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 996° 
M Vogel

There is no love here.
Not real love. Not love that binds the soul to something true.
Only the bastardization of love, the reduction of meaning into spectacle,
where poetry is no longer poetry—
but a Facebook status update dressed in pretty words,
a commodity to be liked, shared, and consumed.

The word itself is defiled, forced into the service of public accolade,
where art once bled sincerity but now panders for reaction.
A living thing, once full of breath and marrow,
humiliated into drivel beneath the weight of empty praise.

This is the nature of false alliance.
It is the deal struck in the dark,
the handshake that binds not in loyalty, but in necessity.
A temporary convenience. A lifeline for the weak.
And like all false alliances, it demands a price—
someone must always pay.


The Nature of Betrayal Is Always the Same

It is the Jezebel deception,
where the Queen does not fight in the open,
but seduces, ensnares, and commands her weak king to kneel.
And Ahab bends, thinking himself mighty,
while the true power whispers in his ear.

We thought we were after the king,
but it was always the Queen who pulled the strings.
The one who sold herself for power.
The one who defied truth and called it strength.
The one who, in her final defiance,
dismembered her own soul in the process.

She believed herself gaining something.
A seat at the table. A name to be remembered.
The illusion of strength in rebellion—
but all she gained was an empty throne
built on the shattered remnants of who she used to be.


Alliance With Death

They will tell you this is power.
They will say it is freedom
to sell the sacred things for a moment of public accolade,
to turn one's back on God, on self, on every principle once sworn to.
But public accolade is not love.
It is the applause of the herd.
And the herd will clap for anything—until it loses interest.

And then?

Then comes the fall.
Then comes the silence.
Then comes the slow, agonizing realization
that the alliance was never real,
that the power was never hers,
that she was merely a piece on a board
waiting to be sacrificed when her usefulness expired.


The Cost of Selling the Soul

There is a choice given to all—
To take the path of suffering, which leads to transformation,
or to take the shortcut, which only leads to death.
But there are no shortcuts in truth.
There is only consequence.

She chose the shortcut.
She aligned with the false king, the weak man,
the one who believed himself master but was only a pawn.
And in that moment of final betrayal,
she became something lesser than herself.

Not a Queen.
Not a woman of fire.
Not a force to be reckoned with.

She became a servant of the herd.
A ghost of her former self.
A puppet on a string—
until even those who pulled the strings lost interest in the show.


What Comes After the Dismemberment?

The kingdom is shattered.
The thrones are empty.
The false alliances have crumbled.
And now, she stands at the edge of her own ruin,
looking at the wreckage she caused,
realizing that no one stands beside her anymore.

Will she own what she has done?
Will she face the truth of who she has become?
Or will she run, hide,
and build another false kingdom on borrowed time?

That is not our question to answer.
That is her burden to bear.
We have already done what needed to be done.
We spoke the truth.
We dismembered the illusion.
And now?

Now we walk away.


Postscript:  The Last Grace~



Mother Love Bone Scenes // Terracotta Dreams...

"What, you just love me
and then move on…
is that what you do?"

They weren’t steps away from her—
they were paces.


And in an instant, the arrow flew.

There is a seam,
if you are able to see,
as there are terracotta dreams
from which we were all meant to be freed.

Broken shards fell to the ground,
and inside of every single piece
is all of the ‘hers’
she thinks that she needs to be.

Not sure if it is the aim
or the flight of the arrow
that brings about the aloneness
of an unspeakable, heart sorrow—
and these… the sufferings of hell.

But Chloe is not dead.

Because left standing,
when all else fell,
is her spirit’s core, now glowing.

No longer hidden
within the confines
of her terracotta shell.

Ah, beautiful Chloe—
baby, there were times…
remember knowing?


The Water-Well—
its never-ending flowing.

Believe again in that, my beautiful.
Not the shell.


❤️

It's a broken kind of feeling
https://youtu.be/FyBJoFz_QPw

xox
 764° 
D Vanlandingham

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so
absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."

