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Jul 2021 · 1.1k
How The Elephant Got A Trunk
MØ Fitas Jul 2021
Once an Elephant was in great need to ***
So towards the restroom he made his flee
But the Elephant did not know he walked to his doom

For as soon as the got into the room
His nose got stuck into the slammed door
     It resembled a schroom

So the Elephant cried for help
     For help did he cried
But no soul would come to help
None would believe nothin’ but his demise.

Thus in despair he looked through the window
But to his utmost strike of mischance
He saw a view most rare
     All had been covered in dough

So the Elephant pulled and pulled
     For pulling was all he could do
And he pulled so much
     And so much he pulled

His nose no longer withstood.

In its place the Elephant saw
His nose was covered in gunk
But beware, beware
     For the Elephant bewared too,
That right there under all that gunk
No nose stood

It was something rather knew

Something like a trunk.
Mar 2021 · 414
Eye of Dystopia
MØ Fitas Mar 2021
Long before daybreak
With eyelids so heavy
Beseeching, let me sleep!
Never-ending, indefatigable thoughts
In waves, each more belligerent
Than its foregone,
Sang of tempestuous oceans
Of Winters of long-lasting darkness.
A bewail
- of bleakness -
For souls convoluted amongst alb foam.

To frank such thoughts
Dry them underneath moonlight
Obviate nefarious whims.
To coerce the ways of rational kin,
Eradicate rapt, impetuous
Combustions fired by
The cholera of heathens.

With herb and candle, enthrall,
With hammer and anvil, fashion!

Worming out the Eye of Dystopia
I wage war,
Quill in shivering fingers
- si vis pacem
  para bellum.
Dec 2020 · 740
The Leaf Burner
MØ Fitas Dec 2020
Alone she goes in the woods
- dark robes covering her womanhood -
No other thoughts shaping her angular face
But the will to burn Autumn leaves.

A fire set on the auburn ground
- a muddy dough of death -
Begs her coming as flame rise high
And smoke signals the way.

No tears no loud cries
No regrets nor fears
The wish to burn away her past
Stronger than the waving of spears.
Nov 2020 · 228
What poetry is
MØ Fitas Nov 2020
Poetry is a
    garden of wild
    flowers
I've yet come to
    admire
Nov 2020 · 329
Confessions in Petrin Hill
MØ Fitas Nov 2020
Of roses and others more
Of lovers and jewels of ore:
I collect tears from bright pink fears
And Gregorian chants for my ears.

Of roses and others more
Of poses and artists' core:
A glance of lavender and thyme
As souls swing through time.
MØ Fitas Nov 2020
the thought of never writing again has crossed my mind. why bother putting down on paper feelings i wish to forget. sensations i would prefer never reviving. i often strangle the ink out of my pens. rip the feathers out of my quills. as if their destruction would be enough to set me free from this burden. then the agony of asphyxiation pulls the breath out of my lungs. throws me naked before a ****** of famine crows.
Nov 2020 · 372
She
MØ Fitas Nov 2020
She
she reminds me of
magnificent blue waves
raging from the deep dark ocean
reclaiming coast-line without mercy
breaking into thousand shades of blue
purple and green

just under the stars
the water glows bright
in a hue of turquoise
from the plankton amassed

it is warm
inviting
safe

safer than any other place
you could find yourself in
despite all

it is magickal, unreal
a breathing utopia

she makes you desire
to breath underwater
never leaving that place of wonder
I wrote this based on a poem written in Bulgarian by one of my closest friends. It follows the theme of her poem closely although it contains some adaptations.
Oct 2020 · 263
Nostalgia
MØ Fitas Oct 2020
heated skin of July
warm, soft, fuzzy, tender
fondled by sun rays
reminds me
the touch a guy
once gave me in splendor
it ignited me in blaze

— The End —