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Literature Text
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend
On a faulty camera in our minds
Though shutters closed our lives still exposed
Left to develop on their own
Lenses turn and memories are burned
Into the horizons of our soul
Shutters open, shutters close but they pay no heed to those
That only wonder about their dreams
Slipping through an aperture in time, our lives are cast as a frail line
Of light on a barren sea of film
It is only when through razor focus these rays begin
to form the bigger picture
On a faulty camera in our minds
Though shutters closed our lives still exposed
Left to develop on their own
Lenses turn and memories are burned
Into the horizons of our soul
Shutters open, shutters close but they pay no heed to those
That only wonder about their dreams
Slipping through an aperture in time, our lives are cast as a frail line
Of light on a barren sea of film
It is only when through razor focus these rays begin
to form the bigger picture
A failed attempt at literature I scrawled on a sticky note one day in the span of about 10 minutes 
Comments2
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This is pretty good, but I'd definitely give Deathcab credit for that first line. 