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Literature Text
The Tale of Sleep is a simple one
Hakim Chandra was his real name, though
Everyone called him Sleep for fun.
He got his name from his constant show
Of snoring in class (although the teacher said 'no').
His school was huge, yet, friends, he'd not made.
Who would associate with someone so slow?
That's why he slept, what with no dues to be paid.
He found no earn popularity with just a good grade.
Sleep was known, also, for his notorious skill.
Romanticism was his most valuable gift.
Though he could never get a love with his own will,
He was nice enough to give shy students a lift.
Hakim could think of a romantic idea as quick as a swift.
Once a week there'll be somebody asking for help.
Those few times he's awake, Sleep's mind is never adrift.
In fact, he could name nearly every person, every whelp,
Despite how nobody'd care if he made the loudest yelp.
One day, a boy came to him asking for aid.
He pointed to a girl he truly desired.
And Sleep unsheathed his romantic blade
As the two spoke softly, as they conspired,
Thinking of ways to woo the admired.
Hakim finally suggested to write love on her arm.
At first the boy was confused, not inspired.
Then he understood Hakim's clever charm.
Sleep was left alone as the boy flattered her warm.
After many weeks, his words had been famed
Sleep's advice had become a trend.
His entire idea was very acclaimed.
Everyone was writing "Love" on their friend.
Though this whole thing did not amend
His problem of putting his infamy away.
He was sure his heart-healing idea would have no end.
But Hakim had no love of his own to display.
He was left alone on the brightest day.
Sick and depressed, Sleep walked to a bridge.
The structure was high over a deep abyss,
And Hakim stood on the top at the ridge.
He closed his eyes and felt the wind's kiss,
Listening to the ocean's hiss.
This was his dream, the chance to fly.
Hakim spread his arms feeling total bliss.
He waited for the water's holy reply.
Then Sleep lost his mind and said goodbye.
Hakim Chandra was his real name, though
Everyone called him Sleep for fun.
He got his name from his constant show
Of snoring in class (although the teacher said 'no').
His school was huge, yet, friends, he'd not made.
Who would associate with someone so slow?
That's why he slept, what with no dues to be paid.
He found no earn popularity with just a good grade.
Sleep was known, also, for his notorious skill.
Romanticism was his most valuable gift.
Though he could never get a love with his own will,
He was nice enough to give shy students a lift.
Hakim could think of a romantic idea as quick as a swift.
Once a week there'll be somebody asking for help.
Those few times he's awake, Sleep's mind is never adrift.
In fact, he could name nearly every person, every whelp,
Despite how nobody'd care if he made the loudest yelp.
One day, a boy came to him asking for aid.
He pointed to a girl he truly desired.
And Sleep unsheathed his romantic blade
As the two spoke softly, as they conspired,
Thinking of ways to woo the admired.
Hakim finally suggested to write love on her arm.
At first the boy was confused, not inspired.
Then he understood Hakim's clever charm.
Sleep was left alone as the boy flattered her warm.
After many weeks, his words had been famed
Sleep's advice had become a trend.
His entire idea was very acclaimed.
Everyone was writing "Love" on their friend.
Though this whole thing did not amend
His problem of putting his infamy away.
He was sure his heart-healing idea would have no end.
But Hakim had no love of his own to display.
He was left alone on the brightest day.
Sick and depressed, Sleep walked to a bridge.
The structure was high over a deep abyss,
And Hakim stood on the top at the ridge.
He closed his eyes and felt the wind's kiss,
Listening to the ocean's hiss.
This was his dream, the chance to fly.
Hakim spread his arms feeling total bliss.
He waited for the water's holy reply.
Then Sleep lost his mind and said goodbye.
Literature
Sleep
Consciousness is tired. It has been a long day.
He is thankful for his final coffee break, even if caffeine isn't what he wants right now.
Draining a glass of milk he glances at the clock,
Yawning.
Not much more work will get done today. May as well call it a night.
Haphazardly he bundles the remaining sheaves
Of scattered thoughts into drawers and filing cabinets;
He performs the usual closing time routine.
A quick brush of the white paving stones outside,
A wipe of the facade.
He closes and lashes the shutters
He shuts down the terminals
And turns off the light.
Only then does the subconscious emerge.
Lighting a candle,
He op
Literature
Invidious
Jealousy does
not suit you.
A leech, feeding
on my soul just
to find the words
you cannot say
in my presence;
but behind my
back you glow
with arrogance.
You shine with
a false sense
of brilliance
that will never
captivate anything
more than a
dead audience.
-Brian Shuffett
August 9th, 2010
Literature
sleep time
Someone's having a midnight shower,
I'm lying under familiar words,
I don't know what you're doing.
I think you're getting high,
Holding your phone for way too long,
But maybe not.
Maybe there's a guitar involved,
I don't mean 'involved',
There isn't a crime.
But a guitar seems likely,
That way you can sit quietly,
Unless you decide to sing,
I hope you sing.
The shower's stopped now,
I'll probably fall asleep soon,
I don't know what you're doing.
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September 11, 2010
Christopher Michael Speciale
This is my tribute to the wonderful cause: "To Write Love On Her Arms." Wrote it for National Suicide Prevention Week.
It goes to all the teens--and their families--who lost their lives to depression. <3
These stanzas are called "Spenserian Stanzas." I don't particularly like them--this was my first time writing in that form though, so it'll probably be the last.
By the way, this story does not suggest that this is how the TWLOHA cause got started. I really don't know the story behind that.
© 2010 Christopher Michael Speciale
Christopher Michael Speciale
This is my tribute to the wonderful cause: "To Write Love On Her Arms." Wrote it for National Suicide Prevention Week.
It goes to all the teens--and their families--who lost their lives to depression. <3
These stanzas are called "Spenserian Stanzas." I don't particularly like them--this was my first time writing in that form though, so it'll probably be the last.
By the way, this story does not suggest that this is how the TWLOHA cause got started. I really don't know the story behind that.
© 2010 Christopher Michael Speciale
© 2010 - 2024 DavidTarr
Comments19
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This is a really beautiful story