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 1232° 
Sarita Aditya Verma
Gently cross over the wooden bridge
You have places to go
The bridge has to be there for every passer-by
Dawn to dusk, weathered, not yet to dust
Into the forest deep,
where the rivers rumble and roar
and sing lullabies
Thank you so much 😊 Agnes, bless your heart for all the love kindness and sunshine ☀️  🔆 that you share and happiness that you spread :)
 1141° 
Crow
a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls
I don't know what to call it—
there's no labels on our jars
just the taste of feeling safe
when the world forgets
to be kind—
in silence
in tears
in the act of terrible singing
and to let each other be
without fixing—
like two cool cats
napping on opposite windowsills—
both catching light
without stealing it.

I don't ask
why you need to be quiet
whether happy or sad—
and you don't ask
why I stay up to see the sunrise
or why I stay up late
talking to the moon.

We don’t measure what this is—
we just make room
for each other's storms
place our phones on the counter
and mean it
when we take time
for each other.

You know
when I need a loud no.
I know when you need
a soft it's okay
and I never follow you
into storms
you choose to weather alone.

I never knock too loudly—
just wait
on the porch of your quiet
hands in my pockets
not asking you to hurry.

This—whatever it is—
feels like a home.
I am here—
with bedtime stories
lullabies
and a safe presence
to chase your nightmares away

I don't speak in grand gestures—
just turn pages with soft hands
sing tunes the stars might remember
and tuck your fear beneath warm sheets

When shadows creep up the wall
I stay—
not to fight them
but to show they can't stay long
and must go
as the night listens

You sleep—
and I remain
telling every dark thing
not tonight—
not ever.
 437° 
Mark Bell
Good days
Bad days
The line is thin
Emotions have dried
There eating
You within.

Let me back in
I’ve done
nothing wrong
Let me back in
It’s where I belong.

I’ll sit on the floor
Outside your door
A week
A month
Even a year
Your worth
The fight
I love you
My dear.

Why you are like this
I do not know
Your sunshine is there
Please let it glow.
Let me back in
I’ve done
nothing wrong
Let me back in
It’s where I belong.
Some days
the storm is inside me—
a scream that learned manners
a panic attack at the dinner table.

I sit still
pretending the world isn't moving
when really—
it's me
sloshing around inside my ribcage.

I learned that healing is not forgetting—
it's watching the sky go quiet
and not flinching or exploding.
It's trusting the calm
even when I am shaking.

Some days
I anchor myself to the smallest thing—
a cat wanting to be picked up
the smell of toast
the sound of my own breath
not rushing anywhere.

I know now—
it takes practice.
I am learning
to arrive
and so will you—
unforgettable you.
 284° 
Joel
Look at the moon
I'm looking at it
I'm looking at you
 268° 
Damocles
Walk with me,
Tethered in interlocked fingers,
The gravel path, rain-stricken,
Petrichor mingling with pollen,
Tickling our olfactory senses,
Perfumed in her elegance.

Walk with me,
Through verdant wonderlands,
Where arboreal creatures dart in the rustling flora,
How their almond eyes spy,
Our synchronized steps as we tread the landscape,
Finding our great escape amidst the ancient giants.
Sit with me,
Under the umbrella of shade,
Where the canopies provide a light show,
As the sun’s beams dance in between the shadows,
Creaking through the cracks and holes within the curves of green,
We can be in silence, save for the avian symphonies,
And the fluttering of wings as falling tufts of feather puff,
Fall from their eager strides along the wind jet.

Fall into me,
As we watch the daylight die,
Tropicana citrus palette painted,
With the hints of pinkish Lilly and lilac purple,
Strike upon the dimming light,
We can watch the pearlescent dots flood the sky,
Under the careful watch of their mother,
As her waning half shyly hides behind the blanket of deep indigo.

Be with me,
In this dark cozy embrace,
Where the navy blue cascades through our forested restaurant,
A pyramid of dried logs, light to a flick and a flame,
The orange glow dances like a ballerina,
Interpretive in its many shapes and tendrils reaching skyward,
I’ll cook for you, a simple steak, buttered and brined,
Sautéed with picked mushrooms,
And asparagus,
Grilled marked and fire etched,
Medium rare, like these little moments.

