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If you were a book, you would be a limited edition, original, leather-bound manuscript. The kind solely found in the back of an antique bookstore.
You were driven from my mind for a time by attractive covers and synopses... Then happiness faded into the lull of boredom. My mind was filled only with tiring thoughts
It was after the worst friendship breakup of my life When I found you along the shelves in the old high school building. You sat there, collected dust, and sighed in waiting.
Writing. Books. Poetry. These classes I take Once each week On Thursday Eve Make me want to yell an "Eek!" I look forward and in the past, but it seems as if
I am a knight in shining armor My enemy lay in a castle built of my own thoughts My sword, the tower of books that lay on my bedside table My shield, a cup of tea and a funny tv show
Walking into another dimension A world where I'm not who I should be Not myself but filling in someone else's shoes A place where words jump at me And help me see in a new light
Inspiration a whispery-sounding word for something so big It can come like a Flash - lightning turns the shifting sands of Thought to glass, clear as crystal Or softly
Books on the Shelf (the progress of life) Books on the shelf, books on the shelf, I turned to the words to find myself. The first one was gentle, and I love to this day.
Each old novel; a new lover, Assuaging the pain of life. Silence falls over the house, save The rustling of yellowed pages.
I was strange/ Books and papers were my pleasure/ Unlike the kids who wanted treasure that one could not afford/ The shelves overflowed with my stories/
As I read, I find pieces of me, Hidden in the words, Mixed in the ink. The stories I love,
I want to read books over here. I want to read books over there. Books are great to read everywhere. I read with my friends at the library. I read with my sister at home.
Once I get home, I sit outside after a long day. Everyone wants to talk to me, but I don't really have anything to say. I like to keep to myself, because it ensures that I will not be in pain.
The Nameless Creature of Isse Tower Great Deformed, Broken, Awaiting Life’s Fate. The Boy Watched the Flowers Grow, The Falling Snow, Faces of Disgust,
I used to read a lot more, That’s just a hardened fact. Now what I read is simply for school, Annotations, blue and black. I remember loving books,
Right in front of me is a different world, a different land. A different story, a true best friend. A place where I can be anyone or anything.
I. Books are considered once as my enemies But now, I treat them as part of my inner peace That seems to enlighten my mood when in frustration
Years ago, I picked up my first book and immediately I was immersed into a new world Never to be seen again, as I drown in a sea of my own imagination
My eyes move across the page, Soaking in each colorful word. Carefully crafted living poetry Enters my mind in a torrent.
Ancient bards with stories old A heart laid bare, a hand to hold A million whispers lay untold Between your trembling hands. The woman never gifted a voice A kindred soul, a weighted choice
My Books By Jadie Reasland To take my books away, It’s like taking away my soul. Yet it’s also like you are Crushing my heart,
dusty covers star crossed lovers paper cuts open and shut i go through them so fast know the feeling won’t last
I would like to thank books For being my refuge in this world. When I was younger I resented others my age All they did was bully and cheat
My hero is invisible. She comes out in the bright colors that cross my mind, The beautiful stories that feed my imagination. My role model is the reason why my trees are green,
Dear faceless words, You've given me so much. Your voice changes with what you say, An echo of your many names. As a wandering traveler, you taught me to see beauty.
three years old -- mumma tells me "dont disrespect a book else it will not teach you all that it knows" i listen to her and see the book in new light i see the inanimate object as an equal
The smell of ink and paper The flutter of turning pages Faraway Lands Magic Things Incredible People Friends.
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Books put together a powerful message You can find words that make you sound impressive For me, a book would make my mood happy, or depressing The book would speak to me in a conveying way
I used to know a girl sad and bare was she she cried all the time and never thought about the bright side Hope had abandoned her her spirit destroyed her she never knew what to do
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books. But that's the way we like it.
Our heads may be in the clouds and our noses may be stuck in books. But that's the way we like it.
