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Literature Text
We begin as a simple, single thread,
Untainted, untouched, entirely pure.
But it's not long before words are said;
Where the path may lead, no one is sure.
Then the weaving begins, stitch by slight stitch,
Adding detail to the fabric of time.
The process is filled with hitch and hitch,
Yet no one dares ruin something so divine.
Some patterns are made of the sweetest of dreams,
Others, the very essence of nightmares.
A kiss that made you fall apart at the seams,
The most disturbing of your childhood scares.
Enough tragedy to remind of love
One can only hope for some of the two.
So miss out on it all or fly like a dove,
So who makes that choice?
Well of course it's you.
Untainted, untouched, entirely pure.
But it's not long before words are said;
Where the path may lead, no one is sure.
Then the weaving begins, stitch by slight stitch,
Adding detail to the fabric of time.
The process is filled with hitch and hitch,
Yet no one dares ruin something so divine.
Some patterns are made of the sweetest of dreams,
Others, the very essence of nightmares.
A kiss that made you fall apart at the seams,
The most disturbing of your childhood scares.
Enough tragedy to remind of love
One can only hope for some of the two.
So miss out on it all or fly like a dove,
So who makes that choice?
Well of course it's you.
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I wrote this on a plane, can you tell?
My first submission since I got back from France. On the plane, I was sitting next to a guy that I dont talk to, so I:
-watched two movies
-wrote my journal
- listened to music
- read a hundred pages
-read a magazine
And then I ran out of shit to do, so I wrote this.
Can you tell what line is my favourite, judging by the title?
© 2012 - 2024 carla456
Comments31
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A beautiful piece. Wonderful flow. Great job.