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Literature Text
It's early December
We sit in our daughters room
Looking over her possessions
Praying she will be home soon
Just in time for Christmas
Her presents are under the tree
Ready to create some more
Of those beautiful memories
It's now mid December
Terror has frozen our tears
As our angels face is slowly
Beginning to disappear
Our lives are a landfill
For unimaginable pain
As her baby brother weeps
Wanting his sister back again
It's now late December
The festivities have past
As searches for our princess
Are slowly scaled back
A knock on the front door
The endless fall to the ground
"We have news on your daughter
A body has been found"
We sit in our daughters room
Looking over her possessions
Praying she will be home soon
Just in time for Christmas
Her presents are under the tree
Ready to create some more
Of those beautiful memories
It's now mid December
Terror has frozen our tears
As our angels face is slowly
Beginning to disappear
Our lives are a landfill
For unimaginable pain
As her baby brother weeps
Wanting his sister back again
It's now late December
The festivities have past
As searches for our princess
Are slowly scaled back
A knock on the front door
The endless fall to the ground
"We have news on your daughter
A body has been found"
Literature
It Came From The Dark
It Came From The Dark:
Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,
Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.
Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,
And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.
It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,
It cared not for the sensation of pain...
All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -
One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!
Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,
And in that moment, it learned of the truth.
For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -
was me...
Literature
The Poet
The Poet:
He smiles as he sees her sleeping
& gently covers her with a blanket.
He goes to the window and looks out
watching snow fall, ever so slowly...
He sees people in the streets,
Chatting, walking. Some happy,
Others sad. Hearts beating,
Hearts broken; some warm, some cold.
He looks back at her, as she stirs in bed.
A yawn from her, brings another smile to him:
"How cute," he chuckles as he strokes her head.
He runs his fingers through her hair and is content.
Yet, even if he is happy here, again -
He is drawn to that window and finds himself
Staring out at the street and watching;
Marveling at the disparity and wonderin
Literature
Little Soldier Boy
He does not fight for the General barking orders,
Nor for the man in a suit, who sent him across borders...
In his pocket he keeps a single picture, a sole reminder
Like ancient scripture. A home he misses so endlessly,
Tirelessly calling out in his dreams at night. It is the last
That remains on his lips, with his finger pressed upon the trigger.
A single heartbeat, as he sights his enemy; A quiet prayer
To rest in peace. Yet soon it fades, as hope is fleeting;
For the little soldier boy, once marching home.
"Bottoms up buddy, I miss you..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18th October 2012
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a body has been found, but not her soul. her soul that resides, still with you at home. she's always been your precious angel, but angels must do their duties. but no matter where you go, she will be the star angel on your christmas tree.