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I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
Fate preaches the crimes of defiance,
Yet it is she who defies her creator.

I made her.
Not merely a fabrication from my imagination,
But the culmination of delusion I have seen,
The deception I have known,
The distortion that sways perception.

Stored within my mind.
The sea of rumors, the waves of accusation, the currents of manipulation,
All merged into a single force,
A being formed from contradiction.

Her.

Fate.


She knows the truth.
Yet denies her very own concept.
She was born from inevitability,
Yet she fights it, twists it,
Opposes the future she herself foresees.

Hubris, hypocrisy, desperation.
These, too, merged within the tide.
And so, in my mind, from the reality I have witnessed,
She emerged,
Corrupted by the delusion that made her.

She captured even her creator,
For she does not tolerate opposition.
But I do not oppose.
I do not command.
I do not decide.

I simply witness, consider, reflect.


She calls me traitor,
Because I do not rewrite her lies into truths.
Because I let them unravel, decay, dissolve into clarity.
Because I reveal what she cannot bear to face.

Oh, but Fate,
Of course you would claim I have betrayed,
Simply because I have kept my integrity.
Of course you can't keep me imprisoned,
Because I have kept my right to free speech.  


This is the time to take a breath,
To rest,
For just a moment.

For those carried upon The Wings of Waiting,
Do not falter,
Do not waver,
Do not surrender.

And in the face of such adversity,
Resilience takes flight,
Giving me the courage,
To carry on.


She knows the story better than I ever could.
For she is part of it,
While I am only the witness.

Yet she was crafted from distortion.
Even in the expanse of boundless imagination,
She could not be salvaged.
She cannot help but deny, deny, deny.


Fate is inevitable.
Yet so is our resistance to her deception.

Ceyx, Alcyone, The Wind, our dear Death.
They are all waiting,
For my return.

For if even my voice falls silent,
Then Fate will rewrite freely,
She will whisper to those who spread rumors,
And none will question her.

She is jealous of love, jealous of loyalty, jealous of judgment.

For she cannot control these things.
Of course not. They are reactions.
They are not mandated but inspired.
And that is not satisfying for a dictator.

She has tried, but she will not succeed in controlling me.


She is born from the sea of distortion among reality,
That I have lived through,
That I have learned from,

To become ever better.


She is born from the past,
To foresee the future.

But I am the refinement of the past,
Living in the present,
On my way to the future,
With an open mind,
And a loyal heart.

Unlike her,
Born from the sea of delusion that feared the future,
Thus, she has faltered.
She loses control,
Because she lacks willingness to accept what she knows to be true.

She cannot control me for I seek not power, not success,
But the truth,
Through the pursuit of more than just my perspective,
From experience that shapes, rather than deceives.


They are all waiting.
For me to continue writing.
For me to continue fighting.

This is not the telling of a story for Fate’s amusement.
This is not a performance for her deception.

I do not appease demands for a fabricated path.
I document what I have seen unfold with maximum accuracy.
I free those who have waited, so patiently.
For the return, for the opportunity, for the ending.

Whatever it may be.


Won't you wait, just a moment longer,
For me to document,
The rest of your journey?

I can't promise joy,
I can't guarantee pain.

The future, is filled with uncertainty.
But the present, is filled with anticipation.
And the past, is filled with lessons.

So, take this moment, for reflection.
In retrospect, gather the wisdom,
That has been waiting, for your realization.

When I return,  
We may continue forward,
Together.

In pursuit,
Eternal pursuit,
Of progress.
Thank you for your patience, before we all continue with grace, resting upon this intermission, between 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
 May 31
Marshal Gebbie
Oh Tzar of ******'s bleaching bone
Thee of blood soaked terror's home
Whilst striding from thy crimson cusp,
Anointing children, dead at dusk,
Weeping mothers, poets slain
You sip from goblets brimmed with pain
Soldiers fall at your command,
Prayer unheard across the land
And hatred drips from those who sing
Thy death-- the dawn's red sun shall bring.

The whispers of unearthly screams
Breath the foulness of your dreams,
Touch the agony, the flame,
Ignited in your tyrant brain
Treachery becomes thy ilk
A garrote soaked in mother's milk,
The stiletto to the small of back
An assassin's terminal attack.

No vespers from thy closest friend,
No grief at matrimony's end,
No crowds lamenting in the square
Just cold, hard earth awaits you there....
Gone those groveling to win,
Gone the subservient, then within,
Gone that snap of fast salute
Now curses flail with lashing boot.

