http://slow.writerscafe.org/WitheredWhite The original writings of author WitheredWhite en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775436135 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I was once told that I don't know how to truly love. I think it's true.I know how to lust, want and desire...and it burns like wildfire.But to love someone to their face only lasts so long for me.once I get my hands on it"love" fades quicker than a rose in winter you see. The passion I con.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1852264/ Today I was enlightened, as I sunk so deep in my mind, that the evening hung around a little longer than usual...   Just resting above the trees, Just barely out of reach of the coming day.   I saw beauty beyond the grind with my eyes closed, and my wings.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835091/ He is who she is....No more, no less.No explanation necessary.Emotions are felt strongly, and words spoken hit home...Isn't this true for you too?Nothing will ever compare to, nor compromise the integrity of pure acceptance. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835089/ Understand that there's a beginning to understanding. Not all of us are awake. I'm understanding that many of us focus so hard on finding what we want in others, that we sleepily mistake it for finding what we need in ourselves.I'm not at peace while surrounded by outside voices. Especially tho.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835078/ The leaves are disguised as death, showing their white-sides while holding on like the old man's last breath. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835010/ The concrete is smooth and wet.  I can see the reflections of lit-up signs in the puddles....and people walk as if on mirrors. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835008/ The Awakening sometimes feels like detachment from everyone elseAlways filling voids with awkwardness, Never having anything relevant to say, and often strange noises come out instead.Just pass it off as being cute. The things you have to say, would be true wisdom falling on deaf ears.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835005/ I watched your face melt. All that was left were your eyes, ice-blue,    full of truth,         and wise... Compassion has no pity for the Prize. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835001/ Old familiar feelings flood new groundsI walk comfortablybare footin sync with the heartbeat of these hardwood floorsThe walls are whispering secrets of all the years pastI will rest my eyes nowand fall asleep listening to ghosts http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1835000/ The refusal to accept nature, to see that you are surrounded by yourself and you are a reflection of everything around you. A loss of innocence and denial of aging and frailty http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1729852/ Withered white turns yellow With barely any pink left on the petals Attached to a stem RottingAshes at the bottom of this vase No longer living For the moment of truth has arrived But I missed the train homeward boundSo here I sit in my hotel roomSmoking a pack of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1728975/ They announce their arrival at the gatesWhere on hands and knees the misled awaitPraising the ground of disgraced landsSeeking repentance like meek little lambsThe Fore-sworn clash sword and blow their hornsThey are the ones to lead this warThe Righteous fight to get aheadWhile the Innocents bleed t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1728705/ She smells of sage and sweet perfume   Through snapping embers and smoky plumesHer voice echoes like the call of a loon    While her body writhes like a tidal moonShe weaves her warnings of woe and greed   "Prepare for the harvest of your last seed!"She spins her t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1728663/ This place, littered with only fragments of the chaos permanently etched in our minds,causes loops of confusion to play over and over in time.The falling red of infantile screamingechoes from an umbilical cord of death.It snows. Every flake settles,then melts on grounds of i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1728561/ The crystal-clear vision of high hopes guides my way through this cloud of cancerous smoke. I contemplate my existence and crush the remainder of my cigarette in the ashtray. There is no purpose as to why I do anything anymore, but I still do it. Day in...day out, it's the same cycle; wash, rinse, s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/WitheredWhite/1728554/