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Shambhavi Aug 7
Flames sleep within the mountain’s core,
Red, raging, yet restrained.
Silence wraps it like a secret.
But when it breaks…
A dark light appears.
Well by writing dark light I meant the light is too strong that u can't see anything its just metaphor I tried creating on my own.
  Aug 6 Shambhavi
Lynn Stillman
Art
Poems, works of art.
Mental pictures they create.
Painted with a pen.
  Aug 5 Shambhavi
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i saw him today
he was wearing grey
he never wears grey
he wears blues and reds
purple and beige
but never grey
why was he wearing grey?
i don’t know why it bothers me
or why everything he does still effects me
even though he left me
i’m angry that he’s changed
cuz im still the same
and i hate me that way
and why does he get to be happy after everything he did to me?
because i’m still crying about that random friday 8 months ago
i wish i could hate him
despise him
forget him
but he’s everywhere
he’s in the words posted on my wall
in the tears that i wipe from my face in the stall
he’s in my clothes, in my bed, in my head
and in the sky with every sunset
people say he misses me
but if that’s so true why did he move on so easily?
cuz he’s dating my friend

well we’re not friends
not anymore
that girl
i trusted
i confided in
yet she went in found him
said i lied to him
and then said she loved him
she made him leave me
resent me
hate me
yet i’m kind to her
i include her and welcome her
heck i even sit with her when no one else will because they hate what she did to me
but still she talks about me to him
blinds him from the truth
she’s saying i hate him when that will never be true
i miss him
i love him, not romantically but unconditionally
and i really wish he knew it too
but, yeah, i saw him today
he was wearing grey
second time i’ve posted this it’s one of my favorites i’ve ever written
Shambhavi Aug 5
I walked through woods all dressed in white,
With dust of snow , my wounds felt light.
A crow appeared in falling snow,
Its silence chilled my heart below.
It perched upon a hemlock bare,
And all my hopes dissolved in air.
Beneath its gaze, so cold and free,
I found myself , dead, beneath the tree.
This poem is exactly the reverse of Sir Robert Frost's work Dust of Snow while in the negativity a dust of snow sparked hopes in him but for me when i was fulled with hopes something happened and i lost hopes in almost everything😔
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