Thoughts bleeding in my head. Idea's screaming, in my mind. A single pen, in my hand. The only paper, I could find. Unused ink, written words unsaid. Inspiration,
As I make my journey goals ahead, pushing through, I take the time to reflect, I take the time to make some sense of all that I have become. What has brought me here
A gentle shift of the body, the steady turn of a page, and the oddly addicting scent of ink and paper fills the room.
dark nights, laying in bed, wanting the world to just stop. cocooned in a blanket, silent tears, or maybe big loud sobs.
As of late, I have immersed myself In the works of Ellen Hopkins. She has taught me that poetry, Does not need to be a rhyming couplet,
Books put together a powerful message You can find words that make you sound impressive
You hurt me! Surely you can imagine That ghastly, glorious surprise -- Occam's razor sliced through faith's abdomen, And ushered in its final demise. Should I curse or thank you?
Dear Author, Your book brings me joy and this isn't just a ploy. It is by far the best and I am utterly impressed. I would like to thank you for making these characters.
I have this ideal, This unattainable goal; If I could make it real, I'd finally feel whole. These times alone I enjoy, I mean no deceit. But solitude I'd gladly destroy
To all the people willing to listen, willing to read: I share with you my work, my creed I have but a simple message that’s easy to hear It’s easy to listen, to just lend an ear
Dear Authors, I dream of your literature which keeps me up at night as I pore over each page, deciphering and synthesizing each phrase, detail, and word.
Dear Depression, Another day has come and gone with moonlit rays receding to the approaching dawn. Why, oh why, do you make me feel all alone even with friends coming to and fro?
The breeze flutters the inked pages softly, A reader’s gaze follows every a word. Nose stuck in a book, in hand a coffee, Far off places and new worlds most unheard.
There are so many books as old as time, That act like doors for the creative mind– To worlds where reason never needs a rime And in these worlds, one can find grand emprise.
Big Brother watches us, down on the ground, Doing what we are told, not making a sound. We listen, follow commands, its our nature, No other lifestyle that we know. Telescreens looking close, that's the game,
Lazy rain patters on the rooftop Drops roll down the glass window A room - dimly lit and cool A tea kettle whispers slow Through the window streams
Those tear stained pages. Those words. Those characters. That home.
The shelves nudge my hips as I pass. They are jam-packed with too many books to count, But I do. I count them all. Their pages are rough and worn. They hold memories of eras I long to visit.
Ambition a constant hunger I advise you - Beware the quiet genius Cunning, unnervingly discerning Don’t underestimate me You see me sit in silence
All eyes on me Watch me stutter, watch me slip Watch me crumble at the pressure Laugh and applaud I craft masks and write acts
I first checked you out in school. I don’t know what caught my eye But it doesn’t matter because I was too shy And let you pass by for the fear you were “too intellectual.”
Paper constantly gets the award for creative potential Creating Creations with artistic purity that’s essential
Wake up! Cling to the hours of the day, You're going to wish you had laid Down sooner, before the sun said hello. Pace, faster, keep from running disaster, You're final goals you're after,
Books are my escape And if you’re reading thisI think they’re yours too And that also means You’ve dealt with the people Who ask: how? You wanna know what I always tell them?In books I find love
Legends about dragons tell of fearsome beasts, Who were rumored to have human feasts, However these tales are not even relatively true, For I know a nice dragon named Lou,
Tale as old as time Repeating again and again. Begining in France Then animated by a mouse. A story about a girl like me. It's just a small town, One she moved to sometime ago.
Oh books that I love,with your frayed covers and tattered pagesYou take me on perilous adventuresand entice me with electrifying romances.You make me laugh at characters mischief and weep at their demise.
I am deep and dark like the night, Ominous and mysterious taking everything in my path. I've taken my job into consideration and pondered my own opportunities to be taken or not is my decision
you think i'm buried in a book? hah, i'm buried in my mind. things of myth and mystery black and white combine a both good and evil history if you look that's what you'l find
What am I? To be fair, I'll give you hints. You may think me clever. You may think me dull. Depends on my contents. This is what hold within. Within me I hold the key to enteriung new worlds.
