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About Literature / Hobbyist Miles to go before I sleep.Female/United States Group :iconchuck-lovers: Chuck-Lovers
 
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Literature
Someday
Someday I'm going to get a car. And I'm going to get in that car and I'm going to turn it on and start driving and I'm not going to stop for a long, long time. And while I'm driving I'm going to think about life, and God, and all the things under the sun that should be thought about and I'll think about them long and hard until there are no thoughts left in my mind to unravel and I feel sweetly empty and tired. And if I find answers in those thoughts, then I'll tuck them away into my heart for safe keeping and I'll roll down the windows and let my hair down and just breathe. And if I don't, then I'll roll down the windows and let my hair down and just breathe anyway and it'll be okay, because answers don't really matter as much you'd think—it's mostly about living. Living is the main part really. It's the thing that matters, answers or no.
And I'll drive until I see hills and trees and mountains and fields with yellow flowers and grasses tall enough to lose yourself in.
Someday th
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Literature
Children
I see their faces, hear their names echoed in my mind—
distant voices of a world I'd been a part of once
that now I've left behind.  
Lovely features with pain that lies in captive
just behind the eyes.
And all I want is to hold them,
to save them.
To feel their small, fragile arms in mine.
To be able to whisper in the night
"You'll make it.
It'll be alright."
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Literature
To be small
Walking along a shoreline feels safe to me,
the way the water always returns. Always.
And the way I can never know what's beneath that surface
or where it's horizon ends.
I like unknowable things.
They reassure me that I'm not to blame for everything.
They allow me to be small.
Not all things are like that.
And I like the way that, even as you take a new step,
the ones before are washed away.
No one will ever know that I was here,
just me and the sea and the rocks and sand.
I like that too, it feels safe.
To be known by too many seems risky.
Sometimes I need a place where footprints fade away.
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Literature
What I hear in sea shells
There is a draw I feel inside me when I stand there
the lulling tides tugging at my ankles—
trying to wash away the distant murmurs stuck inside my skin still.
Things drawn in-between the cells that weren't in the design.
There is a draw I feel to fall into the arms of its rhythm
and float away.
Be lulled off somewhere distant
and there
amongst the small fish and sea things
and the dark coolness
of an in between,
find a simpler life that makes sense to me.
A chill emptiness that would
feel something like sleep.
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Literature
I can't put words to this
I don't know how to put words to this.
But God is so beyond good, I can't comprehend. I'm brought to me knees and I don't know why, I just know that it has something to do with his perfection and the way he makes my heart feel. It has something to do with the way he says "come away with me, Beloved". Something to do with the way he whispers my name. It's in the way the stars shine down, it's in the wind, especially when my eyes are closed so I'm not blind anymore. This thing that brings me to my knees is in the way silence feels in the late afternoon when the sun is low in the sky and the clouds are lit up and there's a goldenness to the air. I think it's in my skin somewhere too though it hides when I look for it; in the way my heart beats even though I don't ask it too, don't tell it to, and in those moments as I'm drifting off to sleep though I don't know how.
It's something written in the earth beneath my bare feet. I like to feel it—I hate letting anything come between me and
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Literature
A Pocket Forest
Sometimes I wish I had a forest I could keep in my pocket.
And I could take it out and step into it
and be alone with the trees any time I need.
And then I'd fold it up
and put it back inside
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Literature
The Fight
There's something out there, or maybe in here
that I need to find.
I need to catch it and make it my own.
And when I do I'll break it and I will beat it to the ground.
I will bathe it in my tears and my pain will meet its flesh with vigor.
Maybe reflections of myself will cross the faceless face.
And moment by moment I will fight and tremble and cry out,
phantoms that I need to overcome will echo in its strength,
grappling in the dark, the gnash of teeth,
the pull of sinew and the tight closeness of skin on skin—
muscles straining and the poison pouring out in beads of sweat:
so close, so close the match will be—
I'll need it to be that way,
I'll need it to hurt, to take me almost to the ends of my existence—
till the strands of my being pull to breaking: that's where I'll find myself,
and that's how I'll find my heart again, there,
there in the struggle:
in the struggle, in the weakness and in the tears,
in the letting go and in the desperate holding on,
in the brokenne
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Literature
Finding truth among trees
Sometimes I think I'm crazy. Sometimes I think there's something wrong with me, like I slept with my window open once as a child and something important slipped out through my rib cage into the night. I guess a lot of it is fear. A crazy fear that when people look at me they won't see anything. Or that they will and it won't be enough. I guess it's kind of my fault in reality which is the irony of life. I've got myself locked up in here so tight even I get lost in the maze. So afraid of being abandoned I've thrown away the blueprints to my own heart. They call that coping I think. Mechanisms. Like machinery.
