leya09 - Hello Poetry

He was a wreck, broken and deep, She was a mess, a tragedy of souls. But never did he point at her drama, Never did she hate his weakness. A burden she felt, were her countless emotions, But he reassured her countless nights, That she’s the only burden that felt like bliss. He then became the one her heart didn’t want to dismiss. For him, that was her gateway to love — Nothing but beauty’s perfection. For her, that was his healing self — His inner child’s beauty in vulnerable reflection. Never has he left her sad, Hands spin and apologies always floating, Even when he did nothing, And she was just being a dramatic queen. He always knelt down for her, Submitting imperfections, For he is even more broken — but she’s his light, A forthcoming rainbow ready to capture her in his droplets. When her thoughts spiral, questioning reality, She suddenly remembers the wise words of a friend: “You’re that lovesick man’s attachment — Never leave his hand, therein.” Two souls pondering — Is this the love desired and deserved? Scared they are of future detachment, Even though Adam and Eve they were. When their souls meet, I’ll force the red thread to intertwine, ’Cause all I hope for is their deserved happy ending every night. Did her solo heart’s journey finally conclude? Is he the one destiny desired? All she prays is to never lose him, ’Cause he might have fallen first, but she fell harder. And if heaven and earth collapse, They must find their way back to one another.

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Nov 9, 2025

Nov 9, 2025 at 3:25 AM UTC

Tale of the Desired Love

He was a wreck, broken and deep, She was a mess, a tragedy of souls. But never did he point at her drama, Never did she hate his weakness. A burden she felt, were her countless emotions, But he reassured her countless nights, That she’s the only burden that felt like bliss. He then became the one her heart didn’t want to dismiss. For him, that was her gateway to love — Nothing but beauty’s perfection. For her, that was his healing self — His inner child’s beauty in vulnerable reflection. Never has he left her sad, Hands spin and apologies always floating, Even when he did nothing, And she was just being a dramatic queen. He always knelt down for her, Submitting imperfections, For he is even more broken — but she’s his light, A forthcoming rainbow ready to capture her in his droplets. When her thoughts spiral, questioning reality, She suddenly remembers the wise words of a friend: “You’re that lovesick man’s attachment — Never leave his hand, therein.” Two souls pondering — Is this the love desired and deserved? Scared they are of future detachment, Even though Adam and Eve they were. When their souls meet, I’ll force the red thread to intertwine, ’Cause all I hope for is their deserved happy ending every night. Did her solo heart’s journey finally conclude? Is he the one destiny desired? All she prays is to never lose him, ’Cause he might have fallen first, but she fell harder. And if heaven and earth collapse, They must find their way back to one another.

36

Winds roared from north to south, As the compass of life lost its aim. For her groom had already lost his way— Now, her farewell softly came. --- While charcoal smothered the maiden's hair, Yet the dame looked like the winter moon— Pale; the night was unfair, Once and for all, her final path illumed. --- Time rewinds, present intertwines, A gathered crowd—unique in meaning. Only she in the portrait could gather the tears, But never did they care for the old woman buried. --- Family now bedecked with flowing crystals, Living eyes weeping loving lies. Time teaches the weeping crowd: What’s lost always feels truly precious. --- Lying above the mantel is the portrait of a girl, Entertaining the sorrowed crowd. Ignoring the diamonds over the stage, As she knows they too will dissipate. --- No one would shed for the granny, She ponders while gathering the crystals lost. The girl in the portrait recalled her theory: Love is only for the dead at a cost. --- Justice’s scale now overweighs, Its back turned against the dead. What goes around, comes around— It’s the cycle of birth and death. --- The old woman now awaits For the girl in the portrait. Heaven rings—mirror reflections, As she now holds hands with her twin. --- The pain she carried, being lonely, Finally meets its end-worthy. And with the following words, She smiles eternally— "How could they ever forget you, my older self? You are beautiful— For you, heaven awaits everlastingly."

