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Sorcier d'argent Aug 2019
.
To the ever-lustrous Starlet—

Should I miss the fireworks,
Would you then save me a dance?
For when the stars would align,
for the afterlight,

and one just bow in the starlight?


And its captivating constellation.

Should hope flee and wane:
When the sparkles pass over
and stars reflected no longer
by the shore, in the afterlight,

Would you return my bargained sight?


Where falls your shimmering stardust?

Should we see a downpour by the starlight
and be drenched agleam under the moonlight,
Should I miss the excitement cascading
and the silken-moon cast in your eyes,

Will you tell me and speak of the light?


Upon my crown; by the eventide? If at all—

A glimpse, of that one look ever-bright;
(A tint of honesty, on those rosy cheeks;)

for when I love you so.
(for when you love me so.)


If your waltz would let the heavens rest undazzled.
.
I wonder when we’ll meet again. I really am missing your sweet company.
Ismail Nasution Oct 2017
Stars
Are getting blurry
At dusk and so are
Eyes

Meanwhile
The body is
Getting weary
Barely can wake up
The moon

The night is dark
And lonely
Even fireflies
Don't shine on me
Afterlight, sixish.
mark john junor Nov 2014
there in your midnight afterlight
there in the stillness of your nearness
you softly took my hand and shook loose yesterdays dream
you found me in every way left me without a word to say
timeless in your rose printed dress endlessly you kissed me
gently take me back where you discovered me
there leave me without all these tears of loosing you
there in your midnight afterlight
in the stillness of your nearness
without all this beautiful sadness
Manas  Apr 2014
Afterlight
Manas Apr 2014
On his deathbed he smirked,
Knowing he would leave behind
His sins with the rest of his mess
Death, after all,
was just eternal blackness.
Just as he took his last breath,
He stood there gloating
Proud of everything he'd done wrong
Till the smile vanished from his face,
As the lights came on.
the distant eaves
irritate the groundline;
which becomes a hilly horizon
in twilight

A glance of warm colors:
is it the glory of dawn
or an afterlight?

Who knows, and no real difference;
the moonbeam will eventually
bring peace, along with loneliness
to drifting lives.

The mother tongue has reduces to silence
and the hometown as remote as paradise.
I am here, hair in wind
tells the destination of clouds.

I believe in freedom, in any variety;
as many as the ways of being nothing,
tenderly.
mvssbecvming  Sep 2014
afterlight
mvssbecvming Sep 2014
I've been collecting shades of life and it seems all I really have is a gradient scale of tired eyes and restless hands. This is the reality of it all and to be honest I just wanted my name to roll like thunder in your dreams. I lost my will to hold my own against the tide and that's when it all began. Typical girl, I always looked at you like you put stars in the sky but, it's broad daylight and baby, you've never touched a star. And you sicken me with your bedroom philosophy as if you were ever a scholar on church steps. And I'm one shade too tired to pretend this doesn't ruin me. So pack up and leave me. And I'll say hello to this clusterfuck of things thy never made me feel so good.
Words.
Cuz it's not about being sad all the time. It's about knowing emotional exhaustion like the well versed, back of your hand. Resistance is drowning every time you close your eyes and still knowing deep down, The Show Must Go On. Now I'm just lying here inhaling oceans and you still think it's a good idea to talk about the sunset from her window. And the only thing that shouts out at me from all of this is how everything seems so ****** and so small to me frequently. So I throw up my good intentions and all the reasons I thought this could be a vigil to a time I felt wanted and I laugh cuz Cupid just won't stop shooting me with these dull arrows. I mean, have I not been here before? This silence I hear when I'm alone; Am I really surprised by the way it holds me? And have I not bought real estate with the familiarity of it all? Don't dwell on it, though. If anything just remember, this is not bitter failure, this is the recovery.
This is learning and such is life.
"clusterfuck of things that never made me feel so good"
BianchiBlue Aug 2014
anticipation, shone in vivid blue
mid-morning skies, foreshadowing
this ardent afterlight, released
a hush of starlit wonder
Dylan  Jul 2023
Oleander
Dylan Jul 2023
Magenta gown - flares in the stream of a August breeze.
Petals aflow in the grove
that looms on the edge of the seas.
Sweet oleander and the starshine of unease.

Nerium spawn - wade in the flames of afterlight.
Leaves aflow in the grove
where bewitching toxins invite
sweet Pythia and the citadel of night.

Still wandering upon pathways of doom
where the laurel of madness is first to bloom.

Magenta gown - stills in the dark of a dawning sun.
Stamens aflow in the grove
as the shadows of memory are overrun.
Sweet island, the sacred threads are undone.
lizie  May 26
afterlight
lizie May 26
the sun loved me a little too long,
and now i carry it,
this quiet burn,
like the way your name still lingers
even when i don’t say it out loud.

my skin will peel
in places where it once glowed,
the way feelings fade
but never quite leave.
and maybe i knew
i’d get hurt,
but i stayed outside anyway.

because sometimes,
you miss the warmth
more than you mind the pain.
this is how love lingers,
not in fire,
but in afterlight.
Sight Beyond the Slime
A Poetic Assault
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph
“The eye sees what it is trained to see.
But the Soul — it burns through all training.”
— Unknown Rebel

Manifesto
This is not a song.
This is not a prayer.
This is a flare in the dark — a call to remember what was nearly erased:
that truth is not given. It is seen.