On an island that no one knows The seeds of sorrow a shipwreck sowed To nip this off in the bud Let me tell you what I love The books of old would do just fine To help me pass the spacious time
I was a girl who was always alone. I was the girl who had "friends" but felt alone.
For The Library Tulani Reeves-Miller You have always been there for me When I needed you most With comforting pillow-soft pages I turn to you when I am at my worst
An escape from everything Away from the hatred of the world Away from the terrors of the world Away from the hypocrites of the world To feel good is to feel happy Find happiness and you shall feel peace
An escape from everything // Away from the hatred of the world // Away from the terrors of the world // Away from the hypocrites of the world // To feel good is to feel happy // Find happiness and you shall feel peace.
Oh what lovely chunks of trees you are, How your pages fill me up With characters and adventures Splashing colors and vivid pictures in my mind. The world gets farther away
I invite you to imagine a girl. She is quiet, her house obscenely loud. She needs calm – her house is anything but. You’re looking for her? Check the library. Because that’s where she is –
One day she’s a princess; the next, a cunning detective. At first he’s a noble knight, soon to be a sorcerer in a distant land. Tales of beauty, evil, love, envy all woven into ink and paper.
When you look at her and her oversized jacket what do you see? I see the girl that she used to be, shy and submissive to the orders of others, oh how mean they could be
The blaring alarm breaks through the daze, And the sun shines through the window in a golden haze, The birds are chirping in a frantic melody,
Through the days in which I feel there is no good, days in which there is no escape days in which I cannot be in a worse mood, and my life has fallen into rather poor shape There are books.
What makes me feel good? Is it the feel of someone close to me? Or is it the perfect weather or autumn? What makes me feel good?
After a day of cruel words and disregarding looks, i always find pleasure in reading a great book. Trying hard not to let the bullying lead me to sadness, All the while trying to please others it drives me to madness.
And so I opened my eyes But could not see The words on the page That made me want to Put the book down and leave Because it was too soon It was not time I could not leave
Reading ellicits many worlds For boys and girls, alike. Open a book and you've entered a new reality, One that's meant just for you. Experiences never had, Feelings never felt, Emotions unknown.
Feels Good. Gazing into the eyes of my lover Ocean's heartbeat lulling me to sleep Odd encounters ending in a smile Drizzly skies and the smell of a book Feels Good.
Wake up, Bright light, stale breath, why is that candle still lit? Sleep's grip not yet done with you, Turn over, bend knee, unbend knee, turn back - itch.
Your pages so crisp like the dead fallen leaves that like to go crunch with the chill Autumn breeze, What else should I turn to whenever I'm sad. Your fantastical worlds. Oh, they make me mad,
The rain hits the window screen. Pages rustle with soft grace. Dark ink messages Whisper sounds of peace. The lightbulb gently glowing. Music fills the cold heart. Body heats up slowly.
Like Charles Dickens i have great expectations for you. you are like a novel i seek to dwell into and become lost in a never ending fantasy a great-gasp-be-comes the only expression of gratitude like Fitzgerald when i see you.
Sparkling silence is cast over a room before the listeners start to swoon. This poet reads her words so smooth bringing back her own youth. The words she says speak
Since the moment I held you in grasp You’ve fueled my every aspiration And although we’ve had our ups and downs You’ve always sat there patiently
I'll spread myself across this page. be present a pound the stage . maybe then my memory won't fade. my life no longer a passing phase . try to sketch every piece of me in to eternity
From being a book once sealed shut, now open and exposed. With problems I fought to be forgot, on pages that can't be closed. It will be okay—
From being a book once sealed shut, now open and exposed. With problems I fought to be forgot, on pages that can't be closed. It will be okay—
They were my escape, My escape from a world that dissatisfied me, My escape from a world that was dissatisfied with me, They welcomed me with tattooed arms and bright hair,
Poems, books, words, and quotes you are the love that I have found in literature.