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May 26, 2025

May 26, 2025 at 10:15 AM UTC

The Final Portrait

Winds roared from north to south, As the compass of life lost its aim. For her groom had already lost his way— Now, her farewell softly came. --- While charcoal smothered the maiden's hair, Yet the dame looked like the winter moon— Pale; the night was unfair, Once and for all, her final path illumed. --- Time rewinds, present intertwines, A gathered crowd—unique in meaning. Only she in the portrait could gather the tears, But never did they care for the old woman buried. --- Family now bedecked with flowing crystals, Living eyes weeping loving lies. Time teaches the weeping crowd: What’s lost always feels truly precious. --- Lying above the mantel is the portrait of a girl, Entertaining the sorrowed crowd. Ignoring the diamonds over the stage, As she knows they too will dissipate. --- No one would shed for the granny, She ponders while gathering the crystals lost. The girl in the portrait recalled her theory: Love is only for the dead at a cost. --- Justice’s scale now overweighs, Its back turned against the dead. What goes around, comes around— It’s the cycle of birth and death. --- The old woman now awaits For the girl in the portrait. Heaven rings—mirror reflections, As she now holds hands with her twin. --- The pain she carried, being lonely, Finally meets its end-worthy. And with the following words, She smiles eternally— "How could they ever forget you, my older self? You are beautiful— For you, heaven awaits everlastingly."

47

Here, men bore infants— Banners across the poles. A crown he deserves. The lady must bow! She works 9 to 5, As he stays at home. Nine months of scrutiny— Bless him! How did he hold? Give him some space, Hold the king high! Oh, the cramps he must face— Could she ever now? Give her a veil, for she must cover. Oh! He looks after the kids— God’s descendant! A throne we must give. Let him cry, for he feels pain, But the lady must not. How thick her skull must be! Give him some space, Let her take care of the kids. Sick he must be— Of all the chores he did! Ahoy, Utopia! Roles reversed, Here everything would change— For nothing, or for the worse.

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Apr 25, 2025

Apr 25, 2025 at 5:10 AM UTC

Utopia

Here, men bore infants— Banners across the poles. A crown he deserves. The lady must bow! She works 9 to 5, As he stays at home. Nine months of scrutiny— Bless him! How did he hold? Give him some space, Hold the king high! Oh, the cramps he must face— Could she ever now? Give her a veil, for she must cover. Oh! He looks after the kids— God’s descendant! A throne we must give. Let him cry, for he feels pain, But the lady must not. How thick her skull must be! Give him some space, Let her take care of the kids. Sick he must be— Of all the chores he did! Ahoy, Utopia! Roles reversed, Here everything would change— For nothing, or for the worse.

26

Words, perhaps—emotions mirrored, More than letters, they are—reminds the lover. As the 5, 4, 3 takes over their vows, Flaunting its beauty, They embrace one another. Beauty she is—perhaps a swan, Gentle he is—perhaps the lake. A perfect picture they draw together, As they ring one another—at 5. A duel now sparks with fury, Hearts quickly turn to ashes. None ready to accept their mistake, “Sorry” hides behind their fate, While the red thread turns vague. "Nothing lasts forever," says the bard, As Romeo and Juliet turn into tale. The 5 and 4 meet their end— A mere word, says the very same mate. “Lover’s quarrel,” says the blonde. “It’s the ring!” says the brunette. “Did love ever win the race?” Questions the bird, As it fails to accept their fate. Forgetful they are of their 5, 4, 3s, The following numbers turning pale. Now, tell your goodbyes to the poem. 'Cause you see, my love— Love’s sour, sorry’s burnt, and bye’s bitter. I shall go; now, you decide— Whether you will say your 5, 4, 3s, Or let the past collide.

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Apr 17, 2025

Apr 17, 2025 at 11:01 AM UTC

5, 4, 3's...

Words, perhaps—emotions mirrored, More than letters, they are—reminds the lover. As the 5, 4, 3 takes over their vows, Flaunting its beauty, They embrace one another. Beauty she is—perhaps a swan, Gentle he is—perhaps the lake. A perfect picture they draw together, As they ring one another—at 5. A duel now sparks with fury, Hearts quickly turn to ashes. None ready to accept their mistake, “Sorry” hides behind their fate, While the red thread turns vague. "Nothing lasts forever," says the bard, As Romeo and Juliet turn into tale. The 5 and 4 meet their end— A mere word, says the very same mate. “Lover’s quarrel,” says the blonde. “It’s the ring!” says the brunette. “Did love ever win the race?” Questions the bird, As it fails to accept their fate. Forgetful they are of their 5, 4, 3s, The following numbers turning pale. Now, tell your goodbyes to the poem. 'Cause you see, my love— Love’s sour, sorry’s burnt, and bye’s bitter. I shall go; now, you decide— Whether you will say your 5, 4, 3s, Or let the past collide.

