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 1627° 
Immortality
In the tranquil woods,
I wander,
each tree a thought,
each breeze a lesson.

Remind me,
in every pathway,
I am part of it all,
in this art,
called life.
"Everything happens for a reason, good or bad."
And after watching (a lotttt of times) and analyzing Avengers: Endgame, I believe that they are very right, lol.
 1435° 
Mark Bell
Shut the door
Don’t come back
Once you were
inside
Now Im covered
In cracks.
I was stalwart
True and fit
Years with you
Now I don’t
want to live,
I was smitten I
Fell for your games
There’s only me to
Really to blame.
So shut that door
And don’t come back
The lights have gone out
In this beaten up shack.
Property been sealed
Now  I must rebuild,
 1430° 
Jeremy Betts
Hey you there

It's not just me in here
Oh how I wish you could hear the coconspirator
Or see in a single tear how loud the fear of fear truly can be
And how I'm so rarely allowed to steer

I AM a dark passenger, MY dark passenger
A near prison like constricting atmosphere with no breathing apparatus gear
Life can be so impossibly cavalier
Death is always closer than it should ever appear, regardless of the mirror

In my story I have the glory of a lone fourth musketeer
With a crowded asylum between each ear
So many questions but not a single agreed upon answer will appear
And I've yet to meet this so called infallible puppeteer

Though the hierarchy is clear, it passes through an auctioneer
"Punish me if thy finds I should ever veer from thy holy 'engineer'"
Hell, they can stay put like a headlight frozen deer
I'd rather be allowed to disappear

I did not ask to be here

©2025
 569° 
Thomas Castle
you were once the air i breathed,
when did i become polluted, too?
 444° 
Shambhavi
A flower,
Forced to be bloom.
It opens its petals too soon,
Everyone loved,satisfied,
But soon,
Left it alone in the gloom.
It's not about flowers 😔😔
 436° 
Kiernan Norman
I knew you were there —
knuckles resting like they didn’t know what to do.
I heard your breath through the wood.

You almost knocked. I felt it —
the air pulling back,
the hush flexing its muscles.

I almost opened the door. I felt that too —
the lock daring me to turn it,
the weight of the air leaning hard against my chest.

But neither of us moved.

We just stood there —
two statues pretending not to be waiting —
except I heard you breathing.
And I know you heard me too.
 363° 
mike dm
poems write me
in my slumber
and then i forget them
later. sometimes they
are so good i feel like
this hell is something else
 353° 
Marc Morais
One step in—
the air bleeds thin,
heat curling at the walls,
lungs straining
beneath your brand—

One look—
the room sways,
the way fire bends
before it gives in to wind.

One smile—
a burning magnet,
searing my thoughts
laces undone with just a look—
knowing when to forget
how to hold back.

I meet you there—
skin against skin,
a shiver between shadows,
a heartbeat, staggered and wild.

Your mouth—
an invitation between gasps,
a tide swelling, slipping,
breath against breath,
falling further in.

Fingertips etch urges,
scrape constellations into skin,
the night between palms and sheets—
a hunger deeper than air.

You collapse,
the world now a quivering mess—
a slow-burning ruin,
softened into embers,
breathless—wanting more.
 343° 
Santiago A
"The moon is beautiful isn't it?"
he says.

"I prefer the sunset"
she said.
Actual quotes from our texts
 296° 
Traveler
There’s a storm blowing cold tonight
There’s a tormenting whisper in the wind
My sword is useless in this fight
There’s a battle waged within

