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Literature Text
I once met a girl named Anne
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
Literature
Sweet Little Angels
Sweet Little Angels:
You always loved them and cared for them deeply
They were the joy of your life and you held them close.
Until one day, sadly, they were taken from you
and your heart was torn by the pain and grief...
But remember always, that they will watch over you
though you might not feel them presently
You can hear their whispers when the wind is blowing
and you can feel their warmth on the lonely nights
They will always remain in your memories
For that is where you keep a part of them
A loving part that will never fade
Therefore, do not think of them as being 'gone'
Instead take heart in the fact that they are waiting
Literature
Blind
When I close my green eyes
If I focus I can see
People and places from my past
Etched in my memory
If a blind man closes his eyes
What can he possibly see
Without any visual images
Stored in his memory
How do I describe colour
To man who is born blind
The same way I describe my love
Within these heart felt rhymes
When I close my green eyes
I use my mind to conjure up
Dreams of the future, based on
Pages already written in my book
If a blind woman closes her eyes
What future can she see
Unable to visualise
Her fate and her destiny
How do I describe colour
To woman who is born blind
The same way I describe my love
Withi
Literature
Who am I?
"I am me.."
Who ever that may be.
Made by a world,
Not easily understood.
I am what I am.
Of race ethnicity or a sexuality.
A loner, an outcast, or unappealing you see.
Popular and attractive or just plain carefree.
I think what I want.
Not what they tell me.
With their tubes and their lies and their tricks
To try and bend me.
I am who I am.
But t
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I'm not crazy, my reality's just different from yours.
Written for #Heart-of-Poetry's prompt of reality.
Like my writing? Then like my facebook page!
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Written for #Heart-of-Poetry's prompt of reality.
Like my writing? Then like my facebook page!
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I would first of all like to say this is a beautiful piece but I find it beautiful for two reasons. Firstly it is quite a sweet tale, something I'd imagine to be told by a child as there is a clear air of innocence. Secondly I like the rather nice twist of perception and how it challenges our own. We could easily say that this is a tale of a sweet little girl who couldn't take the harsh and unfair ways of reality so she simply shut it out and went to live in her own fantasy world because it's the only thing she could do. However what makes this quite innocent and sweet is that this is something we all have done, when we were young we often went into our own fantasy world when reality became too much. What right have we then to say lovely Anne is crazy? She's not, she's lovely and sweet just like this poem.