Quietly
Ice glistens On the power lines And the slender branches of sleeping trees. Snow turns the ground into a canvas Of light footfalls And new beginnings. The air is cold And all is still But this place could not be More alive. Ah, yes. Writing a poem about winter. In the summer. Makes total sense, right? -Atlas
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This is the price I pay
For lazy summer days Hindsight kissed me once And left me To deal with my mistakes. Stress. Stress is not fun. -Atlas So here I am
Locked in combat with the things I cannot change. I will not win But I will not let it win Either. I will continue to Not Give Up. That counts as a victory, I think. Hope you guys have a great day! :D -Atlas I steal moments
For myself Quiet moments Where everything else falls away And I anchor myself To the quiet hum Of my heart. This sounds choppy to me for some reason... -Atlas And in that moment
Every second between us Was repainted Like colorful lightning streaking across the sky. You're my friend. We talked And laughed But your feelings were of a different kind than mine. The lighting came, and Oh. Oh. Every moment, repainted. ...Yeah. Probably not going to finish the short story by the end of the month. Sorry about that (working on it sort of stressed me out, so I'm going to continue to chip away at it slowly. I'll get better about this sort of thing with practice, though!) -At;as Things are going so well now.
I have friends And family My problems seem like summer clouds Far off on the horizon. I am waiting With bated breath For the other shoe to drop When everything I've worked towards comes crashing down And I have to start all over again From the rubble. Things are going so well now. But nothing lasts forever. Hurray for thought-poetry! -Atlas We say so many things we don't mean.
Nice things Mean things Words are bought and sold on the cheap. Trust is not Trust, born of honesty That quiet but strong layer beneath the words That says No This is real. Bleh. Don't like this poem that much -Atlas And to me the mirror is a kaleidoscope
Of words and ideas Concepts Floating and twisting and shattering And folding in on themselves In a never-ending cascade That always somehow looks like me Aaah does any of this even make sense -Atlas "You're an alien?"
"That is correct." This was so cool. Like, cooler than meeting a rock star or surfing down an active volcano. You tried not to freak out (and failed spectacularly.) "So... what's your world like?" "Warmer. Drier. There are far more buildings, packed tightly together. Overcrowding is a bit of a problem, as well, though I am certain there are many differences between our planets that I have yet to discover. Your biology, for example. Your species has one of the most exceedingly short lifespans of all the intelligent lifeforms we've discovered thus far." "Wait--what? How long do you guys live?" He paused briefly, calculating. "Eight thousand years, give or take." You choked. Had you really heard him right? "Eight thousand? That's--wow." What is dialogue. WHAT IS WRITING -Atlas The point of life
Is not to become who we want to be The point of life Is to love who we are It hurt too much To stare into the eyes Of all the things I couldn't change And so I looked away. It's hard to tell if I'm improving or not when I don't really have any standards to measure my writing by. Hmm -Atlas |
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