Deep sigh.
There's a lot I like about life, a lot of things I really love. Daisies. Water lilies. Chicken. Wind on my skin. The sound ocean waves make when there's nothing else to be heard. Hugs from people I need to live. Looking up when birds fly over my head. Things bigger than me. Bare feet. Eyes. Sunsets. Technically I like sunrises better though because they come with the pro
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Literature
To: you and all your faces
What does it feel like inside your soul?
What is it honestly, that lies there when your heart-skin is peeled back
and depths are lain wide to be born?
What comes of it?
No one knows you—
that's what you believe,
I've seen it in your eyes,
the way you laugh and then turn and stare off into the sky
and your eyes speak to me of the things you hold beneath.
I know this because our eyes speak the same language,
we have the same things on the inside,
the same fears—I heard you whisper them in the night—
Don't be afraid.
You're not alone like you think you are.
You and me: we share the same skin,
you have a soul like mine that wonders if it even knows its own name.
You and me: we're silver coins left spinning,
wondering if we're heads or tails—
wondering if we're right or wrong.
Hoping that some meaning will come of all the silence.
Don't be afraid,
I understand.
There's a meaning in the emptiness that's meant to bring us home.
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Literature
It's okay though
I thought once that life was like a race
run beneath the sky
with an end in sight
and a line.
But it turns out its more like painted faces,
and dark jungle wars,
and rooms
with no doors.
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Literature
And _
It's waiting isn't it?
There with a blinking cursor.
Screaming out silently "finish."
You're not done here.
But I can't find the way,
because there are no words
in any language I know
to communicate this.
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Literature
Sunday
I can't decide if I want someone to find me and hold me while I cry
or if I'd rather simply die.
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Literature
The Unspoken Part
I'm sure some unspoken part of me cries,
and I can feel it on the inside,
breaking into me like storm waves on the coast of my pathos.
I'm sure there's something in there that is right side up,
something that doesn't need pain to believe in its own existence,
but that part of me is shy and
it seems to want to stay that way.
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Literature
This Moment Still in Motion
Rain falls heavy down,
notes of a melody still playing gently in the air from yesterdays
and piano strings.
There is no lift in my limbs left, none to be had—
and so I think I might fall slightly sideways
and sleep a while.
Or maybe I'll be quiet and sit instead.
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Literature
I and II
I.
There was a child called Silence
who felt no pain.
She walked the empty halls without her shoes
and tip-toed through waters
sprung like wellsprings of wishing pennies
that joined in junction at the sea with hazy storm-cloud rain.
She learned to love it,
because she was drenched and no boats came to take her in.
There were no scars on her flesh to see,
but a small one at her heart,
where she'd long ago removed her treasures
to hide them in the walls with pictures painted with eyes closed—
and no one else could see what she saw in them.
Her toes were cold and fingers numb,
and fire engines called to each other to race the roads
inside her veins, the alarms sounded in her brain,
and called for paper swans to fly out her mouth and tell the world
she's not home.
II.
I put the left foot out first and took my dive,
tricked
by lack of my native tongue
into self-entrapment of the first degree.
And in the grey haze two shapes rose up,
to vanquish my lungs and beat my memori
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Literature
You're not there yet
but you'll make it.
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Literature
Vertigo
He sleeps the sleep of a man
who doesn't yet know that Love
sits sewing her shadow to the dawn,
nursing a subtle,
aching silence in his lungs
with her name, her shape.
He can't fathom how someone
can sit so deep inside him,
shelling the shadows of himself
as though there are moons at their core,
how he no longer believes
in falling lightly in love
but in committing himself
to inevitable call of concrete
or how she lingers like ink on his fingers,
like a story he's still figuring out how to write.
:iconLoveShotEyes:LoveShotEyes
:iconloveshoteyes:LoveShotEyes 298 83
Lost - Desmond Hume :iconcastorrr:castorrr 49 17 Lost - Kate Austen :iconcastorrr:castorrr 37 11 .... :icongotspinach:gotspinach 2 0
Literature
Searching for some Beautiful
I've always held her to the brightest of lights,
Despite the fights, Ignoring the spite
But sometimes i look up
Asking why,
It's only her making me cry
My soul continuing to dry
I walk forward and sigh...
I ask why...
I wish we could start over.
But all pain does is make you grow older
With each step forward, I get that much colder
I walk around all day, with a chip on my shoulder.
But despite what I say.