I sit upon the story book. (The walls they shudder, the house it shook.) The pages are yellow, the cover is aged. (The window’s emblazoned-the storm is enraged.) The story is familiar, my memories wake.
I believe in a god But not a god that others do I believe in a god That makes bookstores feel mystical That makes you catch a whiff of old books That makes you almost swoon with nostolgia
Together we relax in each other’s company. The stresses around us drift away. Together we talk for hours about destiny, riveting lives around us display.
She flips page after page, anxiously trying to reach the end; Because there will be an end, And it will be a happy one; Hers? She's not so sure; But no, she won't think of that;
Alice came with me to a far away land. At least this one wasn't filled with sand. She handed me a page from the ground. And found a trail that wound and wound. We followed it through the trees And through the clear We followed it to the hole,Tha
I’m tempted to say oxygen Were most critical to my survival, Like a smart-alec, But it only keeps Me alive, Continuing a process His Breath Began. I might claim that
Between the pages, among the ink Among the open-eyed nights Unfolds a world that curls and kinks and twists in lengthy delight Nestled in a mantle of tone Bestowed upon the eye
Were I trapped and far away On a land out in the sea The most important thing to have Would be a book, a friend indeed Though its sentences will never change Words never will it speak
Allow me to dive Into a pool of black and white Let me lie on my back And drift; will you join me? Tell me, how does a world
Escape Into Reality Naïve hearts and high standards of life Page after page and chapter after chapter Of text and truth. Those worlds aren’t so far fetched for a fantasy.
I heard a prayer today By Father Pedro Arrupe About love Part of it read: “Fall in Love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”
The adventure awaits. Turn the page, Feel the new experience, The new world just Waiting Waiting for you. Filled with only the best People, in all the universes.
Hold on let me think..one thing I can't live with out? Is Knowledge. One thing I can't go without is knowledge. Everybody knows that knowledge is power. If we have knowledge then the world is ours!
I. Am. A reader. A starry-eyed dreamer Who holds worlds in her hands on a daily basis Escaping from the hum-drum to a mythical oasis. I'm a devotee of words, a disciple.
Being stranded on an island would be unfortunate, and any item we bring compared to the big picture may seem disproportionate. But being logical has its perks, and i've heard this survivalist book really works.
If just for a day my life were to change and I would be whisked away to an island in the sun I would not take much, practically none. I would not take a pen
I could live all by myself, Yet never be alone. Two covers and a spine, Can make a charming home. Wallpaper of rustling pages, Songbirds warbling in verse,
Pages torn and frayed The feel of paper under my fingers I get lost in the words The vividness, the scenery That the author paints with words
71 72 106 107 210 211
It is weird that I am here. Trapped. On a beautiful island I cannot call my home. I have no cell phone, no coffee, no friends of my own. Deserted, I feel..alone.
Just 26 letters Just some pieces of paper Just some ink. It’s not though It’s art It’s expression.
When I look to my fingertips, On writing, typing, seeing Sights in stories, the imagination, Of the yellowing pages of stories,
Give me my books. The ones I read when I was young, to the ones that I read now in adulthood. Concentration and motivation. To find what comes next. Reading would keep me occupied for years.
You are my fix, my remedy Your scent fills my lungs and makes my heart beat faster with excitement The thrill of feeling your texture between my fingertips, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth
Books are…. Books are a journey Books are the doorway to a soul Books breathe life into everything that is: Everything that was Everything that will be; There is nothing in the world similar a book
A goddess, leads to shoes, leads to sports Leads to drinks, leads to cars, leads to on and on and on Words and words and words Such wonderfully malicious beasts When released by those who know
I am tired. Tired of holding my tongue at the thoughts my mind shouts. What do I want to do? Who do I want to be? How will I make money? I do not know. And I am tired.
