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Literature Text
schauerlich die Schnabelmaske
schwarz das lange Federkleid
eisern-alt verstellt die Stimme
zeugen dir von Raub und Leid
platzen Träume auf wie Blasen
Eiter fliesst durchs Zukunftsbild
schmerzverzerrte Illusionen
Kind sich an der Krankheit stillt
Raben kriechen, Raben schreien
zeig niemals dein wahr‘ Gesicht
sterbend weiter Träume picken
bis der Welten Licht erlischt
schwarz das lange Federkleid
eisern-alt verstellt die Stimme
zeugen dir von Raub und Leid
platzen Träume auf wie Blasen
Eiter fliesst durchs Zukunftsbild
schmerzverzerrte Illusionen
Kind sich an der Krankheit stillt
Raben kriechen, Raben schreien
zeig niemals dein wahr‘ Gesicht
sterbend weiter Träume picken
bis der Welten Licht erlischt
Literature
Love is True North
My lover is a young man with an old soul born into the wrong time. He is wrapped in layers and pages, some we write together...
He belongs to history as well as to me.
The sun rises with him and he goes about his morning ritual, a kiss pressed to my cheek and my forehead before he leaves our bed, a half mumbled prayer whispered into my hair. As I brush my teeth, he holds a soft round bristle shaving brush and paints his face with warm foam while tossing a wink at my reflection. My man shaves with a straight razor that he places in my hand. I’m always afraid to cut him, but he laughs off the idea that I’ll slit his
Literature
Sacrifices
"It's good to hear your voice, Juliana."
"Feeling isn't quite mutual."
I could feel him shift uncomfortably, but he didn't face me. My shadow loomed over him as I walked towards the dresser. I was glad I had hacked into the sensors and lights before even coming inside. He wouldn't have wanted to see my face, or what was left of it.
"He looks nice in this vid, if a bit scruffy," I paused as the soft hum of the electronics inside the vid-frame lit up the screen, playing a video of Richard and his husband someplace warm.
"You both look happy," it felt heavy in my hand as I turned it over, "Recent?"
"Uh, yeah? Month or so ago?" his voice tra
Literature
For a Beloved Friend, A Blessing and Funeral Poem.
When the road you walk is dark and shadows fill your dreaming head may there always be a glow upon your path ahead.
And may you always hear, even in your hour of sorrow, the placid singing of the spirited lark.
When times call for hard work and perseverance never may your heart nor soul turn to stone.
And may you always remember:
When the shadows fall and bog your path you do not walk alone.
May love and laughter always lighten your days, warm your heart and your sense of home.
May good and truthful friends be yours wherever it is you roam.
May peace and plenty bless your world with a joy that long perseveres.
May all life's passing seasons
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Geschrieben am 22.06.2012
Ich weiss noch, dass dies hier im Geschichtsunterricht entstand. Komischerweise ging es nicht um die Pest, sondern um die Zeit der Aufklärung, wenn ich mich recht erinnere. Seltsam manchmal, wo und wann einen die Inspiration trifft. (Wäre übrigens schön, wenn sie das mal wieder tun würde... ich hab Deadlines einzuhalten D: )
Ich weiss noch, dass dies hier im Geschichtsunterricht entstand. Komischerweise ging es nicht um die Pest, sondern um die Zeit der Aufklärung, wenn ich mich recht erinnere. Seltsam manchmal, wo und wann einen die Inspiration trifft. (Wäre übrigens schön, wenn sie das mal wieder tun würde... ich hab Deadlines einzuhalten D: )
© 2013 - 2024 Flammenfeder
Comments3
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Das erinnert mich an alte Bilder, besonders diese Rabenmaske... Gruselige Zeit, das Mittelalter - und wunderschön geschrieben!