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Adrian Supetran Nov 2017
I saw a God crying,
With tears turning into silver.
Curious, I started asking:
"Why does a God quiver?"

He looked at me with strange eyes.
Inside those depths are dancing dyes.
I could see a fatal sign
That this God is intoxicating; so divine.

I cannot make this God mine.
Someone so broken, needs the blessings of time.
But let me show you a crime.
Let me embrace you, hoping it will be just fine.
Adrian Supetran Mar 2018
Lady luck seemed to left me,
As I started to roll the dice.
I wanted to cheat,
And never say "goodbye."
I want to spend this eternal pleasure,
Of casting myself into isolation,
In this dark, humid, rotten room.
Sitting and embracing the cold body,
With innocence controlled like a marionette.
Strings were the darkness,
Puppet is the soul.
The forger is my mind,
Often forgetting to stitch the holes.
In this twisted poem you'll get lost,
By playing with the unknown.
A crumbling facade.
You might wonder what is the mistake?
Think again.
If it's not the forger,
Then it is the reader.
Let me indulge my twisted mind.
Adrian Supetran Nov 2017
Time started to move,
In a motion I cannot predict.
I can't seem to understand
The value of foresight.

Time could be your ally
Or it could be our greatest foe.
To tame something intangible,
Is the greatest mastery of all.

Blinded by the darkness of unknown,
We find security in our own space.
To unlock something so profound,
Adversities must be faced.

Being mortal is not an issue.
I found sadness in our frailty, but
Something so fragile is also beauty.
Life will soon start to wither.

An alchemist created gold.
Equality is a price,
In our case to achieve completeness,
Is it to face demise?
Adrian Supetran Jan 2018
A moth started to flutter
Its wings, I found myself under
A spell I can't break
Such a perfect mistake

It was then I fought
For a life that was brought,
In this world full of chances
More than a coincidence

Knitted by the threads of fate
Entangled inside the gate
Where flowers bloomed
And mediocrity is doomed

The moth started to guide me
In ways, I don't feel empty
Something dimly lit inside
Burned brightly, unhide
A poem dedicated to my second mother, an awesome entomologist in the Philippines - Dr. Aimee Lynn B. Dupo
Adrian Supetran Mar 2018
I stare at the moonlight's shadow,
With tears as vast as the endless ocean.
I consoled my heart, as it cries
With piercing melodies and unsung poems.

I thought my sincerity was my weapon,
In this world of lies and superficiality.
I thought passion was my armor,
In this harsh and cold reality.

Trying to meet both ends,
Of the string that binds these two hearts.
But the binding turned into shackles,
with thorns that pierced the soul.

The clock gave its permission,
To feel what has not been felt.
Desires, love, and commitment were its gift,
Valid until the skies turned into a blanket of darkness.

The flames of passion turned dim,
With sparks vanishing into the abyss.
The notes were falling out of place,
Making everything a chaotic majesty.

Days passing by,
Were like knives stabbing my back.
I want to sleep,
Embracing the soil of my motherland.

Nights passing by,
Were like shrapnel piercing my skin.
However, I'm starting to become so numb,
Losing so much blood unnoticed.

Let me drown myself,
Into this downpour of emotions.
Let it wash away everything into nothingness.
Make me feel so empty that I want to feel again.
For those who would like to wallow on their sadness about their stagnant love. Be my guest, join me in this moment of gorgeous melancholy and beautiful disaster.
Adrian Supetran Jan 2018
Into the halls of unknown
Feelings are depicted on uncertainty
It changes on a whim
As the mind felt threatened

Down the hall is a spiraling staircase
Where the abyssal nightfall resides
Beauty could also be deafening
A spectacular state of shutting everything

Deeper into the unknown,
Is a vast field of dancing stars
The moon is peacefully sleeping
In the cradle of the night

I've seen chastity for eons
And this one is a special place
Like a child longing for a mother
A place that can't be replaced

On the farthest side of the field
Is a forest guided by fireflies
Inside, a child was playing
Who looked at me with those innocent eyes

"It's time to go, you won't feel anything"
I said, void of emotions
Then he extended his little hands and told me
"Thank you for keeping me safe, I had fun"

I slashed a pristine existence
In this dark field full of little lights
And an apathetic creature like me
Found myself crying in this replica of the night.
I found myself writing this poem near our garden, drinking my usual cup of coffee, and looking at the different times of my life. Been existing for almost 25 years, and everthing was going into their right places... That includes befriending my inner demons and gradually depriving them what they desire.

PS. Forgive my amateur writing. I have this hobby of instantly creating poems on the spot, based on what I feel at that particular moment.

Have a nice day!
Adrian Supetran Feb 2018
On the first year of new beginnings,
I saw a snail with driven eyes -
Willing to finish everything in lax times.
How crude and simple it is.

On the second year,
Time started to dilate.
Everything turned black and white,
While sitting in this hallowed hall.

I saw a snail running
With sweat and body burning.
Our paths crossed, while the threads of fate
Played its game on us.

On the third year of Cupid's month,
The forest blessed us with dreams
The rivers bestowed hope
And the mountains gave its approval

The snail sheltered me in its shell;
As I share the same burden on its weight.
I just caught a running snail into my arms.
How funny it caught me as well.
Adrian Supetran Nov 2017
Forgotten feelings.
Unearthed memoirs.
A relapse...
How suffocating.

I tried grasping some sense
From a withered feeling.
Locked for ages, I felt
A nostalgia seeping.

Shadows greeted me;
While drowning my existence.
Even my trusted allies
Failed to show their presence.

My essence has been devoured
By inner demons awakened, I tried
To understand how I denied,
The past I secretly buried behind.

Why did I become so blind,
And moved backwards throughout time?
Clinging on a simple dream,
Dreamt by a twisted mind.

— The End —