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Manuscripts Under the Bed

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First, we


(the explorers)


Learn.

Words are easy.
Writing is hard.
And vice versa


with an "et cetera."

We discover language.
Embrace it.
Make it.




And Yet...

Those of yesterday mourn,
chanting "Oh Captain, my Captain...",
holding us like a stillborn.






Child.

But we breath.
And therefore,
We love.

We explore the intimacy those of old appear to shun.
Awkward


comfortable





safe
frustration



suffocation






final declaration

Then
She says
"Like a Poet,
you throw it
all away."

He says
"You've gotten to know me too well."
and leaves.
No farewell.
No more words to misspell.

We no longer trust appearances.

We desire the Truth that will not come.

Until the sun sets,



or rises.
Our world
transcends to bright colors of
pink,
gold,


and
blue,
like a Byzantine illumination.

Like a revolution.
Fight. Rebel.
Begin anew.

We
(the explorers)

discover.

Crumbling foundations,
To our fascination.

We Discover...

Definitions without words.
Manuscripts under my bed.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Lexie96 said...
Nov. 4, 2011 at 9:27 pm

This definitely was not crap. I liked it and I absolutely adore the end... seriously that was great. Don't stop writing... because if this is 'crap' then I really need to check out your other stuff.

Maybe you could check out mine sometime?

 
SagaLiSela This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 25, 2011 at 8:59 pm
Oh my... Thank you. Thank you so much. The format of this piece was lost... There's a lot of odd spaces... I would love to check our your work sometime.
 
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