Bitter wind blows static in my ears, drowning out
any whispers rebounding in me since you've left.
In the quiet caverns of my life, I find sharpened pencils,
tiny gifts with a beckoned note "begin", signed
by my muse, my lovers and my friends. In here I find
solitude, even as I fall into others arms. Artistry feeds off of
the warmth that we find in ourselves, not the sunlight:
we're independent, intellectual, warm-blooded and
in parchment and plastic bags, we're ready for the wind.
The summer sun can melt the strongest love, but
candy freezes and youth crumples, leaving us adolescent,
evanescent and incandescent -- we're glass blowers, we're
going out on our own, I - I'm not in love, but it's okay because
we're starting it all tonight.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
A cliche topic but not at all cliche in the way it was written A few dead spots here and there but enough good material to make up for it. My favorite line: "The summer sun can melt the strongest love."
This is probably going to stay in my head for awhile.