**** the demons, **** this flight
**** this soul within
**** what’s wrong, **** what’s right
**** the righteous sin

This storm has blown through me before
Red my eyes do see
Exiled to the killing floor
Wasted upon my knees
Traveler Tim
I wrote this in 1995.
That was a hell of a storm!
 290° 
Dominic Unamuno
My old fat dog sleeping on the blue wood laced porch, his face Illuminated by the half lit moon and his ears dance away the mosquitos hungry for a midnight meal.
Alone, in the end of his tether, probably dreaming bout his youth. His paddling paws and twitchy nose, sow a grin on my withered face, he too reminds himself of earlier days.
Feed the cat, talk to him in a different tongue, ignorant of his clear lack of English. It doesn't really bother me, it's nice to say whatever I want for a change.
Still haven't sheeted the doona, or put away my washing. I'll leave that for a version of me feeling especially frustrated at the state of my messy room, usually accompanying BB singing the blues.
Exhaust's screaming down road begins my nightly routine, a lullaby of fossil fuels sing me to sleep, where I'm off menu for the high pitched invaders, spasms in my fingers and toes, clinging to the shredded wallpaper of the past.
I like this one
 286° 
Kelly McManus
I'm finally free
outlived all my enemies
now I'm the big cheese
 233° 
Katlynn Grilli
Younger me would be so proud
And loud
And rejoicing
And voicing all her wins
Younger me would scream from roof tops
And climb the highest mountains
Younger me would be force
Take every road and every course
Because she would know that I have her and she has me and I am her and I won’t let her fall
Younger me would love so hard and be so far ahead and never be in bed
Younger me would love this life and be here without a fight
Younger me is happy now
Younger me is alive and well
Le soleil de nos jours pĂąlit dĂšs son aurore,
Sur nos fronts languissants Ă  peine il jette encore
Quelques rayons tremblants qui combattent la nuit ;
L'ombre croit, le jour meurt, tout s'efface et tout fuit !
Qu'un autre Ă  cet aspect frissonne et s'attendrisse,
Qu'il recule en tremblant des bords du précipice,
Qu'il ne puisse de **** entendre sans frémir
Le triste chant des morts tout prĂȘt Ă  retentir,
Les soupirs étouffés d'une amante ou d'un frÚre
Suspendus sur les bords de son lit funéraire,
Ou l'airain gémissant, dont les sons éperdus
Annoncent aux mortels qu'un malheureux n'est plus !
Je te salue, Î mort ! Libérateur céleste,
Tu ne m'apparais point sous cet aspect funeste
Que t'a prĂȘtĂ© longtemps l'Ă©pouvante ou l'erreur ;
Ton bras n'est point armé d'un glaive destructeur,
Ton front n'est point cruel, ton oeil n'est point perfide,
Au secours des douleurs un Dieu clément te guide ;
Tu n'anéantis pas, tu délivres! ta main,
CĂ©leste messager, porte un flambeau divin ;
Quand mon oeil fatigué se ferme à la lumiÚre,
Tu viens d'un jour plus pur inonder ma paupiĂšre ;
Et l'espoir prĂšs de toi, rĂȘvant sur un tombeau,
Appuyé sur la foi, m'ouvre un monde plus beau !
Viens donc, viens détacher mes chaßnes corporelles,
Viens, ouvre ma prison ; viens, prĂȘte-moi tes ailes,
Que tardes-tu? Parais ; que je m'Ă©lance enfin
Vers cet ĂȘtre inconnu, mon principe et ma fin !
Qui m'en a dĂ©tachĂ© ? qui suis-je, et que dois-je ĂȘtre ?
Je meurs et ne sais pas ce que c'est que de naĂźtre.
Toi, qu'en vain j'interroge, esprit, hĂŽte inconnu,
Avant de m'animer, quel ciel habitais-tu ?
Quel pouvoir t'a jeté sur ce globe fragile ?
Quelle main t'enferma dans ta prison d'argile ?
Par quels noeuds Ă©tonnants, par quels secrets rapports
Le corps tient-il Ă  toi comme tu tiens au corps ?
Quel jour séparera l'ùme de la matiÚre ?
Pour quel nouveau palais quitteras-tu la terre ?
As-tu tout oublié ? Par-delà le tombeau,
Vas-tu renaĂźtre encor dans un oubli nouveau ?
Vas-tu recommencer une semblable vie ?
Ou dans le sein de Dieu, ta source et ta patrie,
Affranchi pour jamais de tes liens mortels,
Vas-tu jouir enfin de tes droits Ă©ternels ?
Oui, tel est mon espoir, Î moitié de ma vie !
C'est par lui que déjà mon ùme raffermie
A pu voir sans effroi sur tes traits enchanteurs
Se faner du printemps les brillantes couleurs.
C'est par lui que percé du trait qui me déchire,
Jeune encore, en mourant vous me verrez sourire,
Et que des pleurs de joie Ă  nos derniers adieux,
A ton dernier regard, brilleront dans mes yeux.
" Vain espoir ! " s'Ă©criera le troupeau d'Epicure,
Et celui dont la main disséquant la nature,
Dans un coin du cerveau nouvellement décrit,
Voit penser la matiÚre et végéter l'esprit ;
Insensé ! diront-ils, que trop d'orgueil abuse,
Regarde autour de toi : tout commence et tout s'use,
Tout marche vers un terme, et tout naĂźt pour mourir ;
Dans ces prés jaunissants tu vois la fleur languir ;
Tu vois dans ces forĂȘts le cĂšdre au front superbe
Sous le poids de ses ans tomber, ramper sous l'herbe ;
Dans leurs lits desséchés tu vois les mers tarir ;
