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Literature Text
the sky is spangled red and gold,
triumphant is the sun
for he has wrestled with the moon
and again has won.
he does a beaming victory lap
across our hemisphere
until his foe, the moon, returns
and daytime disappears -
only for the time it takes
for the sun to rise again
for it is written in the book of fate
that darkness never wins.
triumphant is the sun
for he has wrestled with the moon
and again has won.
he does a beaming victory lap
across our hemisphere
until his foe, the moon, returns
and daytime disappears -
only for the time it takes
for the sun to rise again
for it is written in the book of fate
that darkness never wins.
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The Thorniest Stem to Hold
You know, I always did see an odd beauty in the wreckage I could find a certain charm in broken things, like the devastation left by a wildfire or the rubble of a collapsed building, there is a strange aesthetic in the brokenness of both things and people *** I always wondered at the way the life still somehow lingers, like nature takes over abandoned places or grows back from the destruction, the ashes nourish new forms of life, different but just as miraculous, like trees grow out of decaying bodies, or tears cleanse the soul, and broken people have a weird way of still functioning regardless, like heightened empathy and unwanted wisdom grew from all that ugliness, I think maybe my fascination was born out of recognition and the wonder out of hope that maybe something could blossom from the ruins of me too, maybe I could regenerate too and maybe all the wrong that stunted my growth and strangled the life out of every
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A Confused Adult ft. Descartes
You see, it was easier before Bodies were seen, not Heard. It was easier when our Stick limbs and small Hands were faeries, when Dreams were more real than Reality, when we could be Dragon trainers and princesses and witches and To be something meant to be something In our heads. It was easier before bodies Were, at all, really, Before we grew taller and Wider and out and around and Before our bodies were Seen, not A placeholder for A mind. It was easier when being a mind Meant being an imagination; It was easier when we didn’t have to Read books just to feel Like ourselves Again which really meant To be no one at all Because deep down isn’t that Who we all are? It was easier before Strangers made us Afraid of our own bodies, Reminded us that We are our skin. It was easier before Middle school jokes and Prods and late bloomers and It was easier before Everything was about Being. Seen. It was easier when being a mind Was being at all. But we live in the after. And so we
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A Spark Will Do
Striking flint in the dark, spiking death for a spark, for a light for my eyes to rewrite the reprise, for a flame to restore and reclaim the charred core. Oh, hope reignite me! Hope, live, and burn brightly.
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Love the ending!!