I cling to those things That make me feel Alive. Those things that let me know I'm not so alone here. Those songs, Those quotes, Those drawings, Those books that keep my
All I need is a firm spine, uncreased by rough hands. I need that aroma of hazelnut, noticeable only when soft fingers leaf through What once could have grown leaves.
A book is just imagination That lives on a page Creating a reality Where heroes rule the stage I’ve met a boy with demigod powers
A thousand heroes Standing tall, A thousand heroes Together fall. From beneath the dusty, Yellowed pages Charge these warriors Of varying ages. United they stood,
We sit together, holding worn and too real pages that smell of Egypt: cool and crisp against our fingertips. We hum our individual orchestras left in the back of our minds when all we can think of is
If you looked for my name on the front of a book, I don’t think you’d bat an eye, For my story would be just words on a page, All meaningless words floating by,
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough. I’ll consider it. The first few pages intrigued me. I'll bring this one with me And read it on the bus ride home. I’m learning more and more,
The music that tears through my eardrums beating a desperate path through my body. Reaching, seeking down deep into my bones. Linkin Park tumbling along my veins.
Books are just dreams wrote down and shared with the world.
My life is a book, Sitting on the top shelf, Dust gathering upon the wilting pages, Words, yet unheard, Lines written straight, Each flowing to the next, The next continuing the return,
Oh, glorious Is my relation to Hard maple and unread pages Oh, glory How I love My mother’s old dresser altered to a bookshelf Oh, wait Sometimes I think I Smell remnants of
With the first turn I am reborn Into a carrier of wars never-ending as I sit And rock-a-bye to the things I’ve carried In my o’ mind— Now I see clearly the barren fields of the west
I've been searching for a way out of this blurred vision. Among checkups and lenses I watched through pink frames. Instead I am ostracized
I stand in an empty room But I am not alone. Big Brother is watching you. I think in my own head But everyone knows my thoughts Big Brother is watching you. I whisper to myself But everyone can hear me Big Brother is watching you.
I slowly transpose from Flesh and Blood to Page and Pen.
I travel the whole world
reaching into the depths of love stained pages and pulling out the most familiar character is my way of reinforcing my sense of self
If you were to harm me, slice me open, I think that a knife would be useless. Instead, rip up a thousand journals and use the edges, for nothing hurts more than a paper cut.
I want to forget the past But I keep trying to make the memories last I know I’m only hurting myself
I believe in fantasy
Books and music are timeless and limitless.
Ode to books
Have you ever smelt magic On the pages of books?
It is no joke you’re bound here.
You’ve turned sanctuary into hell
In the silence of the black night My eyes follow the black ink On crisp white sheets And I see a world of possibilities Imaginary and alive. Yesterday I was a Celtic warrior
Schools in session, Welcome another year, Almost time to go, Yet my homework pile contiues to grow. SLEEP, what is that? FUN, what is that? LUNCH, hardly get that!
I read to escape reality Yet another builds up around me It engulfs my being and doubts my existence on Earth
I lay across the grass, a book in my hands A breeze spreads over me as I am transported to a different land.
Grab your tea Snuggle in tight Bring forth the Tributes. Sail the sea Take flight Push back reality. Turn back the cover
I am from music at volumes so highFrom the feelings of all that make you sigh I am from hours of bright, hot lightsAnd the packing of instruments at the end of the night
Worksheets, packets, handouts too I stare at the blocks of text, nothing too new Helpful, resourceful, that's what they say And I agree, but only 'till I've had my way Dashes, arrows, comments all through
A place of students They come for two things Desks and internet To relax, to study To pick up textbooks from a cubby A place of modernity Glass and concrete Microchips and metal
The slow down days of summer are gone,
From all the stars in every galaxy,to the electronic melodyof every song that comes through my eardrums.From every relaxing activity
I sit down First day, first class New faces are all I see I see smiling faces Faces, all staring back at me Comforted, that's how I feel Routine, that's what I need
If life is like an open book, My pages are made of glass. As I carefully make each turn, Time continues to pass. A rip is like a crack, In the story of my life. Any kind of peril,
I’m a poet…and I’ve always k
Every book I open is a door a door to a new world. A pathway to a new destiny. A road to new friends. A journey. A voyage. An experience. I live and breathe with the characters
When she reads, it's something magical, because for a moment, shes there but not entirely, her heart stays with me... but she leaves...