Les cieux mĂȘme, les cieux commencent Ă  pĂąlir ;
Cet astre dont le temps a caché la naissance,
Le soleil, comme nous, marche à sa décadence,
Et dans les cieux déserts les mortels éperdus
Le chercheront un jour et ne le verront plus !
Tu vois autour de toi dans la nature entiĂšre
Les siĂšcles entasser poussiĂšre sur poussiĂšre,
Et le temps, d'un seul pas confondant ton orgueil,
De tout ce qu'il produit devenir le cercueil.
Et l'homme, et l'homme seul, ĂŽ sublime folie !
Au fond de son tombeau croit retrouver la vie,
Et dans le tourbillon au néant emporté.
Abattu par le temps, rĂȘve l'Ă©ternitĂ© !
Qu'un autre vous réponde, Î sages de la terre !
Laissez-moi mon erreur : j'aime, il faut que j'espĂšre ;
Notre faible raison se trouble et se confond.
Oui, la raison se tait : mais l'Instinct vous répond.
Pour moi, quand je verrais dans les célestes plaines,
Les astres, s'Ă©cartant de leurs routes certaines,
Dans les champs de l'éther l'un par l'autre heurtés,
Parcourir au hasard les cieux épouvantés ;
Quand j'entendrais gémir et se briser la terre ;
Quand je verrais son globe errant et solitaire
Flottant **** des soleils, pleurant l'homme détruit,
Se perdre dans les champs de l'Ă©ternelle nuit ;
Et quand, dernier témoin de ces scÚnes funÚbres,
Entouré du chaos, de la mort, des ténÚbres,
Seul je serais debout : seul, malgré mon effroi,
Etre infaillible et bon, j'espérerais en toi,
Et, certain du retour de l'Ă©ternelle aurore,
Sur les mondes détruits, je t'attendrais encore !
Souvent, tu t'en souviens, dans cet heureux séjour
OĂč naquit d'un regard notre immortel amour,
TantĂŽt sur les sommets de ces rochers antiques,
TantÎt aux bords déserts des lacs mélancoliques,
Sur l'aile du désir, **** du monde emportés,
Je plongeais avec toi dans ces obscurités.
Les ombres Ă  longs plis descendant des montagnes,
Un moment à nos yeux dérobaient les campagnes
Mais bientÎt s'avançant sans éclat et sans bruit
Le choeur mystérieux des astres de la nuit,
Nous rendant les objets voilés à notre vue,
De ses molles lueurs revĂȘtait l'Ă©tendue ;
Telle, en nos temples saints par le jour éclairés,
Quand les rayons du soir pùlissent par degrés,
La lampe, répandant sa pieuse lumiÚre,
D'un jour plus recueilli remplit le sanctuaire.
Dans ton ivresse alors tu ramenais mes yeux,
Et des cieux Ă  la terre, et de la terre aux cieux ;
Dieu caché, disais-tu, la nature est ton temple !
L'esprit te voit partout quand notre oeil la contemple ;
De tes perfections, qu'il cherche Ă  concevoir,
Ce monde est le reflet, l'image, le miroir ;
Le jour est ton regard, la beauté ton sourire
Partout le coeur t'adore et l'Ăąme te respire ;
Eternel, infini, tout-puissant et tout bon,
Ces vastes attributs n'achĂšvent pas ton nom ;
Et l'esprit, accablé sous ta sublime essence,
CĂ©lĂšbre ta grandeur jusque dans son silence.
Et cependant, ĂŽ Dieu! par sa sublime loi,
Cet esprit abattu s'Ă©lance encore Ă  toi,
Et sentant que l'amour est la fin de son ĂȘtre,
Impatient d'aimer, brûle de te connaßtre.
Tu disais : et nos coeurs unissaient leurs soupirs
Vers cet ĂȘtre inconnu qu'attestaient nos dĂ©sirs ;
A genoux devant lui, l'aimant dans ses ouvrages,
Et l'aurore et le soir lui portaient nos hommages,
Et nos yeux enivrés contemplaient tour à tour
La terre notre exil, et le ciel son séjour.
Ah! si dans ces instants oĂč l'Ăąme fugitive
S'Ă©lance et veut briser le sein qui la captive,
Ce Dieu, du haut du ciel répondant à nos voeux,
D'un trait libérateur nous eût frappés tous deux !
Nos Ăąmes, d'un seul bond remontant vers leur source,
Ensemble auraient franchi les mondes dans leur course
A travers l'infini, sur l'aile de l'amour,
Elles auraient monté comme un rayon du jour,
Et, jusqu'Ă  Dieu lui-mĂȘme arrivant Ă©perdues,
Se seraient dans son sein pour jamais confondues !
Ces voeux nous trompaient-ils? Au néant destinés,
Est-ce pour le nĂ©ant que les ĂȘtres sont nĂ©s ?
Partageant le destin du corps qui la recĂšle,
Dans la nuit du tombeau l'Ăąme s'engloutit-elle ?
Tombe-t-elle en poussiĂšre ? ou, prĂȘte Ă  s'envoler,
Comme un son qui n'est plus va-t-elle s'exhaler ?
AprĂšs un vain soupir, aprĂšs l'adieu suprĂȘme
De tout ce qui t'aimait, n'est - il plus rien qui t'aime ?
Ah ! sur ce grand secret n'interroge que toi !
Vois mourir ce qui t'aime, Elvire, et réponds-moi !
 213° 
Orjeta
“ I don’t know if I will emerge stronger, weaker, or as someone entirely new—but I do know that once again, I face this alone.”
 209° 
David P Carroll
In the Lord Jesus Christ's
Garden of everlasting love and
With his love shining bright
Every day and night and
He taught us to love one another
And walk in his light and
Transforming our sorrows
Into his sweet joy and
Love everlasting and
No pain to destroy.
Lord Jesus Christ
Is God.
 208° 
WILLIAM WORTHLESS
i have my little friend she means the world to me
without my little friend i will never be
angel is her name she is always there
and i love so i take her everywhere

