Poetic Justice
  • Reads 17,777
  • Votes 664
  • Parts 33
  • Time 3h 4m
  • Reads 17,777
  • Votes 664
  • Parts 33
  • Time 3h 4m
Complete, First published Jan 27, 2014
Mature
He took my hand and walked me into my soul. And when he saw that my heart was just as dark as my world, he let the words from his lips be the guiding light to my life. He told me that he wouldn't let the wiles of this world consume me, and if anything, I should accept the spiritual justice of it being just us. Like ink on a paper, this poetic justice bleeds the authenticity of my life struggles.  What can you say for yourself?   -Elizabeth a.k.a  "The Dark Flower"
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GOD'S EYE by ANSA_Reads
5 parts Complete Mature
I lived out of a van and wherever the wheels took me was my home. I danced with drunkards at the local country bar and I smoked cigarettes, staining them with my black cherry lipstick. I always had my head in the clouds, because I was a free spirit; my spirit was pure and I lived one day at a time. I was a lonely poet, constantly seeking for more but failing to put it in the right words. I knew that he was the one for me, from the very moment that I set my eyes on him. He was the kind of man I pictured to take my innocence. His tall and strong build made my small one feel safe around him, as if he were a shield from all the terrible things that the world could throw at me. Those big hands of his, God, I could imagine just the pleasure they could bring to me. The fact that he drank green tea, read the newspaper every dawn, that salt 'n' pepper hair of his, those aged lines on his face- he was like art; to me, he transcended poetry. I wore my emotions on my sleeves and he saw right through me, as he did with every other person. He read me like he did those words on the front page of his newspapers, but I didn't care. I wanted him to be my hero and I wanted to belong to him. I wanted him to take me in his arms and whisk me away, strip me of every bit of innocence even if it ruined me. It's true what they say, 'be careful what you wish for'. I hadn't known that a man like him was no saviour, even though he had warned me, I was in too deep already, too naïve and too in love with what I saw- that I had no idea the ruin that lay ahead as Massimiliano Esposito's woman. Poetry- as it had for all other great poets- led me to my destruction.
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Our Summer : My Truth

162 parts Complete

I am broken And now that you see, what you've allowed to happen to me The evils you have forced into my existence Self-serving evils now defying you with such persistence You try to cover up your lies Dangling hope in front of my eyes ~~~ I write to inspire others and to find a piece of myself that was lost or I never knew I had. This book of poems, and sometimes random thoughts will include my raw emotions, late night thoughts and my opinions on random topics. Happy Reading!!