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it, I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
I anxiously await the day My novel is confirmed to play To invade your minds With my tantalizing words For my characters to wound To uplift, to hurt. For the hours I've spent In silence to toil
Hello? I’m talking to you, over there In the corner
Here I stand, book in hand. These Women and Men behind these stacks- do not attack. But defend. So do not offend- me with your lack of literacy that you do not comprehend these Women and Men.
They come They go They stay They leave But to catch them Now that's hard So close you come To forming coherency
I don't read you Not anymore I haven't forgotten The joy I got Whenever you opened Nor the adventures I am just too old now But my memories are pressed in you
Tick tock, The clock strikes one o'clock. The sky is dark, the stars shine bright, Everybody, but one, is asleep tonight.
7 billion people in the world as of today Asians, Africans, Europeans, we got it each and every way What makes us different? The color of our skin or how we look?
Another world can be found in a book, Another world can be found if you look Between the soft, crisp pages.
Past closed up pizza jointsPast laundromats, through the dying noisethe nights tick on like clockworkwatch the calendar as my steps unwind
Bound up in leather, like the books And held by paper chains A heart no longer functioning Inside, no soul remains They put a hat upon her head, pulled low To hide the brand
Nameless; a naked leathe
The dark The room The candle, I held it So I looked I listened I stood, in awe
"I like big books and I cannot lie".. And poems that especially rhyme My escape as a child and in time, An escape from the "Me" I spent years trying to find. Holding on to the words of the pages
Books are my real best friends. I know exactly what they are thinking. I know all the chapters of their lives. Their characters become my family and
What really bothers me are books with silly love plots. Does his teeth really shine or is that just the light? Is her hair naturally "jet black" or is that what it said on the bottle?
Movies and films are much more than just fun. films that reveal victims that are more than done. i want to be a director that shares their dismay, I'll show how good wins but how evil still poisions the day.
Creamy smoothness under your fingers Curled up; cat-like Minutes ticking by the world surrounding you has vanished It's only you; eyes devouring piece by delicious piece word by beautiful word
Wandering amongst the maze of shelves, I hear their whispers of stories yearning to be heard from a multicolored sea,
While helping a student who was struggling through lines of a poem Sam was fixing the schoolhouse's roof in exchange for jars of spiced peaches.
People see me as a loud and talkative person
She was a hurricane a tempest so true so strong and indestructible blowing through existence and soaking everyone in her way day by day more fell wounded from her rage
Belle, meaning beauty from the land of France We remember from the movie how she put Beast into a trance But remember how her nose was always in a book, She received taunts from the one who falsely loved her, Hook...
Letters and paper all around, Begging, pleading for release, My hands run down their shivering spines, Gasping, breathing in relief, As I free them from their prison, Of wood and glass and dark,
It is the sound of hushed breathing. It is the rhythmic silhouette of strides, the perfectly choreographed dance. It is the way that the summer sunlight creates small crystals in the hanging spider webs.
What would I change? I would change the way people think. I would END prejudice, and DELETE mockery I would make people see the positives first Because negativity killed the cat really
See I have this thing I do; I write. Most people say I can’t do it forever but I don’t see why not, See it lifts me up so high above the clouds it changes your life,
Books Are made of up sweet-smelling ink and paper That are so saturated with potential They are weapons My hands ache to weave a tapestry with silk threads of words
It's just not about the dates or the facts that follow. Reading thousands of pages. Finding the truths in all the words written hundred year old pieces of parchment. It is about all the lives that were impacted.
