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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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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.


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Read books online » Poetry » Hopeless Honesty by Alexis Wadden (ereader with dictionary .TXT) 📖

Book online «Hopeless Honesty by Alexis Wadden (ereader with dictionary .TXT) 📖». Author Alexis Wadden



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Schizophrenic Memories

Their voices ring inside my head

They tell me I'm better off dead

"Who cares if you're gone?"

The silence awakens my dawn.

I can't sleep at night.

Torture, screams, tears, fright.

Can I escape the dreadful noise?

Or will I be left with a suicidal poise?

Never felt to so alive

There were no windows, no light to be seen

The sounda above were muffled, but my hearing was keen.

A woman's voice cried, "Oh, she was so young."

A man in response said, "She should have learned how to bite her tongue."

I tried to move, but my arms were stiff.

The wind howled in an erie riff.

I couldn't escape this nitghtmare, darkness took over.

I was able to move, but the dark was getting colder.

I was wiggling my toes, my body now alive.

I moved my arms, time to arise!

I sat up, only to see,

The disaster right infront of me.

Bodies everywhere, graves dug up,

I suddenly had an insatiable thirst for blood.

I got up and saw a little girl,

The smell of her skin made my head whirl.

I walked to her, she was scared.

I bent down, and touched her hair.

She relaxed, fell asleep.

I grabbed her and bit her deep.

Blood rushed, screams hushed. 

I'd never felt so alive

Than the time I took someone's life.

She died right in front of me. 

I felt bad for a second, then I screamed.

I woke up in a cold sweat.

That was my dream about being a zombie.

Imprint

Publication Date: 04-15-2013

All Rights Reserved

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