Pink-Haired Girl (details15) wrote,
Pink-Haired Girl

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Bathroom Reading and Poetry

If College Students Wrote the Bible
  • The Last Supper would have been eaten the next morning—cold.
  • The Ten Commandments would actually be only five—double-spaced and written in a large font.
  • New editions would be published every two years in order to limit reselling.
  • Forbidden fruit would have been eaten because it wasn't cafeteria food.
  • Paul's letter to the Romans would have been Paul's email to
  • Cain killed Abel because they were roommates.
  • Moses and followers walked in the desert for 40 years because they didn't want to ask directions and look like freshmen.
  • Instead of God creating the world in six days and resting on the seventh, He would have put it off until the night before it was due and then pulled an all-nighter.

Secret Intrusions

I wish for you
in an untitled moment
to break this curse
of unspoken enslavement.

I am faulted for much
but willing to seek atonement.
I would count every speck of sand
every bit of stardust to be with you.

But without a doubt,
because without trust there is no hope,
I have never in my life felt
more alone than I do now,
for I know what I need needs me not.

And if there is need, then it is unspoken.

Let me break down the temple walls
to let light so shine in.
I wish for you in an untitled moment
to hold my hand through
this flimsy veil of humanity.
I am faulted for much even in this
secret intrusion.

~Kevin Max Smith, At The Foot Of Heaven

Bleary Eyed

Bleary eyed
and sleepy still
I unwrapped you
of the morning
like careful fruit
with forbidden flesh
made sweeter by
the scorning

My hands still shaky
from kisses sweet
and the dark hours
of night's embrace
I checked to see
if fastened vines
my heart had left
in silv'ry trace

While you slept
I looked inside your chest
to see what there
was growing
I saw my heart
with quiet eyes
to your side its self
was gently sewing

I saw my heart
with quiet eyes
to your side its self
was gently sewing

~Jewel, A Night Without Armor

Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss.
Ah do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

~William Shakespeare, The Sonnets


You know how to hold me
when in cold be
heat, in bitterness
so sweet, passively
discreet (you would be).

So when this winter pass me
by, be the summer
passing sigh and
nigh, we fly.

You know how to touch me
witness the sense
and no less, impressing me
hence in this present
so tense.

So now often you seek
to scold me
when I am boldly
often in struggle
with myself, constant
enfolding inwardly old.

You know how
and knowing now
you keep this vow. (you should)

~Kevin Max Smith, At The Foot Of Heaven

Red Light District, Amsterdam

Silver threads, a delicious mark
steel kiss ignites a spark
not just once, but maybe twice
I don't wanna write sad songs tonight

Under a strong moon my heart swells up
I'm overflowing, Buttercup.
Give me a strong arm not weak with might
don't wanna sing sad songs tonight

Daffodils and daisies hot on my chest
sweet arms, salty flesh.
Sweet and proud I'm sharp as a dart,
do you wanna see a bluebird? It sings in the dark.

Not just once but maybe twice
I don't wanna sing no sad songs tonight

~Jewel, A Night Without Armor

A Dream Within a Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf—tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

~Edgar Allen Poe


Tonight I wish to touch the stars.
To swing the moon in my cradle
To pull the sky around my neck
To embrace the night in its expanse

The sleeper has awakened to walk
through this universe of blackness.
No artist alone tonight
is left without a brush in his hand

Dark, deep, haunted,
glorious throne rooms of night.
Angels fly from the nectar of pitch
black sky and heaven of starlight
Here I walk the silver strand
and throw my inhibitions
to the wind

Firmament of structure
God is holding
wire-tight circuitry of molding.
The heavenly host are alive tonight

There is no sandman, no grim reaper,
No boogey apparition or ghostly creeper.
In darkness there is only
absense of light
So turn
off the bedlight

~Kevin Max Smith, At The Foot Of Heaven
Tags: ha ha, poetry
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