Writing is a passion The need to put what I can't say on paper It may not be the latest fashion
Words are taken for granted. Written in books that just sit on shelves. Children no longer want to read but play video games. What about the children who suffer. depression anxiety
Warning: some explicit language
Papery skeletons of age-old trees moldering in bindings wrinkled well,
Papery skeletons of age-old trees moldering in bindings wrinkled well,
I almost envy those who don't see what is so great about reading.
Whether you are Rugged and Disheveled
Two adventure stories in conceit. Alas I could not read each. One was said to hold happy deceit. The other holds pain, sorrow, and defeat.
Books are pure magic The turning of a page can Take you anywhere.
I look at the towering shelves that enchant me with their dust, And their books sitting there like a superlative throne. I find the quiet a blessing, Because I know they won't forever be silent.
The tan cover is in tatters, Nearly detached from The spine in many places.
I am half-read books and highlighted words inside of them.
I've gone to the land of wizards and warlocks, I've dealt with the loss of parents, The loss of boyfriends, and the loss of myself. I've seen the world through a thousand eyes, yet only 2 are mine.
wham, bam, and thank you uncle sam! taking our brothers, our sisters: just lambs. leaving our children on streets in the cold. not much of an uncle, all you do is scold!
Education is not a matter of equality, for the government doesn't lie in desires of mortality . The future is deprived, because of the lack of cognition floats in our backwards spin tunnel.
Look around you Don’t let them surround you Open your eyes Don’t let fear keep them shut Turn off the TVs They are poisoning your mind Get off of Facebook before you run out of time
No holes in jeans and no thin straps on shirts. Only for girls. Teachers believe girls are the problems for poor attention spans. Clothing is the tip of endless problems.
Touch Connect Feel Hold Horror, Fantasy, Adventure, and More Genre for everything and everything is genre Book Stores, Libraries, Books Nooks, and more
I asked myself, what the FUCK is education? A nine letter noun that involves complete concentration... I ended up searching the actual definition, the process of receiving or giving systematic instruction.
No government, no school No rulers left to control the situation Just weaponless citizens in an empty nation The cord to the mic's been cut Shut down the power lines Limit the electricity
We blame others for what they can't be But we cover ourselves in false identities With our selective perception We ignore those we can't see But hide in lies and obscurity It may be hard to believe
Held back by the suppression of the mind one can only fall behind We are succeeded by the past and without change our generation won’t last Time is flying by fast and our learning continues to get thrown in the trash
When I think of words I think of numbers, or knights Or of nights When the sky is an inky black the kind your fingers Almost slip into Like a sleeve, or oil
Each word clung to paper thin pages with some particular tenacity the teachers teeth cut against soft palpable ears The floors knew these lessons had heard more words could tell them more
What could the world be, if it were up to me? A neverceasing green, full of lakes and streams? No sad tears and no angry frowns, No warring nations and no frightening sounds
Books yellowed with age Passed on from generation to generation. Pages are worn, Pages are torn, Pages that are full of history. The distinct aroma of ageing paper, Fills my nose.
My mind is blank, waiting to be awake, There is nothing to satisfy the thirst, No amount of knowledge will do, Through and through, man will never know the truth, Man is fit for this world,
Tick Tock. I don't have time for this.
If I could be anything I would be a book Filled with adventures Dashing heroes Brave heroines Cunning villains There are always happy endings and fairytale kisses
What will be when I am gone? I think this question, thinking I’ll go on But for all I know, I could die tomorrow Then, would my loved ones grieve in sorrow?
Waking up to a cacophony of noise, I arose to a familiar place. A place so much like home but still far from it. It was small, too small for four Maybe five for a time.
