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Literature Text
Filthy Rags
by Tricia Pattinson
Another woman stoned to death
Men urged on by a clergyman
Another woman sacrificed
Zealots lead by filthy rags
What's this love of God they speak?
What's this God that plays murderous games
It's not the Sweet Divine
Who teaches by example patience; long suffering
I weep as kindness must
For hate has taken charge
I weep for the suffering
Delivered in the name of good
How long before everyone's suffering expands
Violence and hate from nothing good come
How long before the madness spreads
And all the world in flames?
Another woman murdered
Another child destroyed
We are all capable of cruel
But to do it in the name of God has the stench of foul precedence
Literature
1.
Bombarded. This was the word that Thomas Albertson Junior would use to describe his life. This was only more compounded on this specific day. He had woke at his normal 7:00 time, and followed his normal routine. At 7:00 his alarm went off. At 7:01 he woke up and hit snooze. He repeated the snooze cycle two more times. At 7:16 he knew he needed to really wake up.
Thomas grumbled to himself as he dropped his feet over the side of his bed. Slowly he made himself stand to his feet, took a second to let his head catch up with his body, and began to shuffle towards the bathroom. After leaving last night’s meal with the porcelain god, he wash
Literature
Never Forgotten
You are pushing...
Trying to erase...
But you refuse to wipe away those words that rest gentle on the lines.
You can't do it.
They are written in pen.
You won't rip the well designed paper either.
You will have to paint over those honest words.
You will always know that underneath those vibrant colours lies a hidden script.
A secret code that whispers in your sleep.
You have become a spy.
Undercover, in your own world.
What are you searching for?
Is it your treasure which you have tucked away?
Hopefully you will find that which you have intentionally lost,
And at its appearance,
You will forget the tears you shed,
And once again remember
Literature
to become nothing
Nameless, faceless plague,
Thickly seeping into a cracked vessel,
Imbibing every cirrus, every eager breath.
The sludge trudges,
The Black contracts, bereaved,
The verdant grid, relieved
The sluggish spell begins to quell
Ardor,
Now only a whimper on fragile lips
Nameless, faceless plague
Swelling in congruence with every slower swipe
Maneuvering the psychic climate
Into Barrenness.
The Black is marvelously alluring,
She charms only genuine energies, vexes them.
She works against the Organic propulsion
Whose effort honors
boundless proliferation
Nameless, faceless plague
Abiding in once animate ducts (shrinking and vascular)
Clogging and
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Beautiful and tragic all at once!