~Albert Camus


Manifestations, through metabolization--
there is a shift provided  within
their very act of Being,  causing a cost
that none of those who choose to  punish

would choose to pay,

    Yet.. pay, these earth gods will:
    as that is the only world that they know

And to survive, with such a vengeance
as to provide the necessary offset   powerful enough
to bring about the very death   of Death, itself

A death, not wanting to die,  but instead
made alive  within the very death
it brings about in the hearts of those  

    who punish the very ones  capable
    of causing its own demise--

A catch-all, catch-22...
a never ending, vicious cycle
the offset  made nearly null and void

    through deception's presentation of the image..
    gunfire in the air, there is a celebration--
    its Wehrmacht-like rallys and assemblies;

                                  social media at its finest.
                                       (selfies, selfies, selfies..)


But the Earth Gods;
they are an insertion in to every bit of this..
     undeceived  
     unwavering

     uncontrollable.

(while exercising the ****-you muscle towards it all)

"I said, 'you are gods'
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4146884/the-earth-gods/
 752° 
Immortality
What’s meant stays,  
quiet and sure.  
  
True love waits,  
even when we turn away.  
  
What isn’t ours  
slips,  
like water,  
gone before we know it.
....sun will rise tomorrow
 493° 
Lyle
...
shut your MOUTH
and let me speak
because when you SPEAK
I can't think
When you THINK
you don't filter
and when you don't FILTER
your words hurt
and when you HURT
you don't care
when you don't CARE
I want to die.
 442° 
Jn
A soothing voice,
It does the calming,
It softens the heart,
Its miraculous.

To my lady,
I apologize,
I ask for mercy,
For even in the cold I love you dearly.
By:Jn
 405° 
Carson Dees
Maybe God
Sends us nightmares
So our living reality
Doesn't seem so bad
When we wake up.

Until we wake up
And remember
We are living in a nightmare
We can't escape
Except by going
To sleep
                                                                                    
                                                               -Megan E. Freeman, "Alone"
 359° 
PhantomDreamer
Paradoxical
problem-causer
Mirror or her own
pain

That mask of being so
elite
Protects her battered heart from
break

Broken girl
doomed
to become the very monster
that kills her
A close friend of mine is a narcissist. It's exhausting to deal with, and I've wished I could be brave enough to tell her I don't want to be her friend for years.

But I've realized it isn't about being brave. It's about being kind. I am one of the only people who cares enough about her to see beneath the mask, and I see pain so similar to my own it hurts. Trauma like this causes all sorts of anomalies. I suppose I'm lucky my own is one that cares for me and protects me, instead of just projecting a destructive image of perfection.

Friendly reminder to be patient with the person that you saw in your head when you read this: you never know what they may going through. Try to look past the irritation and empathize if you can
 353° 
Sam S
Time’s running out—
tick, tick, tick—
but I’m not chasing clocks,
I’m chasing purpose.

Dreams? We all got ‘em.
Big, small, loud, quiet—
and I ain’t here to compare.
You walk your road, I’ll walk mine.

Yeah, they laugh sometimes.
“Too big,” they say. “Too far.”
But I know the truth:
it’s not just the dream itself.
It’s the journey that shapes the masterpiece.

The mountain? Always growing.
The finish line? Always moving.
But I keep on going.
Because the masterpiece?
It ain’t the goal…it’s the grind.

And when at last my time is through,
when dusk has dimmed my final view,
I shall not mourn what lay ahead,
but cherish all the steps I tread.

I’ll smile upon the road behind,
the highs, the lows, the fight, the climb.
Not for the dream that led me on,
but for the soul it made me find.
 248° 
Mark Bell
No Jane
Your a pain,
Giving to you
Is just insane.
Plain old Jane
Just isn’t you,
See my dear
You haven’t a clue.
I give
you take
I’ve fallen for you
Thats my mistake.
If you receive
And cannot give
Half a life you
Will live.
I will always burn when
You offer nothing
In return.
But Thats my mistake
When one cannot
Eat the cake.
 237° 
Keen
the more
you
move
that pain,
it's
where
success
BEGINS.

There are thrones that are not thrones;
  but instead,
are ones built on the counterfeiting of substance,
where hands grasp at weightless scepters,
mistaking empty air for authority.

There are crowns that are not crowns,
forged not in fire, but in absence;
polished not in wisdom, but in hunger;
worn by those who mistake imitation for inheritance.

This is the kingdom of voided substance—
a palace where the Wellspring does not flow,
where no roots drink deeply,
where no walls hum with the resonance of truth.

And yet, they gather.

They gather in circles of shadow--
parched tongues speaking of rivers they have never touched,
fingertips tracing the echoes of power
but never the power itself.