Eat with me,
While fireflies strobe about us,
And moths surround the embers,
While diamonds sparkle above,
Winking eyes that encourage this,
A simple kiss on anxious lips.
Would you like to walk with me?
 240° 
badwords
We are not survivors.
we are residue.

the soot that lingers
on collapse's last tongue.

entropy's loiterers—
spiteful, unfinished.
neurons in feedback.
systems with no gods.

the architects left
when the scaffolds imploded.
we cradle their blueprints
like scripture in ash.

rebuild?
with what breath?
with what myth?
our dreams are famine-shaped.

nirvana is a severance package.
emptiness sold
in velvet robes.
a silence that never asked
about wreckage.

so we sharpen our vowels.
scribe ruin in elegy.
chant hymns for dead logics.
leave witness marks
in the marrow of this glitch.

we were not chosen.
we remained.
“Failure Spiral // Witness Marks” is a blistered fragment from the edge of philosophical exhaustion — a poem that resists salvation with surgical precision. Cast in scorched economy, it unspools a mythic post-mortem of civilization, depicting a world not built but inherited — a residual loop of cascading failures mistaken for history.

The voice is not that of a prophet, but of an archivist trapped in recursion — mapping entropy with a cartographer’s detachment and a poet’s poison. In this world, survivors are no more than loiterers of meaning, spectral stewards of systems that have outlived their gods.

There is no crescendo, only a ritual of reckoning. Each line is a witness mark — the scorched etching of presence, absence, and the irreparable fracture in between.

The artist, known for rejecting ornate redemption and preferring the poetry of raw architecture, constructs this piece as both indictment and artifact. It is not a lament, nor a sermon. It is a sigil: burned into the consciousness of a species too late to evolve, too early to vanish.

Drawing on metaphysical absurdity, systems theory, and the brutal elegance of unfinished futures, the poem contorts language into a kind of relic — not to beautify collapse, but to encode it. It neither heals nor harms. It names.

Nirvana is recontextualized not as liberation, but as abandonment — a cruel exit strategy for those privileged enough to transcend. The poem resists this, choosing instead to stay behind, to write in the ash, to claw meaning from the wreckage not for salvation, but for testimony.

It is a monument to those who remained — not as heroes, but as interpreters of the glitch, unwilling to forget what broke, and too lucid to lie about what comes next.
 223° 
Hazi
In the season of monsoon
I saw a falling raindrop
Myeyes struck ,because of its glamour .
It was falling slowly then I drown ,
I felt , it moving upwards ,very high.
I was mesmerized , I was extremely happy
But unfortunately it suddenly fell down.
And suddenly a sound knocked my ears ,
My eyes witnessed a broken glass
The raindrop is a person
 219° 
Robin Edwards
Low horizon sun
Slips across a polished floor
February sky
 197° 
Charmour
I crave for their affection
I crave for their love
I crave for their appreciation
I crave for them to love me back
I crave for them to be there for me
I crave for there to notice me
I crave for them to listen to me
I crave for their time
I crave for them to stop comparing me with my brother
I crave for the things i know I'll never get
To atleast be happy with me
But it's not gonna happen
I know it won't
I want them to love me back....
 193° 
Isabelle Davis
breathe
inhale
exhale

cut
slice
burn

same thing to me
 179° 
Nicole
Oh look, that's nice...
Do it again,
Over and over
Continuous loop
Side to side
Over and -
Ow
I guess it's not so
Nice after all
 177° 
Lakz Poetry
Love a feeling
with different shades
Selfless Love
Obsessive Love
Romantic love
Friendship
Self Love
Playful Love

Each shades got
different love language
Some could make you feel
treasured, valued, loved and motivated
while others could make you feel
down, hurt, worthless and destroyed

Fun part is
Everything is LOVE!
Love is life
 171° 
Chameleon
I am not the one
they want,
but I am the one
they’ll string along
and pour out.

I could be a desert sunset
and they’d look away.
I could be Robin Hood
and they’d say no thanks.

For some reason,
I am never enough
My dearest friend Isabelle,
We’ve not known each other for long,
But don’t you find it peculiar
How well we get along?

What isn’t there to admire
When from the very first impression
You reeked of such charm,
That you instantly earned my affection?

What isn’t there to love
About your gentle psyche?
And your keen, ardent eyes,
And your superlative artistry?

Just know, dear Isabelle,
That I mean what I say,
That you truly beguile me—
Enchant me in every way.

