Themed Feature #23 - Literature

Dec 11, 20139 min read

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Published: Dec 11, 2013

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FOR THE LOST CHILDI am a man who is lost in a child
And my child he never grew
His spirit within, my mother defiled
Turning his soul black and blue.
The years have passed, the summers fade
Still my torment it rages on
This man I am, cold and afraid
Hides from the waking dawn.
My little child is locked inside
Vowing to never come out
This poor little boy, he thinks he died
Existing in shadow and doubt.
I love him, this child inside of me
Yet no matter how hard I try
He will never know what it means to be free
Until that day when I die.
It is I who bears his lasting pain
Yes, ‘tis I that must tarry and wait
Sometimes I think that my life was in vain
As I sit here and ponder my fate.
My mother’s been dead for quite some time
As Cancer accomplished its goal
Below the earth, she rests from her crime
With the little boys heart that she stole.
I see him each day in the mirror
This albatross that I must wear
Bringing me ever nearer
To the end of this life we have shared.
God has set the path I must IN MY MUSEUM...When a heavy snowfall sugarsnaps the stillness
before you harvested it into your pockets...
When the Wind blows away your words until
you're tormented by their signature absence...
When the sobbing gray rain distills you
into a pool of bittersweet remembrance...
Come take a tour of my museum,
let my name be the rhythm that lulls you
into another season of caffeinated relations
and reflections that preserve my memory
crystal-faceted, along my warm white halls
you will find many glass vases I have filled
with poetry and the beautiful intricacies
that have moved my soft-centered soul to create,
motifs of snowflakes and butterflies who
still believe themselves organically alive,
crescent light smiling where my hurt sleeps
and an ancient record of sound-like rain
tapping Morse code against my windowpane,
or a little gecko whispering her gentle wisdom,
I have preserved them all in my museum...
and the seeds of Solace I have carefully sewn
inside for when somber storms leave me shaken
...like

SurrogateI stopped using his full title
because it started sounding too formal,
and it’s hard to be standoffish with someone
who swaps albums and memories so generously,
who loves German chocolate but hates the smell of oranges,
who knows me by my boneless,
drowsy form on the couch and by my words.
And maybe one day he’ll ask
me to drop the title altogether and call him Brad,
but I won’t.
Because it sounds too much like dad,
and I’m afraid of slipping up. Sorry I'm A ManSorry I'm A Man:
He stands there naked
A blank-faced label
No features
No face
He is not an individual
He is exactly what you make him to be
The product of your misguided hate
The product of your personal prejudice
Caught blind and shackled
Voice stripped and throat cut
On knees and hands
He crawls beneath a slanderous hail
"Let they who are without sin, be the first to cast a stone"
Then you must all be innocent, unblackened and pure
Instead what I see
Is not angel wings and a white halo
Instead what I see
Is your silent profanity
Twisted obscene mask of humanity
Beneath the righteous sword of a figure of justice
Lies a rotting core of devil's teeth and black smoke
Blasphemous abberation
Crooked mirror of lies
"Guilty until proven innocent"
Is what I see in your eyes
He is not an individual
He is exactly what you make him to be
He is the monster, the abuser, the criminal and the pig
He is the violent, the drunk, the pervert and the enemy
Care not for the fact that he is a perso The False KingI am King
But I do not wish to be
The lands I rule have fallen
To hatred and greed
I am fearful of my subjects
"Me! The mighty King"!
I cower in my towers
Protected by my knights
But even they are not trustworthy
What kind of man am I to sit here?
While they suffer, die, and take
From the less fortunate
The helpless and weak
But it is I who is truly pathetic
I cannot lift a finger
To help these poor people out
For I am too scared
To even venture out
Beyond these walls
They call me King
But what I really am
Is a Prisoner...
--Chloe
9/20/13

Little FuryThe storm throws you to my door, drenched and bloodied, god-light dimmed. The crest of the hill is underwater. You have no boots.
Morning dawns cold, clear, a watery gold. You are gone. I love you.I wondered if you could hear my heart in your sleep,
Recognize the smell of my skin in your dreams,
Touch my lips when you wake up,
And whisper in my ears while I sleep.
I pondered all that as you fell asleep to my heartbeat,
Breathing softly on my chest with one of your hands still feeling me.
And when I wake up it was your lips,
Or maybe it's all just a dream.
But when I declared "I love you",
I could feel your lips at my ear,
Whispering the sweet melody,
Of everything I ever wanted to hear.
For My DaughterDear daughter-I-do-not-have-yet,
You will be my perfect. You will be my proudest moments in one small person. You will be made in love, or maybe anger, or maybe even desperation. But that won't matter. What matters is what you will be made into.
You will have Daddy's hair and his nose, and my eyes and my smile, the smile that happens not because someone with a camera told you to, but because you're genuinely happy. But you will have your very own heart and will be full of all the things that give you your you-ness. Whether you sing in the bath or make Valentines for everyone in your class or give your last homemade chocolate chip cookie to the boy sitting alone at recess.
I will write you poems and stories about how you are my miracle. I will read them to you sometimes, just to remind you. As you grow, not a day will go by that I'm not thankful for everything you are. You will be dazzling and beautiful and brilliant and compassionate and playful and curious and all of the things

I never do literature features as I don't know much about literature/poetry/etc so here

are some that I found through PurpleInk777 and some just searching through DA

Hope you enjoy them!

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Thank you so much!