Daily Lit Recognition for November 23rd, 2015

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Daily Lit Recognition for November 23rd, 2015

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Poetry


Suggested by: MagicalJoey
Featured by: chromeantennae
Aurora scattered your light to the wind.I.)
dreams died;
crumbled like so
many stone empires
that fall into the
dust and so we
tried to photosynthesise
by filling our
arteries with
golden glimmers of
light.
(without realising that
it would burn you from the
inside out)

ii.)
i painted a web on
the wall and caught
every colour
imaginable that had
escaped from a
world of invisible
butterflies and magic
we thought would
last forever.
(my best friend
was a ghost-boy -
i loved him to death)

iii.)
and if the swallows
crash and die
on their journey to
the desert then we'll
pick them up and
sew their wings up;
release souls
into the stars.
(they said broken things can be fixed,
unless it was cancer)

iv.)
i scattered his memory into
the place where the rainbows
danced in the atmosphere,
reaching down from the
sky to make brief contact
with your heart as it
was finally free.
(after 14 long years,
aurora took you home as you
greeted the dawn with a
peaceful, but still smile)

Aurora scattered your light to the wind. by XSwan-SongX

Suggester says: The imagery here is so, so beautiful.
It really carries the reader from start to finish.


Featured By: AyeAye12
Fishing For Comments 31Old Mule on his dock,
Looking at a quiet sea.
Nothing is stirring.
His inspiration is slack,
The shy nibblers are at rest.

Fishing For Comments 31 by cattservant

This is just breathtaking. It's the quality you'd expect
from an anthologised poet; fantastic narrative,
expertly timed imagery, lovely syntax use. Just, agh, read it.


Prose


Featured by: OfOneSoul
GardenersA tiny, sheltered garden far off in the wood bore an unbearable burden which crashed down on the buds, forcing them to take the heavy sorrows of loneliness. The ash carried the withered plants away, the roots decadent in their heartless, cold earth. They seemed to cry helplessly, begging pathetically for life, for aid, for attention, for anything at all. But the trees were distracted, tuned to the melodious nature of sweet Gaia. Thus, there was quiet, and there was silence, all but for the humming sins of an obtuse, useless crone, who sat in the dirt of the garden.
  She sat there smiling, particularly at nothing, with a dreamlike expression on her face. Her gray hair coiled amongst the thorns, the flowers behind her ear a painful reminder of childhood. The daisy chains her fingers so meticulously carved cascaded to the ruined ground, as if trying to offer the relief it could not give. The ragged dress clung to her body, enamored with the sweet sustenance of escape and heaven. She

Gardeners by forsakenthedawn

An elaborate, vivid vignette that shares the honest truth
through immense amounts of imagery.


Featured By: betwixtthepages
end of summer love letterWhen I explore your body, I get lost in a library of time stored on shelves- 16 hour bus rides, 9 years worth of longing. Longing for your touch like a tea pot tipping, waiting for the water to land. A cup of coffee sat on a counter getting cold, our story put on hold, brought back to life years later. We’ve blown off the dust, and the story has matured. In a field your freckles are stars in the sky, tiny city lights that can only be seen from the top of a hill. Since August 2006, an apple seed has become an orchard.
On my skin you drew rivers and roads with your fingers. You found the route to my heart and made a nest, reminding me that life is very fragile, that we are just birds looking for a home. Nine years makes us as vast as the ocean, yet we are as intricate as the little lines on a map, branches in a forest, veins in a finger. Your touch is hot coffee mixing in with the cream.
I’ve felt you pull my hips to yours, and I have felt you deep inside me, but I have also

end of summer love letter by Awasteof-paint

This sensual, emotive nonfiction prose piece is bound to touch
even the hardest of hearts.  The language is also gorgeous.


Foreign Language


Featured by: Malintra-Shadowmoon
Im ZwielichtEine dunkle, sternenklare Nacht.
Neumond.
Ich sehe auf sie herab, wie sie sich in ihren schwarzen Kutten versammelt haben. Allein das Licht vereinsamt aufgestellter Lampen, macht es mir möglich sie zu erkennen.
Man sieht keine Gesichter, lediglich die Umrisse vieler vermummter, gebückt stehenden Wesen. Ich wage es nicht einmal zu behaupten, dass sie menschlich sein könnten.
Aufgeteilt in zwei Gruppen stehen sie in Reih und Glied, bilden damit einen langen, endlos scheinenden Weg zwischen ihnen.
Ich lasse meinen Blick über sie schweifen und verharre schlagartig, denn ich erblicke Xandras, meinen totgeglaubten Freund.
Die Wesen schleppen ihn, bewusstlos, in einer Art Prozession diese Furche in der Wesensmasse entlang. Leises Murmeln steigt empor.
Ich schaue voraus und meine Augen fixieren einen blutroten Altar. Ein mulmiges Gefühl macht sich in mir breit.
Ich fühle, wie das Gewicht zweier Schwerter Gurte in meine Schultern schneidet, mit dem Schmerz kommt me

Im Zwielicht by Darkminded-Letters

A short story based on a recurring dream about a midnight ritual
and the saving of a friend from being sacrificed.


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Prepared by: betwixtthepages


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