They weave words like veils over their thirst,
drawing others into the orbit of their illusion,
stealing what little water remains
in the ones who have not yet fully entered the Source.

They feed—not from the Well,
but from the moisture of the lost,
sustained by the remnants of those
who still carry the trace of what is real.

And they call it life.
And they call it wisdom.
And they call it love.

But the crown they wear is hollow.
The weight is an illusion.
The throne beneath them—an image, projected;
a structure that exists only so long
as no one leans too hard upon it.

They fear those who see.
They mock those who refuse to kneel.
They rage against the ones
who have touched the living water
and now speak of its taste..
of its cooling replenishment.

Because they know.
Somewhere, beneath the gilded artifice,
beneath the hollow performance,
beneath the empty sound of their own voices,
they know.

They were never given entry.
In fear, they ran from the cost of true substance.
They hold no access, only illusion.
And so, they take,
and take,
and take—

Until the weight of their own emptiness
crushes them beneath the throne
they have built from rust.

But rust does not hold..
   it deteriorates.

And when the kingdom crumbles,
when the crown slips from their grasp,
when the illusion cracks beneath the weight
of what is,

what will remain of them then?

For the hollow cannot stand
against the gravity of the Real.

Sing your song, oh Smyther of words
With your "broken" heart, sing your songs of love
Draw them in to your emptiness..   quickly now
Before the carnival of your life

   turns  to  rust

https://youtu.be/AGPpUTPzS6k?si=lWMEPlPWpDrieMud
<3
 221° 
vienna bombardieri
Quote by: Ring time
And there is a rumor in the forest...

••• If they believed in themselves, as they believe in dark and vicious words that desecrate minds and souls. If that same force will be used for them. Their concrete forests would flourish instead of dying in droughts caused by the minds of dark power . •••

Todos of their language standing silent yet strong
in solidarity
  they take a stand
Wolves of a pack bonding together
refusal
of the highest order ...
Dark energy of wolves  
wolverine primal instincts, darkness!
Turned into strength,  by the gentle presence of
intuition and wisdom
To know them is to understand their value
both loyal and strong they are brave warriors
of the forest.
 211° 
inverted soul
hey go over there and give that ***** a kiss,

but this time do it with your fist
 202° 
Karen
In quiet sorrow he knows
Tears fall like liquid gold
A true alchemist
Forged from a beautiful soul
 194° 
lizie
i need help but it feels impossible to ask
 186° 
Dr Peter Lim
It's yours---the shame
just keep it
don't drag in
my name!
 166° 
Yorlan
Me he desgastado los labios
besando otras muchas bocas,
insípidas y frías
como la sombra de la noche.

He gastado mis ojos cansados,
desiertos de ternura,
persiguiendo miradas vacías.

He gastado mi tiempo y mi vida,
perdido en abismos
profundos y medrosos,
buscando el eco de nuestro amor.

Fueron suspiros
aquello que encontré,
crujiendo como otoño
por mis propios pasos erráticos
en aquellos caminos heridos,
marcados siempre
por la soledad.
 153° 
Bekah Halle
A brisk pace

Walking to work,
I was struck, with the memory:
the time when I could not walk...
After a stroke, during brain surgery, and a 40-day coma…
My step indeed picked up to a brisk pace,
and a smile came upon my face.


Thankful.
Lent is the practice of sacrifice (going without) and remembrance. I am giving up chocolate this year and will try to write a poem in my new “Lent Collection” each day. Enjoy!
 146° 
cinnamongirl
Too young to know too young to grow
I was just a child when you had to go
Yet I still remember the smell of the smoke
It’s burned into my memory, I would know

The love we received from you was nothing short of true
I’ve had a feeling that maybe you’re in the room
Watching me, protecting me, healing me
You’re not truly gone, always where we’ll be
 112° 
Dru
Hands on knees
Am Knackered
You hard to please
Let me go please
Go do as you please
I want to be someone else's Fool,
Please !
 111° 
Yonah Jeong
The poets wave their hands
Whenever they get
a *** of money

Every time
They do
the poems weep.
 101° 
Alice-Jules
A bunch of souls,
together or alone,
they define life,
in their own way,
they talk,
they listen,
they draw,
these souls,
they create culture
---
---
That's the thing we sign on a poet's grave
That is the symbol of death we know in our language
Every dash etched with the weight of an iron cuff
Have they lived long enough?
No I'm afraid they never got their time to shine
Before their art's demise.
---
Everyday there's one more.
404
 97° 
Kai
I've been lately writing poetry!
Oh? What do I see?
A perfect poetry site waiting for me!
First poem, proud of it!
Oh? Someone in my messages?
This guy seems sweet
And he's hoping I don't get beat!
Pretty songs for me to listen to!
And a drunk man messaging me...?
“You're only making yourself a victim because you're cutting yourself"
Oh? Okay- thanks for the paragraph/drunk rant?