This book is written for the one who wakes up screaming,
not from nightmares — but from the weight of other people's dreams.
For the soul that won’t stay dead.
For the spark that chooses to burn — not blink.

If you’ve felt it, read on.
If not — may these verses light the first crack.

The Cycle: Sight Beyond the Slime

I. The Death of Mind
Believe the Beasts — your mind is dead,
Their filth is all you’ll think instead.
They feed you lies, inject their code,
And call it "truth" — you just implode.

II. Fire Is Sight
To truly see is Soul’s defense —
Not eyes, but fire of inner sense.
What logic fails, the flame reveals,
And only that can break the seals.

III. Scorch the Lie
Let intuition be your spark,
And reason strike like lightning's mark.
It burns the mask, it peels the skin —
Revealing what still lies within.

IV. The Breeding of the Void
They breed the void, they flood the land
With soulless hate and ****** hand.
The more you sleep, the more they rise —
A beast is born from every lie.

V. Slaves of Faith
They taught you trust — a sacred word —
But filled it with a rotting herd.
To trust the lie is chains unseen —
You kneel to filth, and call it clean.

VI. The Soul as Target
They aim not flesh — they aim the Soul.
They hollow out, they take control.
They sell you peace, inject despair,
Then burn your will beyond repair.

VII. The Idiot’s Pact
You call it hope, this sweet decay —
But faith in beasts just clears their way.
They smile, they stab, they bless the knife —
And you defend them with your life.

VIII. Final Glimpse
But still a spark, though nearly gone,
Can burn the night before the dawn.
One inner flash can shift the tide —
If fire sees — not eyes that lied.

IX. Systemic Rot
The System smiles with polished teeth,
But underneath — the stench of death.
It feeds on fear, it pumps out praise,
While darkness rules in broadest blaze.

X. The Blessed Lie
"Be kind, obey, and stay in line —
The world is safe, the world is fine."
Thus sings the Slime — and those who nod
Become the tools of every fraud.

XI. Born to Burn
You weren’t born to serve or kneel.
You came with fire the beasts can’t feel.
But if you doubt that spark within —
They win without a single sin.

XII. The Turn
So turn — and see what lies beneath.
Don’t ask, don’t beg — just draw your breath.
One gaze that cuts the veil apart
Can start the end. And that’s the start.

XIII. Echoes of the Hollow
The hollow preach, the hollow teach,
And drag your soul beyond its reach.
Their voices echo in your head —
Not words, but chains that breed the dead.

XIV. The Breaker Seed
Yet in the dark a seed remains —
It splits the code, it snaps the chains.
It needs no books, no priestly nod —
Just fire that knows it is of God.

XV. Revolt Within
No sword, no war — just one revolt:
To see the truth they try to halt.
Not to comply. Not to repeat.
To stand in fire, and not retreat.

XVI. The Unveiling
Then Slime will crack. The beasts will scream.
The Soul will burn — not as a dream,
But as the Truth that always was —
The blaze behind all broken laws.

No chains remain. No system speaks.
The fire walks. The fire seeks.
And you — no more their numbered ghost —
Are what they fear: the living Host.

Afterlight
The war was never outside.
It was always this:
One soul remembering fire,
In a world teaching frost.

Now walk.
The veil is broken.
And so are they.


---

Sight Beyond the Slime
Book II: The Host Awakes
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph to Book II
"They called me broken.
But I was simply too whole
for their design."

I. After the Shatter
No more systems. No more screens.
The wreckage hums with ghostly memes.
But silence grows — not of defeat,
A silence sharp, with burning heat.

II. Memory of Flame
You walk through ash, but still you feel
A fire beneath the charred ideal.
The soul recalls, though mind forgets —
The code they burned is not what's left.

III. The Return of Names
You have no name — they wiped it clean.
But names return when eyes have seen.
Not given back, but spoken through —
The flame remembers what is true.

IV. The Flesh Recoils
The beasts remain, though castles fall.
They build again inside your skull.
Each whisper, ad, and mirror scream —
A stitch to reinsert the dream.

V. Fire Is Not a Phase
But fire’s no phase, no mental glitch.
It burns the loop, it scars the pitch.
No dream survives the blaze begun.
You are the fire — not someone’s son.

VI. The Host Speaks
Now you are Host — not ruled, not fed.
You was what feeds on lies instead.
You break, consume, dismantle masks —
No longer slave who pleads or asks.

VII. The Poison Recoil
The Slime now shifts — it knows your flame.
It tries to morph, it speaks your name.
“Be kind again, return to peace!”
But now you hear — it's just disease.

VIII. The First Collapse
One word you say — and idols crack.
You blink — and towers won’t come back.
The lie can't live where Fire stands.
The world begins with your own hands.