she is my best friend loyal and so true
if she wasnt there dont know what i would do
shes my everything gives my heart a glow
all the world to me and i love her so

best friend in the world there will always be
my angel and my rock she belongs to me
i wouldnt be with out her shes my everything
a friendship for a lifetime she will always bring
 155° 
JL Vega
We met
We talked
We pretended
We laughed
We considered
We agreed
We exchanged
We left
It was like a kiss from a rose
 155° 
1ocz
Sun rises, moon shines.
The ocean sings, the stars dance.

You make my world.

Your smile makes my eyes shine,
Your voice melts into my ears,
Your touch makes my heart dance.

You make the world beautiful,
For there is no world without you.
You make my world.
 123° 
jeffrey conyers
Your eyes told me.
Told me things on your mind.
Your voice tells me.
All the things you want to do.
Your hands touches do it too.

Watch what you requesting?
You are asking for something that's too much for you.

I am like you.
I love challenges.
Especially in the field of romance.

Just watch what you requesting?
I just might impress you.
 120° 
Maria
It’s night, freezing much outside.
You’re talking about Paris

Let me, please, sit closer to you
And I’ll move nearer to Paris.

You’re talking about Montmartre
And lo I am there by now.
I hear from all sides: “Oh, belle mademoiselle!”
I’m blushing as under the crown.

“Je suis fascinĂ© par vous!” “Oh, merci!”
“Quelle beautĂ©!” My feet are going numb.
“Asseyer-vous, s'il vous plait. Je veux peindre de vous!”
I can’t say no, and I sit down.

'Je marche sur Montmartre
'
And though I only dream it,
Beautiful Paris, that I see in your eyes,
Is enough for me to fall in love with it.
A few days ago, I met an old friend who had just returned from Paris. We talked all night. He was speaking, and I was listening with my eyes wide open! I decided to capture this moment of my life in this poem.
Thank you very much for reading! 💖
 118° 
Manuel
She talks regularly and with great enthusiasm,
of all the flowers she's ever gotten.
From boys and lovers and friends,
and even that one girl, from camp.
She remembers vividly, all petals and pollen.
She elaborates each scent, and colours each bloom.
But when I asked of her lovers names 
She said she had forgotten.
Thank you for reading!
 105° 
Imarie
Like stars they burn and burn away
Leave me in cold empty day
This path I chose feels like a winding snare
Has led me only to despair.
 103° 
preston

She stands at the Well.
But she is not alone.

