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Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
To run into your composure,
To take the worries away,
To hear your heart like a whisper,
That everything will be okay.

Not like this,
Not even a kilometer apart,
Not in this way,
No one can hardly look to stare.

Even if the streams decide to flow,
Even as the stars tremble,
Even when the rain shook cold,
Either of us is a safe place.

To house our feeding fire,
Not every flint sparks a flame,
Even we deserve the warmth,
You are never alone in the dark.
i nearly forgot to publish my work.
but here's a start to a poetic december.
Anne Scintilla Jun 2018
your smile, a spotlight carelessly blinding from a mile.
your hands, of warm summer —a soft paradise.
your cheeks, a little rosy when I speak.
your mind, complex as your words.
your eyes, a universe in demise.
your cry, harmonizing mine.
your lips, I left unkissed.

despite everything,
my memory of you,
is vividly fleeting,
as if you didn't.

Anne Scintilla Jun 2018
A master baker
Beget laughter from velvet,
The sweet surrender.

To walk still, with pride
From a knife stuck from behind
Caked in bitter lies.
here's another twin haiku for those who take trust for granted, and those trust were taken for granted.

i wonder, shall i continue writing twin haikus? thank you for reading!
Anne Scintilla Dec 2016
Brought up by fate,
As miracles from the carcasses remain;
Melted down by the Sun,
Heavily molded by the suffocation of none.

She grew up with nothing else,
Than the ever-burning star for company;
Void of everything but hope,
For the foreign feeling of being wanted.

The allusion from the radiation,
Made her dream of heraldic luminescence;
To be a necessity for existence,
And finally find the purpose of her own.

As the darkness hover over,
Comes the dejection of the recognition;
That a shooting star like her,
Was meant to crash and burn eventually.
Hello!  I am Amorphous Scintilla, and is very thrilled to be able to share my poems with all of you here in Hello Poetry.

Burn will be my very first poem published online. It is about someone who keeps on devoting her life into finding who she is oblivious of what she destined to become.

Thank you for reading it. I hope to share more poems in the future.

Again, thank you.

Anne Scintilla Jun 2018
We are our own system:

masses of stardust
which found each other
and called ourselves home
floating, amidst the unknown

  s l o w l y
s u r e l y

being pulled apart
by the same universe
that brought two planets
under the gravity of each other.
the moment something starts, one must already anticipate how it would end because nothing remains permanent.

the stars would always witness the things we do.
thank you for reading!
Anne Scintilla Jul 2018

But without these words, the thought would not be complete.
Words are enough to achieve a certain feat.
Verses bring life to complex emotions from stone.
But some emotions are better expressed by words alone.


Words may be a brainchild of the senses,
a cousin of shrouded feelings,
a distant lover of hopeful wishes.

But it would always remain in papyrus,
in coffee-stained napkins,
in the whisper of the breeze.

What are compound syllables without action,
without justified reason,
without the process for progress.
this is one of my anonymous favorite poetry exchange. we often forget that there are two sides in the same coin.

thank you for reading.
Anne Scintilla Jun 2018
For a simple wish
Count on something to perish
Nothing to cherish.
we take so many things for granted. worth is depends on perspective, please make sure you get to see it in all directions.

thank you for reading!!
Anne Scintilla Jun 2018

a slow exhaust
from the efforts
of holding on,

to existing outside
the pages of history.
giraffes are now under the list of endangered species. the world is home to life of all forms, it's our duty to respect their right to this planet.

this is also for those who see the significance of things and people just as they are drifting away. take care of what you have.

thank you for reading!
Anne Scintilla May 2018
Oh, how the sunset boasts
of beauty and majestic hues tinted
for which everything its finger touches
like a king, greater than Midas could ever be
boastful as it resurrects, humbly
opening another dawn.

And there lies the moon
settling between the brilliance
of the days to and had come, without
a shroud of pride - the sun's magnificence
shares half the credit to the lamp
which waits in the dark.
we are all people, built by the fragments of others we decided to keep. don't forget of those who made us who we are.

cheers to a new week and more updates to come!
thank you for reading.
Anne Scintilla Jan 2017
****** of the talk
Stopped there, "we have tomorrow";
It was her last night.
010517  20:58

We don't always have a tomorrow. "Next time" is a curse.

Anne Scintilla Dec 2016
Silver flakes tarnish,
She left for gold; all along,
He was platinum.
121616  6:59 AM

Finishing my journal early in the morning and this was a previous entry written two weeks ago.
why do i feel caged
                                   —by the same fences, that was
               meant to make me safe.
comfort comes with a cost
Anne Scintilla Dec 2016
When half became more,
Than one over nothing else,
Whole yet undefined.
121816  15:46

Doing my math homework reminds me of how the most beautiful things can be worth nothing in certain conditions.

thank you for reading.
Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
This is how it starts,
A coincidental kiss–
And where it must end.
not all stories are love stories. and not all live stories are fairytales.
Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
Stepping through
come along
with the light
spring paintings.

Time slips by
with the vivid
saturated films.

The void you left
was filled
with the best
sad stories.

Your being
Is art.
this is the context of Un-Muse. a prologue that came to me as an epilogue, i guess life isn’t always linear.
Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
Life throws,
a filthy shade,
a crate of lemons,
a mess unmade.

Life makes,
a sailor great,
a near parade.

