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Literature Text
how to capture the Howl that heals
that's what Dylan tapped
multiplying loaves and fishs
that was Dylan's rap
wandering dusty roads of history
he redrew forgotten maps
he could freeze them cold with a Mona Lisa smile
the glint and spark of his bladed eye,
that cuts through your hide,(as he hides)
they did not see the slight of hand
so enraptured with a prophets cry
he rode the Zen that dwelled within
words spewed forth as bubbling magma
freed from the con-fines of convention
knew,he did,the pulpit well
to capture heaven/ridicule hell
he escaped the trap of dogma
invent he did, a self of sorts,looking for a hook
he studied much to learn the tricks
of an enigmatic look
there is a thrill,in the surreal
all children play in Dada
before they learn to walk straight lines
they dance in epileptic fits of joy
fall down at will and speak in tongues
Dylan tapped the voice of young
and yearning of Innocent's return
he did not ask to be your prophet
only to make a bit himself
and share a voice that could wake
the half living and the dead
among us bumbeling,fumbeling fools
he shred our false convictions
and in the process,freed a few
bound by their own assumptions
poet or prophet,hipster or huckster
he could be all in one
put one thing for sure,
he could hook with a look
and for while, enjoyed the fishing
that's what Dylan tapped
multiplying loaves and fishs
that was Dylan's rap
wandering dusty roads of history
he redrew forgotten maps
he could freeze them cold with a Mona Lisa smile
the glint and spark of his bladed eye,
that cuts through your hide,(as he hides)
they did not see the slight of hand
so enraptured with a prophets cry
he rode the Zen that dwelled within
words spewed forth as bubbling magma
freed from the con-fines of convention
knew,he did,the pulpit well
to capture heaven/ridicule hell
he escaped the trap of dogma
invent he did, a self of sorts,looking for a hook
he studied much to learn the tricks
of an enigmatic look
there is a thrill,in the surreal
all children play in Dada
before they learn to walk straight lines
they dance in epileptic fits of joy
fall down at will and speak in tongues
Dylan tapped the voice of young
and yearning of Innocent's return
he did not ask to be your prophet
only to make a bit himself
and share a voice that could wake
the half living and the dead
among us bumbeling,fumbeling fools
he shred our false convictions
and in the process,freed a few
bound by their own assumptions
poet or prophet,hipster or huckster
he could be all in one
put one thing for sure,
he could hook with a look
and for while, enjoyed the fishing
Literature
Incest
I remember sleeping in the bed we shared.
Was it wrong?
I remember him always holding me in his arms.
Isn't that what you do with those you love?
I remember mom finding out.
Why did she cry so much?
I remember him looking away.
Couldn't he meet her gaze?
I remember asking him if something was wrong.
Had we done something bad?
I remember him wrapping his arms around me.
Wasn't it supposed to feel this way?
I remember him keeping his voice soft and quiet.
Did he whisper so as not to let mom hear?
I remember him saying he had to leave.
Where did he have to go?
I remember saying goodbye.
Were those tears for me?
I remember not s
Literature
Incest
I love you so much but it could never be
I love you because you know the true me
I know you love me the same way I love you
My love for you will never end
I wish that things could be different
But we can not change what fate has made
If only we were not brither and sister
They would understand what we share
They would understand the way we kissed
They would understand how we share our bed
They would understand the love we share
But it seems they will never care
They won't condone th
Literature
Incest
Whisper in my ear;
Seduce me.
Softly kiss my cheek;
Use me.
Say that you love me;
Abuse me.
Take all that I am;
Throw me away.
Suggested Collections
Reading a bio of Dylan,wanted to write it out while fresh,needs revision.
© 2007 - 2024 alianoraspie
Comments1
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Amazing to the senses. The words have a lyrical quality, that I like to hear in song. The rhymes evoke a story that has a familiar feel to it. Sensed rather than seen, like the Faerie, it was to me.