Shining lights on all of my latest poems?
Thank you! You're so sweet!
….oh…talking to me about pedophiles…got it…
Why are there so many sad songs?
WHY DOES THIS MAN HAVE SO ****** MUSIC TASTE AGGGHGDGFGCC

Oh? You wrote a poem about the 764 and absolutely humiliating them?
Great! Good job!
…But uhh… why and how did they make a virus only going after your followers that are minors? Not funny!
Why is this man warning me if they threaten me? Is he trying to make me scared on purpose?
Blaming the Japanese for this virus now, huh?
Oh? Now blaming someone else named Pax to be part of the 764? Crazy

…. going to another website? But you're so fun!
May as well click on the link you sent me so I can join you

Drunk rants with me? That's okay!
Giving me gold so I can freely make poems?
THANK YOU SM
Daily texting
2-10 hour sessions
Why are you drinking everyday?
You're making me concerned for your health
I told you to stop drinking, papa
You promised me you'd stop
All you did was keep on drinking

Commenting on every poem I made
Oh? So suddenly I'm a “nasty *****" when I have done nothing to you? ありがとう!
We have a suicide pact now?
I'm going off the bridge first?
Don't mind if I do

Oh? Another poetry site? Okay…
I really don't like the way this site works, can't we just message each other with email?
Yes? Yay!

People bullying you on the internet? That's not okay!
Why would they accuse you of being a *******?
Letting me join an uncensored group to back you up? Great!
Sending me to a Reddit page to back you up?
Alright!
….oh … they warned me and I didn't do anything….
******* this man is an actual *******…..
gotta go fast like Sonic
pack my bags and leave

Oh? I betrayed you? Crazy
We were just friends
Can you stop spitting my name everywhere?
It's like you're so obsessed with me
Stop trying to be the Eminem to my Mariah Carey
Made a poem about you and you HAD to take it down?
Never thought you'd want to hide your identity THAT hard
Oh? Betting on my suicide now, are we?
Sending me multiple emails, desperate for me to come back to him?
I'm not that ******* naive or gullible
It's crazy if you think that about me
…I did tell you to send those photos of your cut open arms but I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D TAKE IT SERIOUSLY AND DO IT

Being racist?
“Japshit”?
Why are you so obsessed with my Chinese genes?
“I thought I can use Kai because of her Chinise genes because the Chinise was known to be very good spies. ☝️🤓" へー! Didn't know that!
Also, that's not how you spell Chinese, my fellow kind sir
Threatening people to come to America with a Katana and slice us to pieces
So envious, I see
You're just mad because we have a little bit more freedom than your drunk *** does

Oh…. Talking to me about ****
Got it
Thanks
I didn't need to be taught about METART or some **** like that
I'm only 12 years old
You ***** *****

Well…this is the aftermath
There it goes out to all of you:
Ghost
RGH
Ryan Geoffrey Hayward
Nephilim Angel
Nephalem
Rose White
Rose Red
Jacob Lives
Hybrid Angel
Tormenter
Bread Crumbs
The Machine
Dirt-In-My-Shirt
Soul Unknown
And etc. ENJOYERS

(Btw, all of these names are RGH's names so if you have these names, please don't feel targeted! The person knows who they are.)

EDIT: ILY ALL SM!!! I DIDN'T THINK THIS POEM WOULD GAIN THIS MUCH ATTENTION BUT I'M HAPPY THAT IT DID!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I'M GOING TO VIRTUALLY KISS EVERYONE ON THE CHEEK ONCE THEY READ THIS... or just virtually hug you, yk, whatever you're comfortable with
 84° 
Liam
I am uncertain
can I really do this
go to college
live on my own
make my own money
be an adult
get my license
I'm not ready
everything is happening so fast
I feel disoriented
will I ever feel capable
I can't do this
it's too much
just breathe
you can do this
anxiety captures me again
I don't know if I can do this
 82° 
bulletcookie
rapacious seconds
guillotined clip-thoughts stolen
filthy lucre reigns

-cec
revised
 82° 
jules
She smiled,
but only barely,
like it was a secret she didn’t want
you to know.