A voice speaks—
"You have no husband, do you?
Not just one—not two—but many.
And still, you are thirsty."


She freezes.
Because the voice is true.
Because she is seen.

But she resists.

"It’s not just the men
"
Her hands tighten.
"There is another ‘her’ inside me.

She fights. She *****.
She wants destruction and hunger and chaos.
She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t stop.
She is the one who makes me want to throw myself from a cliff
just so I don’t have to deal with her anymore."

"She’s gonna do something crazy,"
she whispers.
"And I’ll be gone. Like I was never even here."

The voice does not flinch.
"Then let Me meet her."

Silence.

A storm brews behind her ribs.

The "her" within her stirs—
The dark one. The wounded one.
She crouches behind the rocks, clutching her shame.

The other "her"—the one who still believes—
She wades into the water, hands lifted, reaching for salvation.

One moves toward the Light.
One remains in the shadows.

"You see, Lord? She does not belong to me.
She belongs to the dark."


A pause.

"No," The Spirit says.
"She belongs to Me."

The rocks begin to shake.
The water ripples.

Behind the trees, the dark "her" presses her back against the bark,
watching the water, watching the other "her" wade in.
She wants to believe.
She wants to step forward.

But she remembers.

The love of man is dishonest.
The world swallows and devours.
Every time she has trusted, she has been burned.

"The water will steal me," she whispers.
"The light will dissolve me. I will disappear."

But the Spirit does not demand.
It does not chase.
It does not force.

It only knows.

"You are afraid that surrender will erase you," the Spirit says.
"But you have already been erased."

The words cut deep.
Because they are true.

"You live divided.
One ‘her’ in the shadows.
One ‘her’ in the light.
Neither whole.
Neither free."


The dark "her" clenches her fists.
"You don’t understand her," she spits.
"She needs me."

"No," the Spirit says.
"She needs  Me."

The trees begin to shake.
The wind rises.

"Come, little one.
I have been waiting for you."


She takes a step forward.
The trees do not stop her.
The rocks do not hold her.

The dark "her" and the one who waits—the one who believes—
They are not enemies.
They are not strangers.

They are two halves of the same soul.

And Love—
Love has come to bring them both home.



The Art of Salvation

River running..
That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills,  upslope

Giving way,  to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to  elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall  prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries  and tall pines

    And I,  myself..
    am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal,  but heal

That I will not  rage again
within my fear

I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water--  believing
That as I give  of myself
further  into the flow

that I will not become  diffused
by humanity
By the love  of man
and all  of its dishonesty

and all  of its  diabolical treachery

Of its  lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own,  self-centeredness

Or its need  to swallow me up
    into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,
praising..

Worshipping
the true nature  of the flow,
Believing..
that I will let all of this, go
And as she  wades in
I ease, back--

Retreating
up the Dark Hills, *****
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,
  weeping.

Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
   Now, fully concealed
   in  tall pines.

Her hands
are stretched out,  now..
as if hovering  over the waters,
participating

While I hide  from it all

While I hide,  from humanity;
From the fallen,  love of man

    She is wading in,
    Believing
.    
As I am leaving;
Believing

    As the cloud-hidden sky,
    starts raining--

playing the most incredible, of tunes..
https://youtu.be/PgRafRp-P-o?si=1A3rb7ajt_ZPlMW2

xox
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4407079/the-art-of-salvation/


"Little Spirits  were born
with their little  freedoms  intact--
In freedom.. they are only
drawn out  by Love"

youtu.be/i-kHleNYIDc

            â€ïžâ€ïž

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4736547/children-of-the-quakies/
xo
 101° 
shadowsoul
There's no point in doing anything anymore
the only reason I'm alive
is cause' I didn't have the courage to **** myself
 98° 
SleepEasy
I used to carry a bundle of love in my hands
Now I have hatred seeping through my fingers
My filter is clogged and I can hardly contain
The rage within, I feel like puking it all up

But I'll get over it
When the time comes I will get back up
And prove that love is stronger than hate
Just as darkness never overcame the light

I will let go of what's not for me
I'll control what goes inside me
Then I will like the words that exit me
And with love inside I will be free
 95° 
Ugo Victor
I see the quiet strength that is you—
Your courage, your spirit, rough edges and all,
And how in your presence, I find myself content to stand unguarded.
No pretenses, no lofty speeches—only the bare pulse of our truth.
Can’t believe it’s been four years loving the dream that is my wife!
 84° 
zoe
When you look at someone
I want to be looked at

When you smile
I want the smile

When you laugh
I want the laugh

When you walk away
I want to chase

When you love someone
I want it to be me

Its selfish to think, to even want you
because at the end
it's her and not me.
 79° 
Isaac
A pretty girl peaks a guy's interest.
They talk a bit but she won't give in.
To her, he's a mystery to question.
Is he greater or less than expected?

