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    dots Submission Name: dormant lilliesdots

    Author: blackbird
    ASL Info:    31/male/reykjavik iceland
    Elite Ratio:    2.35 - 194/328/300
    Words: 172
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 625
    Average Vote:    4.5000
    Bytes: 1295


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    dotsdormant lilliesdots

    the beast of this forrest
    is within me.
    the moss of my eyes,
    the mulch
    of my feet collapsing
    into footsteps.
    on past the wild roses,
    dew of the morning
    that forms
    & disappears into
    the sun,
    the impossible hours

    last night
    i dreamt of the beach
    where we numbered
    the starfish
    by the stones.
    the diving birds
    dropped on me
    as if i, myself, were
    a missing fish,
    trapped beneath
    the waters
    below the air.

    the ocean
    is quietly away now,
    making moods of the seasons
    that are its home.
    & i'm left
    with these vast fields
    to heal me,
    the sea of grass
    that holds
    some unknown fortune
    as of yet
    to be reborn.

    get lost amogst the leaves,
    carried through the trees
    until they're gone.
    i plant my own hands
    beneath the soil
    & wait for them to grow,
    as if hands
    were dormant lillies
    in their bulbs,
    as if my body
    could sprout forth
    such long forgotten
    blooms into the world.

    Submitted on 2009-05-08 18:21:48     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Beautiful again. It's amazing how the gentleness of your words could permeate so deeply. Your language is like a death sentence when it wants to be. There is freedom even in your mourning, and something absolute in your whispers.
    | Posted on 2009-05-23 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ]
      I liked this one, despite the rapid scene changes. Or maybe because of them, I'm not sure yet.

    Should it be: 'on passed the wild roses'? Otherwise the sentence is noticeably incomplete.

    Honeysuckle is a ridiculously nostalgic word for me. In Kentucky there was a little tunnel along the road that was overrun with honeysuckle vines, and my sister and I used to go there in the summertime and suck out the sugar. I can't see that word without thinking of that. Sugar and warmth and echoes.

    Not that that has anything to do with anything.
    | Posted on 2009-05-14 00:00:00 | by saartha | [ Reply to This ]

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