L. V., I Found This Poem Drowning In The Egg Mixture

L. V., i found this poem drowning in the egg mixture

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More Posts from Literaryvein and Others

literaryvein

1 year ago

When it seems there’s nothing left for me here, somehow there’s always you. All I have to do is grab my pen, and I add days to my life. If I keep this up, I’m afraid I’m going to live forever.

An Ode to Poetry

L. V., i found this poem when you said you wanted to live forever

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literaryvein

8 months ago

The day I realised I’m going to be me for a lifetime,
I met Grief.

She was sitting on the curb
just around the corner; face resting on her hands,
elbows on her knees.

When you died, I understood why
people need to grieve.

You see, it’s so close to a year
since the funeral
and the memory of every vein
that runs across the back of your hand
is still crystal clear to me.

Without grief, how could loving someone be possible?

When I die, I don’t want anyone to find the body.
Let’s keep the world guessing.
Is she still alive? Was she ever alive?
Did she drown, fall off a cliff? Did she bleed out, starve?
Did something big and raging devour her whole?
Did she vanish into thin air?
Maybe this is why he called her a mystery.
Was it a murder? An abduction?
Look for a ransom note. Perhaps a suicide note?

The day you realised you are going to be yourself for a lifetime,
I hope you walked around that corner with your head held high;
your shadow, following closely behind.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem on the back of your hand

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literaryvein

1 year ago

"Autumn" by Henri Fantin-Latour (French, 1836-1904)

What
is there
to be feared
of the dead when
every day the living
devours the living?
Meanwhile, the dead
does nothing but rest;
mouths shut, arms
crossed. And who
else is easier to
blame than
the quiet
ones?

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem on the headstone of a 9-year-old boy

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literaryvein

10 months ago

Hey! So I’ve made a rather new discord server for writers, authors, poets and other types of literature lovers for specifically the romance genre! I was wondering if you’d like to check it out or if you knew anyone who’d like it! I don’t want to self promo in your asks but I’m also too shy to DM you. So just let me know in your answer and I’ll DM you if that’s alright 😅🫶🏻 Love your posts!

Hi, thank you! <3 I don't have a discord, unfortunately (maybe this is what will finally get me to make one). This sounds great, though. DM me, please. I could mention it on my other blog as well—more writers follow that blog.

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literaryvein

6 months ago

My mouth says: wouldn’t it be easier if our hearts were like flowers?

On the Balcony (Detail)
Childe Hassam, 1888

Someone asks patiently: what do you mean?

Wouldn’t it be easier if, on certain days, we could just pluck out our heart

like a flower, plant it temporarily in a pot, so we can get on with our day?

Then once we get home, we can plant it right back in its place.

Because today’s one of those days that doesn’t require a heart.

L. V., i found this poem in the midst of an anxiety attack

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literaryvein

1 month ago

L. V., meet me at the epilogue

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literaryvein

7 months ago

Beside the bed where parting life was laid…,’ illustration for Oliver Goldsmith’s The Deserted Village (Detail)
By Edwin Austin Abbey

across the muddy terrain of your heart
- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem in a local paper's obituaries

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literaryvein

9 months ago

Detail of "The Lovers (Autumn Evening)"
by Émile Friant, 1888
with minor alteration to conceal the subject's eyes

L. V., i found this poem on the headstone of a 9-year-old girl

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literaryvein

7 months ago

Detail of "Sower at Sunset" (1888)
by van Gogh

All at once, I was Icarus and I was the moth.
I flew too close to the bright yellow light.
Unlike Icarus, unlike the moth, unfortunately,
I survived.
- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem at the hands of a stranger

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literaryvein

10 months ago

Detail of "El Sueño (La Cama)" ["The Dream (The Bed)"]
by: Frida Kahlo, 1940

August was a lion without a voice.
That was a metaphor—August was not really a lion.
If you’d rather have the truth, here it is: She was sick.
She was stuck between wakefulness and dreams.
In her dreams, she kept scratching off her face
because she has always wondered what it’s like to be pretty too
and everyone kept yelling something about wanting everything
and August wonders why they want everything
because doesn’t everything come with the bad things too?
Are people in love with the bad things now too?
Oh wow, don’t people fall in love with anything these days.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem stuck between wakefulness & dreams

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