Beyond the horizon and behind your eyes
Beneath layers of a blind lovers guise
Upon the wings of a thousand transclucent birds
Among mimes, braile and silent words

I offer you this kiss

Before gurus, gods, and holy men
Among the stolen jewels in a poets den
Amidst magicians, merchants and the divine
In the cellars of Gregorian monks and forbidden wine

I offer you this kiss

On a platter of delectable delights
Across seas and mystical Moroccan nights
Among the dance, music and stories of time
Between gates of heaven, hell and passions of crime

I offer you this kiss

From the finest shades of subtle hues
From a palette of transparent blues
Tiptoeing through Dali’s lucid dreams
Waking beside waters of eternal streams

I offer you this kiss

Among flights of staircase piercing skies
Stripping secrets and half naked lies
Upon a bed of burning incense sticks
I part that perfect line between your perfect lips

To offer you this Kiss
A kiss is sacred, and sometimes people go about giving it so freely, like the shake of hand.
emnabee 20h
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
See how easy it is
To lie to you?
Don’t let them win.
Think. Think. Think.
Or they get in.
emnabee 22h
Unreal.
The sun shines on itself.
There is no moon.
No smile.
No girl.
As my eyes,
Observe the sunset,
And the flow of the clouds

I noticed
How much similar
The sky is to the ground

Could it be?
That we make it
Believe
That the sky
Is something so much more
So much more powerful,

But as I look out my airplane
Window
I can see a cold sea of clouds,
Over a painted background
Painted by the sun,
And the colorful rays of light
So it can be enjoyed
By the moon,

Just
To be observed
and defiled
By us

We don’t understand
We really don’t understand
How close the sky
Can be to the ground,

I understood today,
That tearing through
Bodies of water
Be it in the sky,
Or in the sea,

The sunset
Still looks as beautiful
As it did the first
Time I watched it,
Tired,
Probably wishing
It was more colorful

Not knowing
This will be one of
The most gorgeous
Things I’ll see.
  1d emnabee
Kira
I have so many words inside my mind
racing around my consciousness

I thought, I wanted, to be a poet
I didn't think I would feel so bottomless

I can't stop thinking about rhymes and signs
and what words seem to have the most feeling
"Do the words I hear inside my brain actually have any meaning?”

I thought, it would be, a way to express myself
A way to keep my heart beating

But the more that I write, the more words I find
circling through my head

They keep me up at night, not a soul in sight
Can I please just go to bed
I wrote this up pretty fast. I wasn't sure if how I hear it in my head is actually how it would be read. Let me know what you think?
The slap of a screen door,
now without glass;
a dog panting in the sun,
with shade a foot away.
Crickets rubbing legs in long grass,
Horses gently snorting clover.
A robin’s warble near its nest,
Tree branches rustling,
The hum of a far-away mower.
Ice rattling in a pitcher of tea,
Bare feet thudding on the porch,
The squeak of a swing.
Distant thunder.
emnabee 2d
Poetry is alive.
It is an independent soul.

It wants to be set free
Like all living things do.

Sometimes it lives in you
And you need to let it go.

You want it to return
But it doesn’t come back home.

Let it go
Where it goes.
Roam where it roams.

Don’t try to hold on.
It is a lesson learned.
Writers block.
Maybe poetry goes away sometimes, so our love for it will increase.
Because poetry knows us better than we know ourselves.
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