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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
Opening a new collection of poems, the reader thus discovers a new world, a new thought, a new form. Rereading the classics, a person receives a magnificent aesthetic pleasure, which doesn’t disappear with the slamming of the book, but accompanies him for a very long time like a Muse. And it isn’t at all necessary to be a poet in order for the Muse to visit you. It is enough to pick up a volume, inside of which is Poetry. Be with us on our website.

Read books online » Poetry » Insomnia by oneskyealone (the best novels to read .TXT) 📖

Book online «Insomnia by oneskyealone (the best novels to read .TXT) 📖». Author oneskyealone



Time escapes me, Seconds slowly separate,

Solely slowly slipping, melting mutely,

Minutes marching, molding me into something,

That can’t tell how much time passes.

It passes me on, makes passes at me,

And has passed me by,

And hours, whores its self away to create more days that,

Suffocate suffering seconds, and in a second I see,

Sleep is rarely an option.


Opting out on our hours of Alone,

And lonely leaves little left,

To take the time to try and Sleep,

A sick cycle of the awake and the always awake,

Waking dreams and never sleeping screams,

Rapidly regenerate to leave Room for more time,

And less me.

And boring minds always sleep,

So at least I must be interesting.


Intensely aware I’m imploding inward,

Eventually I’ll get the best of me and the rest of me is for you.

And suddenly suffering doesn’t seem like the worst thing I could do.

But really where’s the harm in silent slumber,

Swinging sleepily, sliding softly, solemnly to sleep,

Resting on my shoulder is just another cliché bolder,

That snores loudly in my ear.

If I could only learn from it.

A tourniquet of Ambien,

May lead to my regret.


But at least I could forget the songs that the living play,

When you close your eyes.

A disguise to keep eyes open but not to truly see,

Because how can one know the truth when one can never sleep?

But how can one know it’s a ploy to force waking under lids,

If one was only sleeping and that’s all they ever did.

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Publication Date: 04-20-2011

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