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Literature Text
For all who will listen
Let me tell you a story
A normal tale of love
But such tales are never ordinary
Far away, long ago
On harsh winter‘s night
A mother with her babe
Was searching for light
She was lost and cold
But scared for her child
Which was almost one winter’s old
Still so soft and mild
At last she knew
They would not escape
This winter lives would take
So she lay, yet hid her babe
When sun rose
It was far too late
Her body was found
She had met her fate
But the child she hid
Was still alive
And people wondered
How it was able to survive
The child had been protected
By a power so old
Yes, the mother‘s love
Had kept away the cold
Literature
Inside a Girl
"Adelaiiiiiiiiiide....Aaaaaaaaadelaiii duh..." she hummed as lullingly as a lullably, as gently and as certain as a hummingbird's beating wings.
I awoke before I lifted my lids, such an easy thing to do. Open the eyes yet still not waken from sleep, sometimes not even through the day nor several series of days...this is quite frequent for me for I am a dreamer and dreaming requires deep sleeping, as deep as a bear hibernates in a safe, warm cave until the unforgiving frost of winter has given itself away to the tender tendrils of warm, sweet as honey sun rays that fill the air with a lemon zestyness and a minty mellowness, all that which enc
Literature
that girl named Sarah
how could I forget you?
It would be like the diamond forgetting the concrete which pressed it into luminescence;
like a butterfly forgetting the cocoon in which metamorphisized;
or like a star denying the sovereignty of its motherly galaxy--
How could I forget you?
No matter where we go from here,
Or what your image in my head may fade or smudge into,
or how incoincided my memory of you from the actual you may become,
or how your name may dissipate from my memory,
or what may come next in your divinely authored biography,
or which people your narrative may bring you with interlockingly,
how could I forget that pale g
Literature
When I was a child, I was afraid of ...
When I was a child, I was afraid of walking home alone in the dark. In the winters, especially, just walking home from school was something that truly terrified me. It terrified me, as I was a child with a great imagination. Not seeing what was around me in the woods I would have to walk through to get home only made it worse. Because even when I couldn’t see, I could still hear and I could still feel. I could hear every little noise that was created by something out there. I heard the wind rustling the trees, the crunching of snow under my boots, and that godforsaken rumbling and rustling I would never know the origin of.
During my lo
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