Members
19/M/Philippines
don't be so close, i'm chaos.
Poems
Olivia Kent Aug 2013
The Cataclysmic Frog!
Olivia Kent
Aug 2013
The Cataclysmic Frog!
Knows he wants to die.
Slip from his lily pad.
No-one knows why.
All he seeks is misery.
He’d sooner end up dead.
A frog of many colours with toxins in his skin.
To tell the truth in this sorry tale
Which is maybe merely a superficial jest.
Secrets told and secrets sold.
Only shows an honoured few.
He is gifted.
Blessed with awesome style.
Offers trips,
Accompany him on his lily pad,
The cataclysmic frog, he’s not bad.
Subtlety strokes.
Most of his gifts he keeps hidden away.
Denies he has them.
He’s crying inside.
Cowering in fears’ depths.
All love concealed.
The frog, he knows these feelings exists.
Finds them hidden under well- worn pebbles.
Eroded by the tide.
Pebbles round and shiny.
Clear and bright, occasionally catch sunlight.
Provoking memories, still fresh.
A fear of fingers snatching him, causing searing pain inside.
In his heart feels wickedness as stabbing needles burn again.
The sky drips with vermilion blood tears.
As in sadness, he denies.
Believes he can’t see her in front of his eyes.
Dries out while he dies.
Just as he expires before he flies.
Such a shame.
He knows this vision was predicted.
Together they shall beat a retreat.
Poor dying frog stuck upon a skewer.
Finding excuses to give to his muses.
The sad cataclysmic frog, once again he’s blinded.
As his true love he denied.
Just see what he loses!
Olivia Kent 2013
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Knows he wants to die.
Slip from his lily pad.
No-one knows why.
All he seeks is misery.
He’d sooner end up dead.
A frog of many colours with toxins in his skin.
To tell the truth in this sorry tale
Which is maybe merely a superficial jest.
Secrets told and secrets sold.
Only shows an honoured few.
He is gifted.
Blessed with awesome style.
Offers trips,
Accompany him on his lily pad,
The cataclysmic frog, he’s not bad.
Subtlety strokes.
Most of his gifts he keeps hidden away.
Denies he has them.
He’s crying inside.
Cowering in fears’ depths.
All love concealed.
The frog, he knows these feelings exists.
Finds them hidden under well- worn pebbles.
Eroded by the tide.
Pebbles round and shiny.
Clear and bright, occasionally catch sunlight.
Provoking memories, still fresh.
A fear of fingers snatching him, causing searing pain inside.
In his heart feels wickedness as stabbing needles burn again.
The sky drips with vermilion blood tears.
As in sadness, he denies.
Believes he can’t see her in front of his eyes.
Dries out while he dies.
Just as he expires before he flies.
Such a shame.
He knows this vision was predicted.
Together they shall beat a retreat.
Poor dying frog stuck upon a skewer.
Finding excuses to give to his muses.
The sad cataclysmic frog, once again he’s blinded.
As his true love he denied.
Just see what he loses!
Olivia Kent 2013
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Amanda Nov 2013
Cataclysmic
Amanda
Nov 2013
Irony found in cataclysmic because it has always been my favorite word and it has always reminded me of you though the description is anything but similar to the way your feet flow against the gravel and your palms tug at the strings of your book bag in the morning.
Falling in love with you was not cataclysmic, although it was. A whirl wind and hurricane of loving you thoroughly without question but so many all at once, and wanting to kiss you
and wanting to kiss you
and wanting to kiss you.
Falling in love with you was not dramatic, it was not difficult. It was more of a descend than it was a fall. Every moment including today and every day after I continue to descend. It was slow and it was easy and it was subtle, like the second time your lips decided to hesitate near mine.
It was destructive in the way my body was split into two and I left half of it with you and the other half devoted itself into looking in your eyes and swearing they would never look at anything else ever again.
You are not cataclysmic the way falling for you was
but you are a beautiful catastrophe.
Falling in love with you was not cataclysmic, although it was. A whirl wind and hurricane of loving you thoroughly without question but so many all at once, and wanting to kiss you
and wanting to kiss you
and wanting to kiss you.
Falling in love with you was not dramatic, it was not difficult. It was more of a descend than it was a fall. Every moment including today and every day after I continue to descend. It was slow and it was easy and it was subtle, like the second time your lips decided to hesitate near mine.
It was destructive in the way my body was split into two and I left half of it with you and the other half devoted itself into looking in your eyes and swearing they would never look at anything else ever again.
You are not cataclysmic the way falling for you was
but you are a beautiful catastrophe.
Roland Oct 2018
Cataclysmic Release
Roland
Oct 2018
‘Twas during inner turmoil that a certain yearning arose
Whispers of breakage reaching deeper as time goes
From the disillusionment of reality it was forged
Of seething rage the desires hunger gorged
In following certain conformities felt like being a prisoner
The will to resist the motions of many being aimed to muster
To not be like a tree that has to be cut or uprooted just to move
To be driven by reasons that to only ones viewpoint can behoove
Looking at another view of the coming uncertainty
As a pathway to many possibilities with regards to unpredictability
That stopping a tragedy is sometimes not the thing to do
Lest one forgets that the phoenix must burn down to rise anew
Or that Ragnarok is followed by a great rebirth
Who can know what revelations a raging flood might unearth?
Being lost might as well be the way to find an elusive longing
The remedy to the Anhedonia closely and ominously looming
When being chained to the rhythm just compares to an inner futile feeling
Knowing that a greater horizon is missed by the act of settling
A bet on the odds that epiphany might be found in whatever form
To behold serendipity actually being brought by the coming inner storm
In using the great idleness to plan the restoring of a balance
And to see clearly without the feeling of rushing pressure and turbulence
The path and pace may change to the deeper quest not yet ceased
In bringing forth the long sought betterment through a cataclysmic release.
Whispers of breakage reaching deeper as time goes
From the disillusionment of reality it was forged
Of seething rage the desires hunger gorged
In following certain conformities felt like being a prisoner
The will to resist the motions of many being aimed to muster
To not be like a tree that has to be cut or uprooted just to move
To be driven by reasons that to only ones viewpoint can behoove
Looking at another view of the coming uncertainty
As a pathway to many possibilities with regards to unpredictability
That stopping a tragedy is sometimes not the thing to do
Lest one forgets that the phoenix must burn down to rise anew
Or that Ragnarok is followed by a great rebirth
Who can know what revelations a raging flood might unearth?
Being lost might as well be the way to find an elusive longing
The remedy to the Anhedonia closely and ominously looming
When being chained to the rhythm just compares to an inner futile feeling
Knowing that a greater horizon is missed by the act of settling
A bet on the odds that epiphany might be found in whatever form
To behold serendipity actually being brought by the coming inner storm
In using the great idleness to plan the restoring of a balance
And to see clearly without the feeling of rushing pressure and turbulence
The path and pace may change to the deeper quest not yet ceased
In bringing forth the long sought betterment through a cataclysmic release.