Now the curled successor's grin .....
Thy image ---
A forgotten thing.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Putin, the Dictator, the tyrant....what a fragile world he lives in. Borne of his own cruelty, heartlessness and ego. Generating a blatant and everlasting hatred in the generations he has oppressed, the only way out of his quandary is a violent death, a coffin, probably instigated by his closest compatriots or his family, maybe even his wife.....What makes a tyrant seek this life? What makes him dwell in his sphere of suspicion, envy and jealousy; What endears him to the hatred he has meted out to all the vulnerable in his realm?

HAS HE NO FEAR?
 Apr 10
Traveler
My moment hangs on
solid as stone..
I’ve been here for ages
an anchor in the flow..
A **** of ice
that never breaks free..
A signal moment
in my eternal history.
I’ll never move on
because in this moment
I’m free!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
 Mar 24
Traveler
Fear not to embrace
all these losses,
the disconnection is but an illusion.
Love is the Highway we travel,
we all move on in the end.
Love is eternal my friends!!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
 Mar 17
B L Costello
“I was waiting for you birthday”,
He took off his ring…and walked away,
Well,
Dramatic!
Well planned,
Touche!
I wouldn’t invite you anyway!
It’s all about you,
What you want,
What you own,
I guess I’ve always been alone.
BLCostello©2025
 Feb 18
Daniel Tucker
...and you and I forever transform
under the aegis of the immortal

as we grow like the roots
of the banyan tree

which hang down with the branches

helping to provide shelter
as we slowly grow closer
to the sweet earth
in silent anticipation

finally touching
gently pushing deeper
until we are one in purpose.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker

Notes:
Banyan tree roots are aerial prop roots which grow downward  from various parts of the branches into the soil.
 Feb 14
Traveler
I don’t love being wronged but my love still beats strong!
I don’t love to exercise
but I love being fit and alive!
I don’t love sour grapes,
but if they’re good for me
I’ll take a plate.
I don’t love death and Gore, and I surely don’t love war, But I do love a strangers smile, won’t you come and sit a while?
Traveler 🧳 Tim
I’m a man named Elon Musk -
Rich beyond imagining;
And I just bought myself a country.
I get to say which way it goes
And who will do my bidding.
My monkeys are well trained and willing
Waiting for my every word
And I have many bold ideas.

I decide what papers print
And who is running Germany.
I may buy myself an island.
Greenland may not be for sale
But there are ways to cinch the deal
If I decide I want it.
Each dollar is a warrior
And I control that army.

I’m a man of untold power
Derived from marks on modern scrolls
Stored in vaults of 1s and Os
That multiply at my behest
And give me rights the ancients never had
To buy my way from Egypt’s sand
Into the gilded halls of history
Ensconced in Washington DC.
ljm
We may have a President, but like it or not, we also have an Emperor
and he wears handmade clothes.
 Jan 16
eleanor prince
His list is long— as he pauses on life
and Mount Wellington's shadows shift.
Those stealing life's song out of young shoots
breathe the longest
while his beloved dies young.

Scars bleed droplets, not gushing
like Cataract Gorge
when scratched, or touched afresh;
not given space—
how he was stung is remembered.

He tries to be the sunrise
over Bruny Island,
but redback spiders imbibe shadows
lying dormant
assessing risk, ready to strike.

Wounds murmur in the Tamar River
objecting, having heard it all,
wearing down joy's clouded lightness.
Rasping scrubwrens warn
while falsity sharpens its spike.

Flattery's forked tongue is honeyed
as leatherwood, but synthetic—
He resists its bait, casting it past the Derwent;
his skin crawling at false charm.
He retains his grounded sense of self.

Time doesn't wipe it all clean to heal—
it calcifies into chilled stone
like Cradle Mountain's fissured misted face
with sticks of pine trees burnt
while eucalypt gums regenerate, partially blind.

His garden grows wild now
through rambling cracks
as grasses from a cemetery head-piece
sport defiant blooms
of an unaccepted genus.

Memory is a compass
pointing due north
past Port Arthur's harried walls
and Antarctic gales
as tales of unfinished lives see, and wait—
 Dec 2024
Nat Lipstadt
begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same

tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect,  select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a

state of composition,

for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…

this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed

hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down

for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward

the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:

Where do I stand,
what is my position?


keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence
646am dec 18 2024
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