Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Christopher Mar 24
𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕀
π•π•šπ•œπ•– π•₯𝕙𝕖 π•¦π•Ÿπ•šπ•§π•–π•£π•€π•– π•£π•–π•’π•”π•™π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜ 𝕠𝕦π•₯,
𝕄𝕠π•₯𝕙𝕖𝕣 ℕ𝕒π•₯𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕀 𝕙𝕖𝕣 π•™π•’π•Ÿπ••.

𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕀
π•π•šπ•œπ•– 𝕒 π•₯π•¦π•˜, 𝕒 𝕑𝕦𝕝𝕝,
𝕒 𝕑𝕦𝕀𝕙 π•šπ•Ÿπ•₯𝕠 π•šπ•Ÿπ•—π•šπ•Ÿπ•šπ•₯π•ͺ.
𝕗𝕒𝕧𝕠𝕦𝕣 π•—π•šπ•Ÿπ••π•€ π•₯𝕙𝕖 π•˜π•£π•’π•”π•šπ• π•¦π•€.

𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕀 π•π•šπ•œπ•– 𝕒
π•Ÿπ• π••, 𝕒n π•’π•”π•œπ•Ÿπ• π•¨π•π•–π••π•˜π•žπ•–π•Ÿπ•₯
π•π• π•Ÿπ•˜π•–π•• 𝕗𝕠𝕣, π•₯π•–π•Ÿπ•€π•šπ• π•Ÿ π•π•–π•Ÿπ•˜π•₯π•™π•–π•Ÿπ•–π••
𝕓π•ͺ π•₯𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣-π•–π•©π•‘π•’π•Ÿπ••π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜ π•–π•©π•‘π•’π•Ÿπ•€π•–,
𝕀π•₯𝕣𝕖π•₯𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 π•šπ•Ÿπ•₯𝕠 π•šπ•Ÿπ•—π•π•’π•žπ•žπ•’π•₯π•šπ• π•Ÿ,
𝕓π•ͺ π•₯π•šπ•žπ•–β€™π•€ π•–π•Ÿπ••π•π•–π•€π•€ π•›π• π•¦π•£π•Ÿπ•–π•ͺ!
my colour doesn’t fade
it stiffens under the
blaring sun, it sheds in
winter’s cold embrace,
little of it is given, grace,
in a world fanatic of the brightest,
little consideration for distinction,
glory by separation,
salvation derived from diversification,
how evolution chose to make
us all different.

don’t tell me you don’t
judge me by it,
because your intentions have
ensured
every time
the mirror will remind me
little honour do i hold
in your elevated, exclusive ego.
Christopher Mar 23
Time knows not
the value of all that’s been.

Waves of endlessly tied moments,
rooted in their elemental truths,
whisper stories of then, now,
and the future yet to be.

You have found a home in my timeline,
your soul imprinted upon my perturbed existence.
Your humbling mind let me perceiveβ€”
what once seemed impossible,
a fantasy of astronomical measure.

Your eyes saved me.
Their gaze grants grace to others.
Your heart considers with unconditional expression,
bestowing attention with enigmatic majestyβ€”
a Queenhood founded on love’s uncompromising reign.

Your voice takes me back,
pulls me under,
returns me to a time of unfortunates,
where suffering spoke in forgotten tongues.
It reminds me how vital re-examination is.

Your intellectβ€”bold, unimpoverishedβ€”
permeated my faulty perceptions,
reshaping the fractures I mistook for truth.

You show the world
how to hold pain without contempt.

