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Shiny Seven by ShinyScribe, literature
Literature
Shiny Seven
First is my one niece, dreams boldly brought to life through her art; The biggest summer of her life approaches, greatest adventure starts. With a heart on her sleeves for kids to snuggle, from it passion bleeding, She emerges as a powerful package many employers will be needing. Most wonderfully, her two brothers will be ready to welcome her back, Spice up her life in case the adulting grind leaves it short of... whack. She'll get to wow them with what she's created and will not stop there: Like the rainbow ocean of artists before her, I know she'll aim to dare. Second was once a baby I held in adolescent arms... now we are both men. Together we embrace the inner geek across his as well as my gen. Love for music just took him to Memphis, surely far from his last trip; Maybe one day he'll be part of a grand performance on the Vegas Strip! Or I might just see him around town as he assists with electrical needs, Folks no doubt remembering that magnificent hair as well as his
Artists Needed More Than Ever by ShinyScribe, literature
Literature
Artists Needed More Than Ever
If we stood as one, hand in hand, and without fear set free all of our pain, I suspect we could generously nurture Mother Earth with our own rain. Fortune still greets us as the gift of art, a power to transform our tears Whether we choose to make a nephew smile or pursue lifelong careers. Art is worthy of being called one of our gods, possibly God itself; Even if discovered at age ninety or made to spend decades on a shelf, So many forms of beauty are able to manifest in one's fingertips, Songs of undying passion still passing through ice cold lips. Search within yourself, discover a dream you thought was no good; Light the torch of daring, touch the seemingly dead hunk of wood. You do not need an audience of thousands or even hundreds to gift This weary world with a ray of light to push back the darker shift. Read your poem of flowers and rainbows to an infant at naptime; Put off filing your taxes to finish painting, you master of crime. Decorate your garden with charming
The human heart is not born with darkness overpowering the light. Our eyes do not first open with only shadows and sneers in sight. Vile words come from the mouths of people who have not lost Their capacity for what is right, though much of it has been tossed. We have been trapped in a pandemic much longer than four years, Recent times raising our awareness of the great overseers: Anger and bitterness, wrath and retribution, looming over us all With power so great they could easily make our unity fall... Does a typical corrupt politician not have enemies in his head? What if he believes the worst critics, that he is better off dead? I could never envy the president... just imagine trying to persist When millions take to the web to wish you would cease to exist. Of course we can still be angry at our leaders, for hatred never Suddenly sprouts from a middle finger or sentence cruel but clever. Time and repetition nourish that feeling with a poison seeping All around your soul until
I wonder how many in the social media stream have stopped to ask you that question, If more than you think have done so but been lost in the comment section's daily congestion. Truthfully I did not intend to ask you that because I just assumed you love to bloom in What you call vindicating vitriol placing you on a pedestal above every other human. Acting by reacting is easier to do than taking that step as close as you can to another's shoes, Trying to understand why one would welcome vilification, piecing together what few clues Can come from standing on the outside of another's soul, so I must ask you again: Have you found genuine happiness in causing others and in turn subjecting yourself to pain? I may never be able to forget what you said about children better off missing an arm or leg Than having parents somewhere on the rainbow, and I am here not to take you down a peg But to keep on asking you if this is truly something that makes your life feel full, Or if you are indeed
The tongue is capable of transforming into a serpent on any given word, Fueled by venom that is every once beautiful thing you have heard Picked apart by a cruel toymaker who commands the serpent to bite Until you feel yourself bleeding out and fall away from the light. Deep down in darkness is where you start to feel like you always belong, Because the world tells you it's a place meant only for the strong. This illusion is painted in front of us until reality feels like the lie; Losing sight of the truth leaves a part of you to wither and die. Your arms are shaking, legs staggering and still so many steps to take. How do we continue this walk with a smile we know is not fake? The only way is to impale the serpent, but it will merely shed its skin, Giving rise to a more monstrous beast whose fangs go deeper within. We must push the love of others past the horde of inner demons seeking Nothing more than to keep that hopeful, beautiful light from peeking Into your soul so it can
Such a perplexing thing it is, two rainbow-bleeding walls in ultimate juxtaposition. It fluctuates between fully grasping the concept and even with purest intuition Failing to appreciate what it means for one's emotions to swell and seize control So that it is neither heart nor head marshaling your steps... it is the human soul. In the depths of regret is where your scars cut deep enough for you to embrace Still being alive through your existence-altering pain truly so small in eternal space, Yet as a large as a thousand titans to you because to live is to be a soldier of war, A poet on the battlefield running for cover while still hoping to capture unfolding lore. What time is there to show yourself patience when time is off fooling us all? Sometimes it seems like we're scampering about the court trying to hold the ball Long enough to take the shot that even if missed will change our lives for the better, One we must take for this world of ours is only to keep getting warmer and
I can always count on this soul of mine to produce long after time Has decreed this scribe's hands have erected their final rhyme. So tightly bound am I to a poet's duty that is wildly creating, I dare to say that side of my spirit is in fact still incubating. Its final metamorphosis may be triggered tomorrow or sleep Until I learn I am not long for this world and thus as I weep Release the full steam of a geyser that will always be faithful, No matter how badly it is polluted by a society so hateful. Reality is beyond our power to escape forever, all the same We deserve the chance to seek literary liberty without shame. How else will we remain dreamers and give this world a chance At turning into a new chapter beyond this dreary circumstance? That is an age I want my nephews to see, but often I struggle With knowing that particular dream could end up in rubble Courtesy of rising tensions carving into certainty and stability Like a knife slicing through upbeat ideals with sinister
On some days it's harder to see than others, if you can see it at all; We still need to believe it's there, or else we will miss its call. All of this pain we're feeling, these roadblocks knocking us down... Still the Earth watches over us, roses budding along green gown. Few things are harder than remembering that through the burning We feel inside and watch all around us, the world is still turning. It might be something we understand for a moment, then lose; We shouldn't beat ourselves up, for every human is confused. Being a parent, gutting your way through every dull work day, Bracing for car trouble or layoffs or a lengthy flight delay... Driving home, head bobbing along to your favorite song Known to no one else in a hundred miles; where do you belong? To list every moment of uncertainty, unease and unrest Would take knowledge of every sin mankind has confessed. And despite my mind's naggings, I lack the knowledge of God... If only I could always embrace the fact that I am
Expecting to bring a smile to every face you see will lay down the pieces Crucial to a recipe for disaster befalling when but one smile ceases. That may sound extreme, but my daily battles inside a perfectionist's mind Have shown me that embracing just one precursor can set up the bind. Some days there really is no escape, no door you can close on those faces You become convinced are frowning at you, even if reality shows no traces. They must be upset, and it must be something you did to make them so. It becomes so tiring to walk through a day with self-made guilt in tow. To all the perfectionists who know this weight, bonded by their pain... Wondering if tomorrow will bring the same tiring struggle all over again... If I had the power to give you a life-altering answer it would already be done, No more battles to be fought because we'd all have long ago won. Just imagine: an era where we love ourselves without stopping to worry That if we are anything less than perfect