The letters on each page spell me further into the story, With enticing promises of quests, of both toils and glory. Each new page weaves a world both brighter and richer
It's in the nightwhen I feel myself taking formthe midnight stars clothed in indigo velvetpressing on my flesh, my soulgiving it substance and I am being born
At seventeen,I am reading the same stories I did at ten:Tamora Pierce, Phillip Pullman, Rick Riordan, Kristen Cashore-and the list goes on.Rented from school libraries and Sulzer regional
The power laden mind of State is clad in fear. The people of the State mean not to intimidate, But to declare the opportune moment to rise And seize education on the forefront.
I was lost for an hour, while nothing was sour. I was a princess, never in a mess, I met my prince, it wasn't a cinch. We danced and sang, until the midnight bang. The hour was blissful,
My aunt would take me to the bookstoreeach time she had a miscarriage. She would browse through each row,immersing herself in the pages and words and letters,trying to lose herself.
Everything just keeps going, but no one is aware of the heartbreak that has been set before me. At the hands of a paperback book all of my emotional stability has crumbled to dust.
Lines tell stories Lines tell stories. Stories that are made up of twenty-six letters Flipping and flopping are words that we can make out of twenty-six letters
When no one is there you are there filling my life with your pages your everlasting joy when I turn each page continues ,never stopping though the ages, no bad can come from your words you give , no pain just joy to re
Yellowed pages Faded ink Coffee stains left behind, by another story traveler The old man with a corduroy jacket Patches on the sleeves, and not just the elbows Books perch on the shelves
Worlds grow, Budding behind unfiltered eyes, Breaking from tradition. Christened creativity, In actuality, Unrealized forms of magic. The potential,
You can't talk back to me I don't talk back to you But the words you speak to me I listen through and through I can't look into a person's eyes I studder when I speak But the words you speak to me
I am leading a half-real life full of adventures and written words. My life is as fragile and vibrant as these cut out pages but I hold my spine straight with my soul proudly printed and displayed.
Inside I can see, I can feel Everything is beautiful, everything is perfect I revisit the outside The fear, the worry, the insecurity I hate it I dread it Let me back inside forever,
Don’t judge a girl by her cover. Every move she makes And each word she says May be the product of a Stint of thought, Duly considered before Made or said. Don’t judge her cover,
My book is long and rigid with black words The mysteries and fantasies take me Where everything is blue with chirping birds And a door opens with a long bright key
Books are the source of all knowledge, Just like that old adage. You can read the words, but what is the meaning? A careful balance on which we are leaning. The heroes, the princess, the fairies galore
I am from reading the wondrous books in the world, the brilliant authors who write them and bring them to the curious world, like magic. Where the books are so strong and so powerful, they can control my feelings.
The rain was cold and nipped the skin, The Thunder boisterous, And the Lightning un-disciplined. It teased the silver Guardian While the thunder spoke in a lion’s roar Of the approaching soul.
I belong to a world of black and white, where even the darkest things come to light, I belong to a world of piles of books, where a character’s heart means more than looks, I belong to a world where words blend,
I know a girl who owns an entire bookshelf of poetry books, but never reads them for fear of mussing the pages or staining the paper covers with fingerprint oils: a hoard of Cummings and Collins
If I were an author, I’d take you away Put you in my publications And make you a best seller Or perhaps settle for a hardcover Maybe even paperback, Type you up on a page
I will read them in the rain And in the dark and on a train And in the car and in a tree They are so good, so good you see! Green Eggs and Ham was the 1st book for me
As Summer comes to an end, Chilly Autumn becomes a friend, Showing you what it has to give, Giving you another reason to live. The smell of Cinnamon fills the air, And no one can seem to bare,
the surprise when you said you had read the same book & "loved it" & I agreed but who knew that all I had felt all along was just love.
the rus'ling pages whisper their secrets to me i am enlightened
There are certain precautions one must take when stalking the aisles of a book store. It isn’t so simple as a stroll in the park or a saunter along some moonlit path. No. This is war. You’ve entered the most