pluto | poetry ✓

pluto | poetry ✓

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WpMetadataReadHoàn thành Thứ 3, thg 4 7, 202048m
the space station hums with the early morning traffic, the wafting of coffee and fresh croissants filling the air. for the first time, you are not behind your desk, hitting your shins on the weirdly placed piece of metal, but strapping yourself inside of a space suit and getting ready to begin preparations to take off. when you were younger, they would tell you that the stars could be yours if you tried hard enough, and now they would be. do you accept your mission? to travel to pluto and enter the dark depths of this author's mind? because perhaps, like they used to say, those little asteroids and abandoned planets at the edge of the galaxy could explode in colorful array and turn into something beautiful. perhaps you could see it, if you accept and begin to open the pages. ➳ poetry by a person with the stars under their eyes and a soaring shooting star in their heart, with feelings much too large to keep in one universe. unedited. #16 in hopes and #17 in hopes at some period of time. to be revamped with new cover art soon. ➳ first place and a perfect score in the winter dusk awards. first place in the cherry awards
Bảo Lưu Mọi Quyền
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hopes
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Excerpt: "I am everything: The autumn winds easing the leaves away from their branches, A baby's smile at daddy's funny face, The tears that seep into the soil at a funeral, A heavy snowfall on Christmas Eve. I am a hug: Offered only during times of sadness, Never given often enough. I am a mirror: Reflecting the moods of those in my surroundings Or the inanimate objects that remain once all have gone home. I am a microphone: Echoing the opinions of those around me, Telling the truths of all, but only being accepted by one. I am a shell: Full of the many memories of yesterday, Unable to grasp anything today. I am a skeleton: Stripped away of any feeling, After everyone has taken a piece. I am nothing: Not a firefighter, Thanked for saving the family pet. Not a lover, Dearly missed by her significant other. Not a role model, Written about for a second grader's project. Not a person at all; I am a simple cadaver, sliced up for answers to all of life's questions." ********************************************** An original poetry collection from the last decade of my life.

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