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Literature Text
It surrounds you like honey,
Dripping from the fangs of a snake
Waiting to consume you
For this snake is a world-eater,
Out to replace yours with its own.
But whether it is honey or venom
Forming at its fangs
When it bites,
The pain is burning.
Honey, sickly sweet and golden,
Might build you up
But only forms a sticky, viscous foundation
Unstable and shifting.
Venom, bitterly addicting and black,
Is naught but a sinkhole,
Dragging you down to an endless bottom
Lonely and grieving.
Honey and venom though?
Dreams counteracted with reality
Merely creates a hope not fantastic.
Not impossible, because it is no longer nothing
But something
Attainable.
Dripping from the fangs of a snake
Waiting to consume you
For this snake is a world-eater,
Out to replace yours with its own.
But whether it is honey or venom
Forming at its fangs
When it bites,
The pain is burning.
Honey, sickly sweet and golden,
Might build you up
But only forms a sticky, viscous foundation
Unstable and shifting.
Venom, bitterly addicting and black,
Is naught but a sinkhole,
Dragging you down to an endless bottom
Lonely and grieving.
Honey and venom though?
Dreams counteracted with reality
Merely creates a hope not fantastic.
Not impossible, because it is no longer nothing
But something
Attainable.
Literature
The Nine Billion Names
The computer was finally finished.
The monks were done.
All nine billion names of God were now known.
The world was now going to end.
Reality started to stretch,
The quantum strings began to become undone.
Matter pulled apart,
The Big Tear had arrived,
Everything was warped.
The stars in the night sky faded away,
The moon turned blood red.
The ground began to churn and actually sink,
And then it began to simply fall away,
Revealing what was under the surface;
A black void with a lurid white core.
The sea turned to dust,
Falling away with the ground.
Everything was nothing,
And nothing was everything.
Infinity, Eternity, Tim
Literature
Millions
How do you tell the story of how a million people felt?
It's like trying to put words on infinity. The telling never ends; once you've caught a thread, you find that it is inextricably bound to countless others, an incomprehensible chain of emotion, a tangled spider web, shuddering with our nympholepsy. Even pictures only tell a thousand words, and a thousand pictures could never hope to come close to the words we lacked. The media's well of words ran dry how could you say it? Activists grew docile and listless what was there to say?
Our misery was collective, but as a collective we were splintered irreconcilably, individ
Literature
The Movement
We are the stardust
Of the broken
And the damned
We are the followers
Of angels
And of sinners
We walk alone
In fields of gold
And fields of green
We are the dreams
Of all the dreamless children
But, they say
I am different
And they say
We are not the same
Look up
Watch the sky
And listen
To all the cries
Of the alone
Who shriek in vain
We are part
Of a movement
Changing the world
In a matter of words
We walk alone
In step with others
Our brothers and sisters
Though we do not know
Today
We link arms
Away, away, away
We go
Illuminating the night
With the daylight
In our souls
Today
We form reality
Today
We form the world
In a matte
Suggested Collections
Remake of 'Voices'
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Comments10
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I love the beautiful mix of something coating and sweet, as well as something biting and toxic. Wonderful metaphor!