All at once,
Once and for all,
No things remain
The same
—The sane.
here’s to the mess we made of ourselves this year. since all the best people lose a bit of sanity for felicity.
Anne Scintilla Jul 2018
We remain captains of the ship
              forged by the same dream,
                            which braved
                                          the rough seas,
                                       up to this
                                              —tipping point.
                             The mast in reverent quiver
                                            with the raging wind,
                                                         its respect,
                                               in sync
                                       to heaving beats
                                              —of leaking souls.
                     Racing through the tides,
                                    forced by a nature
                              of the brewing eye
                                       in the sky
                                        —god of demise.
                         It was a play
                                 for tough sailors,
                     to bet
                        on empty hulls
                 with paper sails,
             to stay,
                  on sinking ships;        
        a childhood game,
             which ends
   —in the drain.
the storms in this part of the world are relentless in showing their prowess. i remember having paper boats race with the current of the near canals when i was young.

thank you for reading.
Anne Scintilla Jan 2017
Crossing the road
When I was eight years old,
I was sure that cars would stop
At the little girl in red.

From the other side,
The stretch seems like forever;
Running fast from something,
Or someone I wasn't sure of.

Mom would scold,
Friends would shout cold;
Warm gustling winds,
Passing swiftly was home.

Crossing the road,
Now I'm twice as old,
I'm sure the car didn't miss me,
Because I missed it instead.

I have always walked on pedestrian lines, so if I die my insurance would compensate for it. And if I ever do ー it won't be an accident.

Anne Scintilla May 2018
Paper cuts on wrist linger:
     like trickles of pain,
     bearable to hold;
     with trickle of tears,
     little to be told.

Invisible abrasions:
    on skin so precious,
    patches of triumph;
    the battle rages on,
    wince at every sting.

Unnecessary bandages:
    don't elevate pain,
    hide struggles under;
    to embrace each scrape,
    takes more than courage.
Petroleum jelly helps:
    fingertips cover,
    dollops to ease itch;
    sometimes humans need,
    catalysis to heal.
hello. this is for those who are struggling. you are not alone, please seek someone, or something to help the healing process. healing takes time and, most of the time, not necessarily need to be done alone.

[i'm sorry for being inactive. i'll try my best to update frequently.]
Thank you for reading.
Anne Scintilla Oct 2018
Our efforts remain,
In landfills – incinerate,
Try reaching the sun.
this is for the half-baked work and sad attempts, we continue to give. i don't know how we can save humanity from the lament of our planet.

Anne Scintilla Dec 2016
When we made a pact,
Only between you and me;
That we’ll see all the colors
That our eyes could see

The picnic days were pink,
From the cotton candy that we eat,
Saw yellow bliss in your smile,
As you saw the dandelions bloom by.

I saw orange in sunsets;
While in the solace of your embrace,
Every month had purple,
From the violets and lavenders you gave.

And then you came home.
With red lipstick on your face;
It was pouring, dark and grey,
Then I knew the blues are coming our way.
122216  19:36

I wonder why rainbows rarely paint the sky? Are they afraid to be tainted by memories of the humankind?

A poem written from a prompt of a friend.

snowflakes burn on the cheeks
filtering the clad of trees
with grey nostalgia underneath,

Mother said, "let's make
a scarf with those wings"
the commodity out of necessity

for the weather only permits
threads of white, to rest
as supine angel ghosts

remain like chalk pictures
of suns and dreams yet to be
on the street which colors fade

for she walks, with
a spool of feathers on her neck
wondering why,

she couldn't fly like everybody else.
winter doesn't come in our part of the world, only rain or ashes cloud our skies.
Anne Scintilla Dec 2016
One flight higher,
One step up.

Two eyes would meet,
One will surrender.

Right foot step,
Left heel back.

Straight to the darkness,
Fell head over heels.

One step higher,
One slip up.

Falling in pieces ,
Faking broken smiles.

Feet forward,
Pride stares back.

No stairway drama,
Just a storybook end.
121316 21:12

I found this poem as I came across one of my filled notebooks on my desk earlier. I wrote this a few months ago with the inspiration of a vintage spiral staircase picture online.

Thank you for reading it.

Anne Scintilla Oct 2018
suddenly all of the pens i own
are either gone,
or left alone
no amount of penniless pettiness
came from my mouth,
no mutters,
nor silence left
to give,
forgive the narratives,
which lingers
the tip
of thy fingers,
that holds restless
to scab and release
what remains
in scars
the pus which ferments
on hatred and
the scent
burning cocoa beans and smoke
that knocks on my eyes
a blurry vision
rose-tainted glasses,
the taste
of bitterness
in farewell.
here i lie, between the frustrations of every transition in life.

Anne Scintilla Dec 2017
No written poems,
Nor lyrical prose left unsung,
Such beauty confine.

Longing is the home,
As punishment to who steal,
The art you behold.
for that one person that you may or may not like. somehow, the reason why they can’t be your muse.
Anne Scintilla Feb 2017
But I need you now;
Your existence, just like howー
I needed you then.
22:30  050217
Sometimes we confuse the things we need to live for and the things we need to live.
Beauty in strength
flourish through catastrophes:
divide, conquer, bloom .
here's for persistently trying, for persistently moving forward, for persistently growing in places where we're not supposed to be.

Anne Scintilla Jan 2017
It wasn't insomnia,
Nor the nightmares;
It was practice and edits,
That kept us awake

                  "I love you."
                                    "Go get some sleep."
                   "Yeah. I guess so."

I tried and failed,
Another attempt;
Just to hear the words,
And my name instead.
010817  19:50

Sadly and thankfully this is fictional.


— The End —