He wishes he could remain that way,
filling in blanks with what she wants.
If he knew luxury is what she desires,
he'd try to stay a mystery or be a liar.

He might take her to the Ritz
and tell her he's rich.
In reality, he's no such thing,
but he dreams.
 78° 
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                       Thinking of You at Dawn

You are a poem, a song, a hymn at dawn
You are not like a poem, a song, a hymn
You are

You are great joy, romance, a sacred dance
You are not like great joy, romance, a dance
You are

You are the reality dreams want to be
And so you are not an ephemeral dream
You are

You are

You are
 78° 
Kelsey
It's fascinating
That I keep coming back here.
When my heart breaks
And the darkness seeps in,
When there seems to be
No one to talk to
I come here
And I talk to myself.
I let strangers read the words
That no one can hear.
Even when they spill out of my mouth.
I come back to connect
With my true nature
And to those,
I dont even know their names.
So...I think I'll always be here.
So I can always be free.
My escape
 76° 
Victoria Hanson
I finally feel
like I'm me again
I haven't felt this good
Since I don't know when
My heart is not heavy
my mind is not spinning
My soul is uplifted
my life rebeginning
My future looks brighter
The path is made clear
My family is closer
My friends are more dear
I’ve learned many lessons
That got me to this place
But the greatest of all
Is to give myself grace
 73° 
IP
It's too late
Though I'm supposed to love you
I permeate with hate
the weight of what you've done to me
turns feelings into fate
 73° 
Jamxsky
Smiling in my silent screaming pain,
It's like pushing the wall of hope in vain,
Then my heart aches to the bone,
Freezing me in the room to be alone.
Sometimes it's okay to be true to yourself, 'cause our emotions are valid and recognizing them is a matter for our growth and peace of mind.
 73° 
Caio Gomes
Uma sensação de leveza,
de extensĂŁo breve e duradoura.

Um arrepio percorre a nuca,
permeia o corpo,
e transborda em um arrepio.

Por uma melodia ou poesia
que ataca e rebate,
tocando a alma,
comovente
emoção elevadora.

Sensação infinita na infinidade.

Oh, se ao menos sempre tivesse sido,
para permanecer aqui, sempre.

Deleite e bem-aventurança, alegria e prazer,
emoção no olhar lacrimoso do coração,
alegria no sorriso da mente.

Se ao menos pudesse permanecer, sempre...
Prazer.
Escrevi este poema inspirado pela sensação de ouvir uma determinada mĂșsica.
 72° 
Kai
when you were born,
a shy summer snow,
they said:
“bear the burden of this world on your shoulders.”

to you,
a sauna in the snow,
they said:
“give us water. quench our thirst.”
and so you brought forth steam,
and gathered humid dews,
and sweat salt,
and wrung water into their maws.
and so they sweltered, and still—
they were thirsty.

you say:
“i bring no water. i quench no thirst. and thus i fail.”
i say:
“give me heat. give me humidity. give me heart.”
“give me whatever you want to give.”
and you do,
and from this heat i sweat,
and from this warmth i cry,
and aren’t my tears water?

to you,
a shy summer snow,
they said:
“give us water. quench our thirst.”
and so you melted,
and dissolved into the current,
lost into salted misery.

you were born not to bear burdens
but to love and be loved
to live, to laugh, to sweat, to cry,
and aren’t your tears water?
my snowstorm, my sauna
the salt i sweat for you
cry for you
is the sweetest nectar.
our modern post-capitalist society punishes people when they fail to do a level of work no one was ever born to do. (neurodivergent people tend to take the first fall here
)

i hate watching my loved ones blame themselves for failing. i hate seeing them think they’re not “good enough”. it’s the demand itself which should be blamed.
 67° 
Christian
I long for you more than the ocean longs to embrace the mountains.

I gravitate towards your benevolence just as a meteor to the Earth,
burning so deeply on my way to you I emerge refined, cleansed.
A new being.
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