31

She ponders as she lies on the bed of roses, The thorns biting through her skin, Pellucid elsewhere, but the stem, Surrounding her, engulfing memory. How did she get there? She does not know, For this is all she feared. The bear on her chest leaves her to wonder: the caged giant now takes pity, Afraid it is of the petite beings, And afraid it is of the fiery flash it brings. Distorted creatures, partly seen through the iron rings. Does the beast ever pray to be elsewhere? She ponders as the trembling devours her. The puny-beast is now the prey, Behind the iron, it is caged. What is the difference, she wonders, as one twins with the other. At this breath she figures out the answer that wages war against eachother. Both the maiden and the beast would choose the bear. The irony of it—now she is aware. Rules of mankind she is reminded of: If a bear scares you, contain it. If she swirls your lust, cover it. Yet you cannot sustain—act on it. As the cotton turns scarlet, The world now turns aware. But it’s not the bear she fears. It is the cold-eyes that judges. As they still question the lass— That lies motionless as the wounds tear. "The bruin earned it!" accuses the chap. "It is cause of what she wears." She ponders as the coldness embraces, She lies as she sheds ruby crystals, Eyes turning hazy, feeling dazed, Losing feelings elsewhere, The only thing shading this pain is the sorrow-night’s weep ablaze. As she reaches the gate that awaits. As two ends near- Them and you, These biased questions may ascend: How old were they? What did she wear? How did they look like? Was she rare? But dare a man ask another, Why did you do this? Was it ever fair?

0

Apr 1, 2025

Apr 1, 2025 at 9:04 AM UTC

Wounds That Weep with the sky...

She ponders as she lies on the bed of roses, The thorns biting through her skin, Pellucid elsewhere, but the stem, Surrounding her, engulfing memory. How did she get there? She does not know, For this is all she feared. The bear on her chest leaves her to wonder: the caged giant now takes pity, Afraid it is of the petite beings, And afraid it is of the fiery flash it brings. Distorted creatures, partly seen through the iron rings. Does the beast ever pray to be elsewhere? She ponders as the trembling devours her. The puny-beast is now the prey, Behind the iron, it is caged. What is the difference, she wonders, as one twins with the other. At this breath she figures out the answer that wages war against eachother. Both the maiden and the beast would choose the bear. The irony of it—now she is aware. Rules of mankind she is reminded of: If a bear scares you, contain it. If she swirls your lust, cover it. Yet you cannot sustain—act on it. As the cotton turns scarlet, The world now turns aware. But it’s not the bear she fears. It is the cold-eyes that judges. As they still question the lass— That lies motionless as the wounds tear. "The bruin earned it!" accuses the chap. "It is cause of what she wears." She ponders as the coldness embraces, She lies as she sheds ruby crystals, Eyes turning hazy, feeling dazed, Losing feelings elsewhere, The only thing shading this pain is the sorrow-night’s weep ablaze. As she reaches the gate that awaits. As two ends near- Them and you, These biased questions may ascend: How old were they? What did she wear? How did they look like? Was she rare? But dare a man ask another, Why did you do this? Was it ever fair?

46

No one left to wipe her tears No soul to embrace Shattered promises and shattered hearts She thinks, she ponders. What is this? She prays. When the walls listen better when the darkness feels brighter And the ghost's hug better. Dissonant it is, she cannot sustain tears turning sweet, actions turning pale, Is this what she wanted? she woefully contemplates. She places herself at the edge of sorrow feeling facetious and morrow, even when not alone, her words echo going deeper and deeper, shallow. unable to differentiate the words, wife or maid? No identity of her own, Feelings decayed. Called as the wife, daughter, or mater. Will she be able to live like this hereafter? Maybe the little girl could explain as she embrace how this is not love, my future self, You have to escape.

0

Mar 31, 2025

Mar 31, 2025 at 1:37 PM UTC

What is this?

No one left to wipe her tears No soul to embrace Shattered promises and shattered hearts She thinks, she ponders. What is this? She prays. When the walls listen better when the darkness feels brighter And the ghost's hug better. Dissonant it is, she cannot sustain tears turning sweet, actions turning pale, Is this what she wanted? she woefully contemplates. She places herself at the edge of sorrow feeling facetious and morrow, even when not alone, her words echo going deeper and deeper, shallow. unable to differentiate the words, wife or maid? No identity of her own, Feelings decayed. Called as the wife, daughter, or mater. Will she be able to live like this hereafter? Maybe the little girl could explain as she embrace how this is not love, my future self, You have to escape.

25