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Literature Text
some people fght a daily battle with
dust
sweeping it into little piles, cursing it
as if it could be conquered
the dust,always, is victorious
maybe deep down they hate it
and in some sacred way
they fear it
for in Death we all concede
to the
Dust
dust
sweeping it into little piles, cursing it
as if it could be conquered
the dust,always, is victorious
maybe deep down they hate it
and in some sacred way
they fear it
for in Death we all concede
to the
Dust
Literature
It's Like Amen
It's like this.
You wait up night after night, sitting next to a father who doesn't notice whether you're alive or dead - not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too much.
You lie in a bed that's not yours, three hundred miles from home at three o' clock in the morning, the words "fifty-fifty" running through your head like a mantra. You dig your fingernails into your skin so hard that it bleeds, and you almost laugh because you can't feel a thing.
You sit on a sofa in a bungalow on a hospital site shared with five strangers and your father. You're the youngest there by a good few decades, and you hate the toast. You find it odd
Literature
Father of Mine
You left me behind without a thought,
Gone long before I knew you.
You were the first to hurt me,
And far from the last.
I have no memories of you,
And only thoughts of hate.
I have no name to call you,
For your only ties to me are of blood,
No love,
No help,
Nothing from you,
The man who is supposedly to be my father.
Near 20 years of ignorance,
Yet I gave up on you after five.
You ignored my youth
And my existence.
Shall I ever even see you,
In a passing glance, perchance?
I used to think and wish.
Friends talk not of their fathers,
For fear of hurting me.
But I don't begrudge them their feelings,
No, for I only should
Literature
I Want To Breathe
When he came home that night, tittering about exaggeration with a partial stutter in his voice, I knew he wouldn't make it past six months. What I didn't know is how he'd prove me wrong and live two more years. Hope left mile-long stories on his face, and every time he got a new test result back he made me wish for one more day.
It was three-forty eight when I watched them roll his half full-of-life body into the ambulance, the wheels groaning with each shift in the concrete terrain. I botched my small steps and ended up tripping over every word he mumbled. Even with heavy anesthesia from earlier that morning, he still managed bisected jok
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7/07/09
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Comments8
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An intriguing piece.