This is your glory.
Christopher Mar 25
our home is a fabric,
it flows, disturbed,
expressing single significance,
our design’s anomalous magnificenceβ€”
refined, reserved for the strongest
soldiers.
souls capable of sustaining injury,


like rays that formulate nuclear fission,
like blood rippling, dangerously feeding cells,
it only seems rational to ride an absurd progression,
galloping with the light,
onto a future unimaginableβ€”
failure awaits assuredly,
may success be closer.
there is something about being any type of artist…feeling the need to have the world return in kind the investment made in a piece of art. Maybe we shouldn’t expect anything at all.
Christopher Mar 23
it has been a while since
my little self, hidden, felt safeβ€”
beyond comprehension’s schematic structure,
deep within, where all that is
becomes understood.
where your words are felt,
where your expressions cause a meltβ€”
a sudden, radical acceptance.
your self-established mantle of significance…
my little self has lost its worth.

in your eyes,
it matters no more
that human I am, experiencing life
just as you do, just as it flows,
as it nears the ultimate axisβ€”
as winds and tides, as gravity itself.
we are alike in our search for the unfathomable,
a place of serenity,
a longing for love and security.
yet, adamant you remain in your complacency.

it would have been better to die
than to endure
your unraveling, your disarrangingβ€”
how your eyes burn with disregard,
exposing your innermost self,
enticing a taste for the misunderstood.
deep within, where all that isβ€”your little selfβ€”
remains hidden, untouched by obligation,
playing eternity’s game,
choosing to be too lazy to care.
i have a corner for myself
a little crevice to feel safe
thoughts and emotions
dwell and swell
fanatic explosions of
genuine expressions of
what’s inside, embalmed darkness.

my little neural garden
sunflowers, petals broaden
her courage emanates;
her glow has become my sun
it would be nice, she be my own.
Christopher Mar 23
they are windows into a soul,
many a time it has been adagedβ€”
through the variety of moments,
transversing the fabric of space,
as they witness evolution’s progression,
impressing upon the hippocampus;
creating memories delving deep,
deeper, furtherβ€”an obsession with distance,
to hide in one’s essence,
life’s temperamental escalations,
as a soul searches for meaning,
revealing mined, elusive absolute truth.
a little excerpt from β€œmuted”.
Christopher Mar 25
you’re a spectacular
spectator. your eyes are my
gold.
attention is what I seek,
resounding the call of humanity,
of all sentience,
of the heart you read this with.
sometimes, it’s better to put it out there.
Christopher Mar 24
Blossom as the morning leads the day.
Find thy energy and stamina,
find the next step and don’t look behind.
You have the belief in thee,
even though we can never see.
From me to the world that beβ€”
may peace and truth thrive.
As bees leave behind livelihood,
let us leave a love so true and infinite.

Bubbles will come along as the summer days return.
Suddenly, we will be filled with the audacity to dare,
we will access courage unknown to air.
For water shall always move with grace,
with least viscosityβ€”
being easy allows room for joy’s powerful outreach.
Keeping away from the ***** and corrupted,
staying on course with the fluidity of the universe’s microwave background waves,
finding solid ground upon the humble omnipotence
of eternal springs of summer.

But once in a while,
a Buttercup shall we be.
Every once in a while,
shall our tears run free,
hidden inside in our hearts burdenedβ€”
only for the mascara to never be washed off.
Bravery through anger,
kept pure by heavenly rage.
Like Angel Michael’s flame of death upon El Diablo’s head,
her fury shall always be unfathomed,
her love shall never be tainted.
And with certain destructionβ€”
shall Mojo Jojo scream for mercy!!!
There comes a time when we are called to be what we are, in the midst of our daily doings, to save the world.
Christopher Mar 25
you keep telling me that
you are not trying to be
in love, yet your hand
holds mine in contempt of
your unshakeable truth,
your adamant reservation to
the alternative truth you are


living.
love hurts.
Christopher Mar 24
words of humble insight,
shaded with anxious desperation,
my plea showing unrivalled jealousy,
seeking approval, sorting moments searching
for a pat and or a pleasant praise of dexterity.

you left me here strandedβ€”
these words wove me into a ball
of fire, endlessly burning ashes,
an obsolescence of essence,
a dissolution of common sense.
writers need patience.

— The End —