composição literária

For Kay, my dear sister in Jesus. May this small tale help to remind you how beautifully and wonderfully made you are in the eyes of the Great Artist.

~~ Beautiful ~~

Once upon a time, not long atrás and not far away, there lived a wise and skillful artist who loved to paint. He delighted in making magic with color and bringing all the imagens he saw in his head to life in his pictures.

One day, he was painting something extra special. His brush dipped in and out of the swirling as cores and flew across the canvas in expert strokes; dabbing here, blending there, moving swiftly in a joyful, marvelous...

Dear You-Know-Who,


How can you not read my body language? When you present, I barely look up. I barely clap. I barely look at you? And yet, when my friends present, I go wild. I clap, I cheer, I am constantly looking at them. I even think you touched my hair!!!!


I know you were impressed when I rocked up in the multipurpose area covered in blood and bruises. A door hit me, sent me flying into a pole and sent to the cement for goodness' sake! You hung around, I can tell. Yu stayed longer than I expected you to. At least you didn't see me when tears were flooding down my face. Or when I hit the...

love. what does it truley mean? being in amor is simpe, anyone can convence themslves they are in love. being in amor is when you feel something for one person mais strongly than you feel for another. but amor is something elsa all together. amor is when you cant convience yourselve you amor someone, but when you try to leave something tells you no, stop and think. and when you do think the reason is blantint. amor is when you think your done, done fighting and done lieing, but than it hits you that without all of that you wouldnt be the person you are, and they wouldnt be the one you love....

Some aleatório little piece of prose composição literária I did last ano on a teens composição literária website, hope you like it.:)

They are everywhere, these birds. They hobble, strut, and flutter around the town, weaving in and out of the shoppers, darting in between clumping feet to snatch crumbs and bits of crisps among the blobs of chewing gum and cigarette ends on the wet cobblestones. The people don’t care. The pigeons don’t care. Both species living their separate lives in a man-made environment where man and bird are equal. They are the colours of the town; grey, dull brown occasionally, dappled with factory-steam...

"I still remember the world from the eyes of a child. Slowly those feelings were clouded por what I know now..."



I sat there in the police department, swinging my legs back and forth high above the floor. I was wearing my favorito purple dress and my borboleta sandals. My dark brown hair was in a high ponytail and it bounced as I looked both sides. Where was Mommy? Carmine and Reed sat seguinte to me there, and they were not happy. Carmine, twelve at the time, had tears coming from his eyes. Reed, fourteen, had his face in his hands, so I couldn't see what he looked like. Soon I got sick of waiting...