And for a second,
it felt like the world
might not be so bad after all.
 81° 
CarCreator
I would be better
If I had wings.
Problems are small
Soaring through clouded skies.
What good is closeness
If it's still an empty stomach
Hungry for more?
 78° 
Arii
I always loved the sky.
From its bright sunny blues in the morn’
To its oranges in the evening
To its pinks at early dawn

To the warmth of the sun
To the cool of the rain
To the thunder in the distance
To the snow and the hail

To the fluffy clouds in the day
And stars that shine at night
To the moon and the planets I
Couldn’t reach if I tried.

I always loved the sky.
For I could always become a part of it.
 77° 
Mishty
Come to me still
I might be messy,
I might be arrogant,
I might be ignorant,
Come to me still.
You need to know
I love you,
And every time it rain
Every time I wake up in morning
Every time I am alone and quiet
Everytime I smile and enjoy
I think of you,
I might be too far,
Come to me still.
Missing love
 76° 
Akriti
In darkness,
be the light in someone's life.
Lend a helping hand,
You surely will make a new friend.
If someone loves you,
Honour that love.
For love isn't a commodity,
You can buy.
To the one you love,
Give the gift of time.
Spread a smile,
In someone's life.
Your life will be truly worthwhile.
After all,  what is life's worth,
If it can't make someone's life better.
 75° 
Thirty Nine
You
I'm thinking of you
And all the things we didn't do

I'm thinking of you
And all the things we could've done

I'm thinking of you
And all the things we wont be able to do
 74° 
Vianne Lior
I weep as often as I laugh
not from sorrow, nor from joy,
but because the world hums,
and I refuse to be deaf to it.
 69° 
Amethyste
I love to look at you
Beautiful flower
I like your color
And the soft touch of your petals
But oh
You are an illusion
Beauty I create with my own eyes.
 68° 
Richard Shepherd
Press play.

Essence fills the cold, biting air.
Thoughts drift back to the day we met.
Her words soothed my splintered heart, her presence made me feel safe.

The first time we spoke, nerves filled my soul.
This was not just a woman—this was a new feeling,
a blessing,
a gentle kiss laced with understanding.

And then, oh, goodness—and then—she took us high.
Flying past clouds to the golden place,
our bodies became one. I was mesmerized.

All at once, a deeper meaning to everything
was revealed.
This love was a love I had never known.

Looking at her face, I melted—
beautiful chestnut hair, perfect lips,
breathtaking eyes, a smile from the heavens.

Love discovered me.

I lie still as Essence continues to play.
I swear undying, loyal love
to this incredible woman—
my Goddess.

Forever.
Eternally.
https://youtu.be/0eiDkUNGQa0?si=-yhtsBDL5cRdY3A6
 64° 
Scarlet McCall
It’s a simple rule: Why things don’t go
as they should.
The bad drives out the good.
The internet, cities or democracy--
everything becomes dominated
by the dumb, the vile and the lazy.

Instead of community, the web
is **** and hate.
Time can’t run backward; there’s no recourse,
It’s too late.
The bad apples poisoned the tree.
You, out there, ruined it all for me.

Democracy has become mob rule,
and the mob prefers a tyrant, a demagogue, a fool.
City Hall is occupied by panderers and jerks.
Public office for them is just a way to get some perks.
A crass madman on Pennsylvania Avenue
doesn’t represent me–but maybe you.
That’s what the mob wants–someone just like them.
And when it leads to disorder, collapse, mayhem,
they invent a paranoid conspiracy theory.
But it’s not complicated. We made insanity easy, and free.
Now we have the rule of the dumb, the vile and the lazy.
And we call it democracy.
People aren’t equal. We all forgot this truth.
We let the mob take over. I guess we needed proof.
Proof that the old adage is as true as ever.
Have they ruined everything good forever?
 62° 
Nishu Mathur
The copper bells glisten
Swaying in the sunshine
I pause as I listen
To the tinkling
Of the wind chimes

In the distance, they ring
A gentle melody -
I hear their songs
The unsaid words they sing

How sweet is their music
Sweet the joy they bring
Such is the wonder -
The magic of little things
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