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Literature Text
Patience is a virtue, so they've told me;
Patience is a grandeur to possess.
Patience is a duty, to uphold free;
Patience caused me nothing but duress.
Oh, I wish that I could testify its splendor;
Oh, I wish that I could sing unto its praise.
But always as I'm waiting I remember:
In my life, patience comes stagnation on the ways.
Wait, wait, wait.
Have the courage not to fail.
Wait, wait, wait.
Don't expect and you'll prevail.
Hurry up and wait, soldier, hurry up and wait.
Listen to your marching orders and you'll not be late.
Patience is a virtue, so we've often heard it said.
But patience is best cultivated when your heart lies dead.
For screaming it will protest when the patience comes to strain
And time, when long abided, never ends well for one's brain.
Patience is a grandeur to possess.
Patience is a duty, to uphold free;
Patience caused me nothing but duress.
Oh, I wish that I could testify its splendor;
Oh, I wish that I could sing unto its praise.
But always as I'm waiting I remember:
In my life, patience comes stagnation on the ways.
Wait, wait, wait.
Have the courage not to fail.
Wait, wait, wait.
Don't expect and you'll prevail.
Hurry up and wait, soldier, hurry up and wait.
Listen to your marching orders and you'll not be late.
Patience is a virtue, so we've often heard it said.
But patience is best cultivated when your heart lies dead.
For screaming it will protest when the patience comes to strain
And time, when long abided, never ends well for one's brain.
Literature
Deaths Domain
“And so I say!” Death proclaimed. “All of you who see yourselves brave, come and meet me in my domain.”
And so they came, strong and brave. Men and woman from across the Earth, come to meet in Deaths Domain.
All who entered died in agony, or lived in pain.
Here in Deaths Domain.
Literature
To Repair the Broken
Trailing her fingers over the dusty hard wood counter top, the heart inside her expanded, swelling full of regrets, of anger, and of sorrow. Tears brimmed her eyes before cascading down her cheeks like small waterfalls, never ending as the rain kept falling from her eyes.
Her fingers picked up chunks of dust upon those small ravines on the pads, dirtying her once pure body, just as the memories soiled her peace of mind. To breathe in the musky air was to inhale poisonous gasses from the past.
She took three steps farther into the room, away from the counter, before she sank down to her knees, surveying the sight before her eye
Literature
The Crimson Winter
It's been so long since then, but I still remember it even now, and I still see red every time I see fresh snow. Like a horrible nightmare you can't awake from, only to realise that what you are seeing is horrifically real. It all started that one December when I had just turned seventeen, I was on holiday and was staying at my grandmothers home. I'd never been there before, but I soon realized just how alone I really was. Remote and far off from any contact with civilization, was her little, two-story house up on top of the mountain, a real “winter wonderland.” No WiFi, only one TV with three channels, it looked like hell, or so
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Comments16
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So what exactly might you be waiting for, then?