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maria Apr 12
Some people remind me of a campfire,
a source of eclectic senses:
the smoky wood,
the evolutionary fascination of the flame,
the warmth and chill of a starry night.

Others remind me of a snow day in grade school,
a source of jittery incongruence:
the sprinkles of white,
the disruption of monotonous school work,
the mischief of nature coming to the rescue.

You remind me of an early morning rain,
a source of calm melancholy:
the soft droplets on leaves,
the lessened saturation from the overcast,
the heightened realization and contentment of one's existence.

The essence of people
epitomized as scenes and collective experiences;
it is not so much of what it is
but rather how it makes you feel.
Ace Mar 23
Floating in the vast
A jelly is hushed

From the storms to the tides
Low to high
Pushed and pulled
By the current and time

It wonders around
Glowing in the dark
And end up circling about
Till the end of March

Where the time has come
For the one he preys
All hail the moon she praised

She twists and she twirls
Trying her best to navigate
Eventually she spirals
And lost in time and space
A lost jelly finding her way
Jeremy Betts Mar 23
What I wouldn't give to be normal
Well,
Let's be real,
I know nothing about normal
Is there an actual definition that could be written in a way to make it simple?
I've tried to define it but I don't think it's possible
Forcing this to be rhetorical
But here we go,
What is normal?
All I've been able to conclude is it's normal to question what's normal
Other than that though,
It may be undefinable

©2024
a celestial body
lesser of age but
brighter in composition
was found to be
unexpectedly disarming
in its distorted form
unable to maintain
its expected shape
it was drawn in by
the voracious needs
of the other's gravity
a starry beckoning
that caused these
entities to draw forth
towards one another
this sharing of energies
a merger however
seemingly not unlike
those observed before

and yet something
about this pairing
steals the attention
of the experts and
the admirers alike
this rotation of one
about the other
guarding devotedly
from perils unseen
in the midst of
this stellar pirouette
there continues a chaos
pulling from all directions
both together and apart
defiant and undeniable
fluctuating with unknowns
eventually to become
Each long lost dream
of conquest in the
ashes of history
is buried.
With it lie the
cracking bones of
sacrificial pawns
forever to oblivion
consigned.
Celebrated as nothing
more than the unknown
soldier, who for the
ambitious and self-centered
imperialist, gave his own
dear life.
A soldier unknown who
gives his own blood,
to elevate his general
to history's indelible
annals, decomposes to
oblivion with neither
a name nor an identity.
He spills his own blood
for a glorious title on
his chiefs to be conferred.
His valiance, bravery and courage
are all to his commanding
general credited,
who in unmerited triumph,
robs him of his military
ingenuity.
Dishonoured in death,
his unidentified remains
are crammed with the bones
of others like him, in
catacombs of mass graves.
Whilst his imperialist
general, to whom he
gives a name in history,
gets interred in splendour,
in a stately and Palatial
mausoleum.
A realistic tribute to the unknown soldier.
Hadrian Veska Feb 22
The lunar craters sit silently
Painting an image of a bygone war
One that no grass or flowers
Will ever grow over

A war of annihilation
A destruction so complete
It was etched it stone
A grime reminder of a vicious cycle

That the very thing itself
That decimated our moon
And sent it hurdling into the earth
Would one day return to us

To finish what it had begun
Those distant eons ago
Carlo C Gomez Mar 23
~
So where did you go?
Where in daydream tarnation are we?
     If only you could see my exodus
     and relent

Where are you now?
Matters of blood and connection
forming at the mouth
we are the fabrication
      --an image apart from ourselves

To break is something sacred
in the Morse code of brake lights
     through time stained windows
     through a thousand contractions
the dead are getting younger

If only you could see me
walk into the blackness
not to build a fire
       but melt, wander, disappear
       and relent
       relent
       relent

~
Eyithen Feb 6
I'm not a poet but I write poetry
I'm not a songwriter but I write songs
I'm not an artist but I paint and do things of the artistic persuasion

I don't like to title things
They sound so official
And offically, I don't know what I am
Shofi Ahmed Jan 17
Came yesterday
ask me not
from where.

Tomorrow be gone
no, don't know where!
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