Bind me, ye woodbines, in your twines;
Curl me about, ye gadding vines;
And oh, so close your circles lace
That I may never leave this place:
But lest your fetters prove too weak,
Ere I your silken bondage break,
Do you, O brambles, chain me too,
And, courteous briers, nail me through. (x)
Close-up under the cut:
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(Very) late P8reon upload, got it out late cause I got Covid rip (I'm okay now)
It's nearly finished, but I know I'm gonna take a while making tons of minor tweaks before it is, because I always do
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I wrote some poetry, just thought it sounded neat
they said not to look directly at the sun
or else it would burn your eyes blind
but whenever I look at you,
all i know is the world can be kind
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here’s my poem inspired by ocean vuong’s telemachus for @theend4’s poetry event! i tried to keep a lot of the original formatting and obviously the odyssey symbolism <3 (id under cut.)
an image of a poem organized into couplets, it reads as follows: “as any pious wife would do,
i spin a web of stories, and of lies
woven and unwoven every night.
an endless shroud for the funeral of my virtue.
because your absence led to a self imposed exile
to weeping in the room we used to share
because ive stopped receiving word and
sometimes i don’t think you’re coming back.
if Athena is the hope of soldiers, then i pray
for a sign from Hera, hope of wives. (it never comes.)
the only hope that you might come home
lives within me.
i could be anyone’s wife, looking back on it
“richly dowered penelope” but i am yours.
i take the form of a wildfire
burning across rocky ithaca.
the tricks will not hold out forever
i cannot hope for you indefinitely.
the hopelessness hasn’t arrived yet
it will in due time,
when your only son confesses
he can’t remember your eyes or your smile.
in time i must take on the task
of weaving our future.” END ID]
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darlin I’m running on empty
I’m running out of time
so before my heart beats away
let me know if yours is mine.
Yes, I asked myself
everyday
if I’ve made a big mistake
in shoring up all my courage
to maintain your masquerade
but now I know the truth
it’s not about having you;
it’s about every day
I got to say hey,
how are you?
its about those
almost too lates
and always trying my best
so forget about the rest
and let me say —
I love you
I know the way you see yourself
the bottom of the heap.
I remember those nights I spent
protecting your sleep,
and I’m
not sorry that
I met you
and I’m
not sorry that you
changed my life
not even at
this cost
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Baudelaire, Le Balcon (The Balcony)
How beautiful are the suns of sultry evenings! How space grows deep! How the heart compels! As I leaned towards you, my beloved queen, I seemed to breathe in the perfume of your blood. How beautiful are the suns of sultry evenings!
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This next round of queued poetry will have some Emma originals in there! Some old stuff, some new, and I def don't think I'm especially great at poetry but there are a few I'm decently proud of that hopefully y'all might enjoy
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