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Literature Text
Sometimes people cry out for help,
I think we all have witnessed it,
We watch them break,
We watch their tears,
And we see something in their eyes,
The last piece of hope,
The hope that as well could be a message in a bottle.
Who will ever know if someone noticed that tiny little bottle in the ocean,
Or if they did,
Did they pick it up?
I have seen a lot of bottles in my time,
And most of the time I pick them up,
But I notice quite a few times I don´t,
It is like they become invisible,
Even if they scream loudly right in front of you,
I think something is wrong,
Why do we leave the bottle in the ocean?
I clearly can see they need help,
And I see it,
I really do,
How can you pretend not to?
I think we all have witnessed it,
We watch them break,
We watch their tears,
And we see something in their eyes,
The last piece of hope,
The hope that as well could be a message in a bottle.
Who will ever know if someone noticed that tiny little bottle in the ocean,
Or if they did,
Did they pick it up?
I have seen a lot of bottles in my time,
And most of the time I pick them up,
But I notice quite a few times I don´t,
It is like they become invisible,
Even if they scream loudly right in front of you,
I think something is wrong,
Why do we leave the bottle in the ocean?
I clearly can see they need help,
And I see it,
I really do,
How can you pretend not to?
Literature
Childhood Departs
His Little Princess had now departed
She was lay face down in a tranquil pond
The dead water of which was her worries
That he tried so hard to rescue her from
The lead weight of life and her memories
Had dragged her down to new depths and held sway
Bringing her to that body of water
In which her callow body was now lay
His Little Princess had now departed
Her vapid throne vacant for evermore
Father passed her the key of his wisdom
Too afraid was she to open the door
Had she hung on a little while longer
She would have seen there was a better place
That her childhood was just a stepping stone
Towards a life that is far less debased
His Lit
Literature
Death Doesn't Happen To You
Your death doesn't happen to you
No, you get peace for eternity
At the cost of a single cut
What you don't see,
Are all those people
Left standing at your funeral
Trying to figure out
How they'll be able
To live in a world
Without you in it.
Yet you have the audacity to think
You could take something as important
As your life away from us,
To put our hearts at stake
And throw your life away
Because you can't take
The struggle of living.
What you don't see
Is that your life isn't yours,
It belongs to me
It belongs our mom and our dad
Your growing number of friends
And that girl you wish you had
Your life never belonged to you
It is a gift th
Literature
How You Remind Me
Why must you remind
of the past I left behind?
You make the faces in the wind
howl their stinging reprimand,
Why must you remind
of the light I failed to find?
Complete blindness without a spark
forged my chains within the dark,
Why must you remind
of the angel who was so kind?
The warmth of fire in her eyes
only hastened her burning demise,
Why must you remind
of the voice that would always grind?
The words of a snake that learned to bark
never failed to find their mark,
Why must you remind
of the soul that has resigned?
The one person who I cannot see
the one person who is me.
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I thin, that perhaps, you would enjoy the works of Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. I, maybe rave about him too much at the moment, but he just seems to write and say what I'm reflecting upon. I got a copy in with the original Spanish and an English Translation on the opposite page. I'm trying to broaden what little Spanish I know and this seems a far better way to do it than try to learn 'Tourist Spanish'.