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We are all bewildered dancers
Lost in an incomprehensible ballet—
Woven tightly through a rich tapestry,
Drawn from contrasting colors,
Yet forming a boundless whole,
Waltzing hand in hand—
In love and hate, joy and suffering,
Dark and light, death and life.

The universe—a radiant church window,
Fracturing light into polychromatic unity,
Drifting shards of stained glass,
Piercing through the drama of duality,
Rippling into a sea of endless complexity,
Wedged between the boundaries
of stars and the space that forms them,
A perfection found in imperfection,
Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth:
How could we be anything at all
Without two sides to make us whole?

Before the technicolor skies formation,
We were the loneliest deity,
Infinity alone in a room made of itself,
Where everything was everywhere,
And time unfolded all at once.
So we crafted ourselves a dream—
From the core of our mirrored soul,
A place where I am you and you are me,
So we may live and perish in grace.

So we may play a game with ourselves,
Performing on this boundless stage,
An intricate puzzle piece,
Fitting together in a dance of chaos,
Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves,
So we may treasure life in the face of death.
Navigators of the in-between,
Wandering the maze of nothingness.

If infinity could dream,
Its deepest longing would be
To grasp something real—
To feel the grass beneath its feet,
As it runs across the hills of our earth,
Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all.

The present is so precious,
It hints at a reason we call it so—
A split second glimpse of meaning
In the eternal dance of existence.
Humans tread this lonely universe,
as an ever-dispersing body,
but our I’s never meet.

Behind the velvet curtains of our minds,
within the iris of our eyes,
rests an endless expanse of stars,
refracting off a crystalline hall of mirrors—
a boundless,
eternal reflection,
devoid of every word.

Whispering so softly in us,
behind all thought, all form,
revealing everything,
yet ultimately nothing—
nothing at all.
Man Sep 1
I draw on cigarettes,
Doodle with resin-
Blisters on my fingers,
They all think I'm playin'.
The colors brown & red
Are escaped when I shut my eyes,
And when I turn my face inside
I'm fine with what I see.
It's not dark, pretty light-
It's all clear skies,
Even with a chance of showers
There's always a sunrise.
Can't you see
the dark side?
Bright like the moon
Consider the facts. Just
For the art of it.
What's in his style?
side by side by side
"Can't you see it"
Its a hexahedron
with an ism
How modern
is modern art?
This abstract form
forms from subtraction
"Today, the truth is
on display."
- Sandile
Malia Aug 7
I strain to chase my own inspiration
But ev’ry day there’s only artifacts
From my past eras, this lonely creation
Takes every fleeting feeling like a fact.

I seek, I seek, but rarely do I find
The abstract answer I was looking for;
You’d think you can’t get lost inside your mind
But sometimes you don’t own the parts you store.

It truly is a pit without a bottom
To stare the depths that lie within your heart
Because we underestimate the *****’s
Ability to turn pain into art.

Although it may appear to be a void
A writer’s well of words can’t be destroyed.
Never done a sonnet but feelin shakespearean today. Didn’t realize how complicated it was but now i know what iambic means.
EP Robles Jul 25
In the garden of flickering neon trees,
where shadows dance with marionette leaves,
I met a man with a clockwork heart
and eyes like prisms, tearing time apart.

He whispered secrets in a language of static,
his voice a symphony of glitches and clicks,
telling tales of constellations uncharted,
and love letters written in binary scripts.

We wandered through a labyrinth of velvet mist,
where fish flew by on currents of twilight,
and the moon sang lullabies to sleeping stars,
cradled in the arms of endless night.

I found a river of liquid glass,
where thoughts flowed like mercury streams,
reflecting the dreams of forgotten gods,
and the echoes of interstellar dreams.

A carousel spun in an abandoned carnival,
each horse a phantom of forgotten lore,
and as I rode, the world unraveled,
a tapestry of surrealist decor.

In the distance, a cathedral of crystal,
its spires piercing the fabric of reality,
and inside, a choir of silent voices,
harmonizing in spectral duality.

When dawn broke, the mirage faded,
leaving only a trace of whispered winds,
and I awoke, clutching fragments of visions,
in the realm where the surreal begins.

:: 05.17.2024 ::
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