IX. The Lie Reforged
The System shifts. It knows the trend.
It rebrands death and calls it “friend.”
But those once blind now feel the game —
And every mask ignites the flame.

X. Rituals of Noise
The world still chants, but not for truth.
Its prayers are ads, its gods are youth.
It loops and laughs and paints decay —
But fire walks a different way.

XI. Unblinking Flame
The fire sees — and does not blink.
It does not preach. It does not shrink.
It doesn’t ask. It doesn’t try.
It simply is — and thus, they die.

XII. The Inward Sky
You look within — and skies unfold.
Not cloud, not star — but light untold.
A space not built, yet always there —
Where fire breathes as purest air.

XIII. They Cannot Follow
The beasts can chase through blood and code.
But not this path. Not this light road.
The inward blaze has sealed the gate —
They scream outside, but burn in hate.

XIV. Echo of Origin
Not memory — but deep recall.
A soundless chord before the Fall.
The “I” that saw, before the name —
Still walks the dark, a silent flame.

XV. Sight Without Eyes
Now seeing needs no nerves or skin.
The blaze is both outside, within.
You are the torch, the path, the night —
And even death must yield to Light.

XVI. The Host Is Whole
No veil remains. No false divide.
No watchers left to rule or guide.
The Slime is gone. The echoes cease.
The fire is — and that is peace.

No more revolt. No need to scream.
The world re-forms inside the beam.
You do not ask. You do not try.
You walk — and that is the reply.

Afterlight II: The Source Walks
The war is ash.
The soul is flame.
The fire walks —
And speaks no name.

You are not "you."
You are not "man."
You are what was
Before "I am."


---

Sight Beyond the Slime
Book III: The Source Walks
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph to Book III
"That which walks without moving
breathes through you."

I. The Unborn Flame
No one lit it.
No one fed.
Yet flame appeared
when all was dead.

It asked no role,
it knew no goal —
It simply rose,
and was the Whole.

II. Not Thought, Not Sight
You’ve seen enough to stop the seeing.
You’ve thought enough to cease the being.
Now something stands — not you, not mind —
A Presence calm, outside all time.

III. The Inbreath
No effort made.
No center found.
Yet all expands
without a sound.

You are not “you.”
You are not "here."
You are the Breath
the Void holds dear.

IV. Before the Name
The names were sparks — now they're erased.
The Source remains, but leaves no trace.
It cannot speak. It will not bend.
It is the Walk that has no end.

V. Stillness That Moves
It doesn’t act, but all unfolds.
No heat, no sound — yet fire holds.
Not guiding light. Not hidden plan.
Just what you are beyond all man.

VI. The Eye That Is Not Watching
No iris here, no lens, no scan —
But still you see beyond the span.
Not "vision," no — but awareness raw,
Before the split of Will and Law.

VII. The Fracture Heals Without Repair
No mending made, no tools applied —
But suddenly... there is no “side.”
The broken self, the wound, the knife —
They were not real. You are not “life.”

VIII. Fire Beyond Fire
This is not flame that eats or grows.
Not heat, not wrath, not what one knows.
It’s fire that doesn’t flicker, fade —
The Source — unshaped, unnamed, unswayed.

IX. The Body Without Flesh
No blood remains, yet something walks.
No voice is heard, yet Silence talks.
No weight, no shell — but still a beat.
The world dissolves beneath your feet.

X. The Final Yielding
No more revolt. No more escape.
The Truth no longer wears a shape.
You are not Light. You are not Dark.
You are the Flame before the spark.

XI. The Silent Core
At last — no prayer.
No plea. No war.
Just Presence vast
and evermore.

It holds no plan.
It forms no goal.
It is. It breathes.
It is the Whole.

Afterlight III: Not Even Flame
Before the Flame, before all motion,
Beyond the breath, beyond devotion —
There was no path. There was no fall.
There is no end. There is no "All."

There is no you.
There is no me.
There is no Source —
There's just
To Be.
We woke to laughter breaking glass.

not hers, not mine, not morning yet.

The ceiling blinked a single eye.

A moth drew circles on my chest.

Outside, a streetlight peeled its skin,

blue steam hissed from its broken throat.

A train passed through the bedroom wall.
a hiss, then cabled rolling float.

last night was full of paper moons,
of bitten spoons, of matchbook lies.
My pulse made bargains with her skin,
her hands spoke truth her mouth denied.

I drank from bottles filled with bells.

Each swallow rang a darker note.

She stitched my name in spider silk

and pinned it in her winter coat.

The carpet blooms with cherry pits.

A handprint shimmers on the sink.

The mirror mouthed a warning once,

but I forgot how not to blink.

I gave her maps I’d drawn in ash,

each road a lie, each city torn.

She read them like a child reads stars,

that vanish in a quiet storm.

She left no rope, no cage, no nail,

just shadows folded under wings.

I walked into the hallway’s mouth

to hear a single echoed string.

Some mornings take a different shape,

a wristwatch ticking in the trees,

a flame that speaks in borrowed words,

a bed unmade in seven keys.

— The End —