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Literature Text
Sunflowers and peace signs.
Cigarettes and spill stains.
Umbilical chords and eulogies.
Running from self.
Running out of time.
Running into eternity.
Falling into darkness.
Falling in love.
Falling out of life.
Sunrises wed with sunsets.
Day making love to night.
Forever, never's mistress.
Broken glass and promises.
Cuts and contusions.
Dreams and stupor.
Seeing the us in others.
Feeling others in ourselves.
Looking through the hour glass.
Finding the universe within.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Cigarettes and spill stains.
Umbilical chords and eulogies.
Running from self.
Running out of time.
Running into eternity.
Falling into darkness.
Falling in love.
Falling out of life.
Sunrises wed with sunsets.
Day making love to night.
Forever, never's mistress.
Broken glass and promises.
Cuts and contusions.
Dreams and stupor.
Seeing the us in others.
Feeling others in ourselves.
Looking through the hour glass.
Finding the universe within.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
Literature
things stay the same
Stripped tinsel
crushed beneath;
warm lights and
the red-gold glow of
reflections
Crepe and cellophane
drowning in
half-empty wine glasses--
tape hung over
under trash and
the re-gifted morning
afters
Tree-lights and ribbon-frays
tracing paper and
curled to
remember resolutions
crawling beneath
the bows
of years to come
Literature
While It Burns
Why does a moth fly
Directly into the flame?
Perhaps its captivated
By the beauty to be found
In such pure recreation
Or perhaps
It flies so surely
Into its own death
Because it believes
The flames of rebirth
Will allow it a second chance
At metamorphosis,
And perhaps that this time...
It will appear a butterfly.
Perhaps this is the only thing
It can force itself to believe
While it burns.
Literature
unanswered phone calls
maybe if we enjoyed the lullaby of empty
dial tones, we would fall asleep somewhere
amidst the clatter of unanswered phone calls.
there is a melancholy to be found in silence.
nothing but the static between our muted voices,
only the sterile hum of knowing you are
watching TV or driving or laughing or fishing
or out with friends or asleep somewhere.
love is not a limb; if it's lost, it will always grow back.
i am discarded bandages and surgical knives.
you are an amputated arm; your phantom limb
haunts me whenever i doubt your ghost.
i learned a trick to uncovering the scent of a hospital without
actually going to one. pick a bea
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Comments17
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This is excellent.