a
funeral pyre
We stood in line
at the theater, bank
the newsstand
with magic bandanas
over our faces
eyes stinging, sneezing
no thought of
breathing, even if
you could
who would?
A full year
of wind, of rain
sweeping off the steps
but on cloudless
crystal days,
I still can’t stop
coughing.
"Exhale" © J.A. Grier. All Rights Reserved - You must get written permission from me if you wish to repost, reblog, or otherwise reproduce this work in part or in whole.
Literature
Ashes and Dust
let the ash of your bones act as soil, a place for a new world to take root and grow. let the leaves of the canopy feed off the blood that ran through your veins, and in a way, transcend into a new life.
burn my body and bury my bones in a shallow grave. feed my ashes to the winds and let the heartbeat of new life begin in the empty cage of my chest.
let me live on
Literature
Metaphor
The sun sets beyond the horizon,
and I start to trek...
I imagine the concrete structures covered in green,
Life found a way and wrapped itself around death,
leaving it breathing...
and I fill it with metaphores,
but we cut life down,
to rebuild with that which does not prespire...
Society lives by this philosophy of death, and we destroy, and we rebuild, and we destroy, and we rebuild, So when the sun goes below the horizon, I create a new rhythm, and I guess you can say that's a metaphor,
except the sound my shoes walking, running treading,
the wind...
the waves...
the rain...
This is my rhythm.
I find this within shadows,
and
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Comments5
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The first stanza was a little too vague I think. I am assuming black is either night or blackened wood.
The second stanza shares a bit of the first ones faults but is better. Why is the snow below? is the fire in the canopy?
Rising makes me thinks it's on the ground.
The final part is the best in my opinion. it has imagery that is clear and compelling, and takes advantage of the mood set up in the previous stanzas.
Overall very good, I am probably still too literalistic.
The second stanza shares a bit of the first ones faults but is better. Why is the snow below? is the fire in the canopy?
Rising makes me thinks it's on the ground.
The final part is the best in my opinion. it has imagery that is clear and compelling, and takes advantage of the mood set up in the previous stanzas.
Overall very good, I am probably still too literalistic.