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And poets write Of love and Lust Of how their treatment Is unjust Poets write of Hurt & pain Such things Inspire again And again But how can You verse The curse Of life mundane Each day the same Write about Blissful normality No lifetime calamity But If we need To be hurt To feel Is that real I know Poets bleed And need To hurt So that they can Ink in verse Their life’s curse But it’s hard to Comprehend This goes Until the end So that on their tomb Is carved in stone Here lies A poet Who lived alone Cursed by The need to verse All life’s wrongs Instead of singing Misfortune’s song Missed opportunities Long since Gone By focusing on Each woeful stanza Missed out on life’s Wondrous bonanza
Another Dana Painting
eyes whisper lies more than lips ever could
eyes hear lies more than ears ever could
If you’re looking for truth you’ll find it in the eyes
Pick me me me!!!
Giveaway Contest: We recently reached 50,000 followers, and as a way of thanking you, we’re giving away FIFTY (50!) vintage paperback classics by Albert Camus, John Steinbeck, Carson McCullers, Toni Morrison, George Orwell, Ray Bradbury, Jane Austen, and so many others! Won’t these look lovely on your shelf? :D To win these classics, you must: 1) be following macrolit on Tumblr (yes, we will check. :P), and 2) reblog this post. We will choose a random winner on January 20, at which time we’ll start a new giveaway. And yes, we’ll ship to any country. Easy, right? Good luck!
“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
Pablo Picasso (via goodreadss)
I love this
[Kisses that are sweet Are an exotic treat. Lips that are bitter Are stained with cheap liquor.]