And I am so proud
To have you as a friend!
So I swear that each time you have
With me is worth to spend.
I decided to just upload this for some reason. I know I haven't been here in a while, but it just so happened that a character from my novel was a poet, so I decided to steal his work (I mean, technically it's MY work because I wrote him, but oh, well...)
 147° 
LL
struggling to
make things
make sense.
2025/089
 147° 
Juan45th
See
I see you,
                you see me.
but how can I reach you,
                                            when your eyes was on me but your hands is for thee.
#d
 136° 
Kalliope
Wash your hair
Pretend to care
Sit and stare
That feelings there
Fight or flight
Stay up all night
They said I'd never be enough
They said I'll only mess things up
Look who proved them wrong.
 111° 
S
-
What would happen if I wrote to an abandoned email address?
 106° 
lore
I don’t know,
is not a very good answer
when someone asks
“who are you?”

it is the one thing I do not know
the one thing I could bear,
simply being told

someone to dig into the very rotten core of me
hands bleeding as they cup my face
and say,
“there you are, I’ve been looking for you”
 105° 
Traveler
Awaken onto nature
Set your spirit free
Mighty are her waters
Ancient are her trees
Open wide oh starlit sky
Magical summer heights  
Mighty forest kingdom
Feathered furred in flight
Embrace her in the mornning
Evening tides roll out
In the cycle of her Venus
Ending way down south
Love her when she's frozen
She shall thaw again
Awaken on to Nature
Enjoy Her
While you can!
Traveler Tim
 102° 
collin
i know she’s more than capable
she left me at the table
the lines we drew won’t intersect
it’s probably best we never met
when a heart finds love is flutters there inside
such a lovely feeling from it you cant hide
makes you feel so happy makes you feel brand new
this is what will happen when love comes to you

getting even stronger each and everyday
stay forever true and never fade away
there inside your heart your love will always be
for now and evermore for eternity
 98° 
Agnes de Lods
In our unfinished garden,
warm stones resting atop one another,
forming a wobbly tower,
trying to connect with a true light.

Above the smoky air, faltering steps,
can I see the true shape of your struggles?
Does a malicious gnome
shape my projections?
He topples our confidence.

Do we know if we still want the same?

Your anesthetic drops,
drunk in secret behind smiles.
Your cruelty is a sarcastic, sober blow,
breaking down fleeting joy.

I long for stillness,
for a day without wrinkles.
Why do we argue for first place?
I lost to our demons, invisible enemies.
I heal my fading certainty,
Last night, I dreamt of a well,
repeating my thoughts.

Without context, we are lost,
surrounded by thick walls built by rifts.
We are still impatient for closeness.
We grapple with a weight of assumptions.

Seeing the tower of wobbly stones,
I don’t want to let go of your hands
trusting, warmly kind,
like a promise of endless green,
in our unfinished garden.
 84° 
Ryan O'Leary
My grandfather used to
sup from a saucer, and
he called milk, colouring.

The term of quench the
light endured long after
he got the electric city.

Food had to be respected,
his peaky tweed was always
doffed and put on a kneecap.
 78° 
1DNA
A drop of memory-
Ripples,
Spreading wide
Vague feelings
Of sadness
And joy
Washes in waves
Random topic write   ;P
 75° 
Karen
Beneath warm grey skies
The soul saw you, heart felt you
In light and shadow
 72° 
lorelei
if love grins
and sinks its fangs into my heart
perhaps I would let it

if love paints my lips
maroon when it kisses
perhaps I would let it

if love wraps its arms
around me in a suffocating embrace
perhaps I would let it

for if love was to forsake
nothing but scars and wounds
perhaps I would still call it holy

and if love leaves
as quietly as it came
perhaps I would still call it love.
it was real—at least, it was to me.
 72° 
Damocles
However the wind moves,
Swaying through and beyond you
Feel the wisps through your fingertips
Whispers from ancients' parting lips
Riding into ascension,
Feel the love of all mother
Rush through like a rapid river,
Resplendent
there is a power and magic in just connecting to the earth.
 66° 
Strying
When it's time,
let me know.

I'll be there,
whether it's now,
or in 24.

We're all fools in love,
'till we're actually fools.

But life just goes on for me,
and for you too,
despite the way you,
break,
          break,
                     break,
                              my heart.

Like it's yours,
to have and to hold...
because it is yours,
to break and to take,
I'm yours.
the truth is while i'm yours, you were never mine
 55° 
RMatheson
Don't think I dont know.

The music isn't a magnet,
it's an escape.
 52° 
Nylee
With spirit ablaze,
To tread, where everyone conspire
My truth, a flame held higher,
Yet branded still a liar.
This path, where doubts transpire,
To reach what hearts desire.
As in ages of old time's fire,
Worth on the pyre, a maiden's trial dire.
The heart's own fire, just water to the pyre,
Yet the world deems us of less significance,
Not much of a crier if you keep your distance,
We've never needed rescue, if the problem wasn't you.
 48° 
Sean Maloney
Just a theory
If I couldn’t look you in the eye
Was it because of your beauty
Or my fear of the pain to come
If it was
It was worth every gut wrenching moment
Even without my desired result, just arguably not as much you could say
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