Things are still not okay,
I still care,
Which I find unfair
Don't be so kind.
Then fuck with my mind
Love was that something,
I just couldn't find...
But now It seems like I've crossed the line
Those words to fix the sky, I just couldn't find
Those words that made me die, Still travel down my spine
But despite the pain, The soul you've stained.
Once fallen apart, crippled and maimed
Now walking forward,
Mind collected, Emotions tamed.
Blood lost, I'll never be the same.
So whether we are friends or not
I hope that heart of your's will never rot
From now till the day it inevitably sto
:iconAlfredoLover:AlfredoLover
:iconalfredolover:AlfredoLover 22 10
Literature
Tinge of Words
These words are shadows of their meaning,
slight compulsions riding the river of monotony:
deriving nothing and wantonly clambering through ineptitude.
Affirmation withers,
understanding confounds itself,
meaning is an abrasive compilation of sporadic thoughts
rummaging through the caverns of negligible minds,
and I am the prophet of incoherency
here at the servitude of a lei of mottled feelings,
wearing the garland of the unutterable,
beguiling reason to my confines.
Assonance of speech speaks naught,
furtive silence teaches more wisdom in confusion;
and yet, stertorously I impugn the sense of truth
for my own means;
even so, I will not take that which eludes the tinge of words.
:iconMuses-Ruses:Muses-Ruses
:iconmuses-ruses:Muses-Ruses 2 3
Literature
The Man, The Sea
I am in agitation:
the turmoil of a man lost at sea,
whence his ship is none and his limbs even less,
and there in the distance a driftwood;
upon reaching he is no more saved than before,
for he is required to relinquish his life
in order to save it;
it is a foul thing to have nothing when all is to be had,
but in having some of it's delicacies,
parts he had before are lost;
all there is is but to allow the sea to run it's course
and at some point or other hope land is in the distance
waiting,
calling—if only in whispers,
and although it's vanished in the tumult of the wind,
it knows it calls, beckoning home;
all in the exception
that I become weary of the sea,
for I am become like those who go and do not return,
like a tepid and fetid rag,
and how voracious is this sea
with it's savagery, gorging of man to his expiry,
and even then, it's tenaciousness allows no rest
under sun or moon;
indeed it is ghastly:
a great river of flesh and blood,
for many have drowned and few survived;
:iconMuses-Ruses:Muses-Ruses
:iconmuses-ruses:Muses-Ruses 1 0
Chuck Bartowski - sad :icontomsgg:TomsGG 247 162

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breathinlife
Miles to go before I sleep.
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
It's always worth it.

I love life, people, beauty and the amazing fact that I can have a relationship with the God who knit together the fabric of my being despite how much I've fallen short of his plan for me. I live my life to learn more about him and the art he's painted out into every nook and cranny of this life and world despite how much the darkness tries to shroud it in shadow at times, and most of all: to draw closer to his heart with every moment. I believe that life is wonderful, deeply and richly wonderful despite all the pain (and believe, I say that with a knowing heart about the pain that can exist in this world of ours) and for that reason, I wholeheartedly want to uphold the banner of life. It's always worth it. Live it, hold on to it, cling to it. This world will try and tear it away from you, but cling to it: it's the most beautiful gift you can ever imagine.

I'm still here. Just breathin' life.
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:iconscatteredwords:
scatteredwords Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for adding Three Things I Do Not Like to Admit to your favorites! :heart:
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:iconbreathinlife:
breathinlife Featured By Owner Apr 29, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Hey absolutely! Good work. :)
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:iconcastorrr:
castorrr Featured By Owner Apr 11, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
hi, thanks a lot for the :+fav: ^_____^
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:iconbreathinlife:
breathinlife Featured By Owner Apr 11, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
no problem! :)
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:iconmuses-ruses:
Muses-Ruses Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2011
hehehe, arigato!!
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:iconbreathinlife:
breathinlife Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Hehe, de nada.
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:iconfreemeadows:
FreeMeadows Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2010   Traditional Artist
Thanks for faving!!
God bless,
Francesca
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:iconbreathinlife:
breathinlife Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Yeah--no problem, you too!
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:iconlostandalone12:
LostandAlone12 Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2010   Writer
Thank you so much for the watch!
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:iconlostandalone12:
LostandAlone12 Featured By Owner Aug 25, 2010   Writer
You.... have had a place in saving me. While I've been doing the task of letting God into my soul, you showed me through one of your poems that I have nothing to fear from Satan as long as I have Him..... No bit of writing has ever done something so tremendous for me, and I wanted to thank you. Thank you so much.
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