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Summer Apr 21
II

Blue base and pink hues, black lining, framing the face saw once in dreams, a face with a name that began with the letter M. The other painting – a hazy black, red lips, no eyes – is a man’s face. Flying across shadowed, spiraling stairs, I encountered exits blocked by chairs – all these impressionist paintings hanging along the classroom corridors, where a painter was explaining to his students the woman he met in his dream… they all called to me as a dream factory, dream logic – where everything was bound and unburdened, and amidst this uncertainty, we were told to identify faces in coffin paintings. All day we tried matching to no avail, mouth uttering half-formed names. Then the old lady I was working with let out a wail. She bolted, I followed, and there we saw two creatures known as men – to the man on the right, she greeted with the M-lettered name, and to the left she pointed at the eyeless, ashen painting, said, stranger, this is you – and they wept together.
Summer Apr 21
I

It is mankind’s nature to make things with his own hands, leave imprints, and craft legends. His fingers itch to dip into colored powder, tracing animals over stone’s face, carving bodies out of empty space – using nothing to build everything. Silvery machine, steel men, crawling, dragging tanks on sand. Future humans don’t need to see these, Commander said, they only need to know the impression of these, and then they will be able to build possessions like these.
A dream i had this morning
Ilhana Apr 6
Misery is weak
Until decades it survives
Becomes aesthetic!
A few more centuries
Becomes masterpiece !!!
And you say "what a wonderful world"
Clearer the thought,
deeper the soul,
more original I am,
the lonelier I become.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rc0jyQgbxqQ&t=375s
Ahmad Attr Feb 23
It’s the hollow sounds
Of raindrops falling on the car’s rooftop
In a world that feels static and stopped
That sends chills slithering down my spine
Like the crinkles of tiny bones and stones
In which I find comfort
Nobody could hurt us
We are sitting in a shelter
Safe from cold wet weather
It’s the tiny droplets, slowly sliding down
And regrouping and blurring the lights
Of a distant city twinkling in a rainy night
And my warm breathes create a canvas of fog
For my fingers to draw the tiny catalogue of ideas in my head
The sounds of rain is a like lullaby without any words said
And often when I can’t sleep
I close my eyes and think about me sitting in the backseat
Of my uncle’s car
Going to the hospital or coming from it, that doesn’t matter
It used to happened a lot
And there were many rainy nights, many rainy drives
Where I would see the drenched world brush by
The summer rains were blessing to my ears, skin, and eyes
And I would roll down my windows and stick my head outside
To feel it all at one time
It’s the tears of the sky
Kissing my face
Reminding me the world can be a heavenly place
It’s the music
Created by the windshield wipers,
The muddled sounds of the world, and beat of my heart
And the raindrops falling on the roof of the car
Nina Feb 12
Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...

I was talking about you, like all day...
to everyone and every time...
I painted you on the wall of my room
with roses and velvet night.

I was talking about you, like the whole night...
at stars and the full moon in Leo...
I hugged your portrait on my room's wall
that I painted
and I thought you were talking about me too.

my heart was full of red space
and my stomach was full of butterflies...
I have baked your favorite cake,
because I thought you wanted me in that velvet night.

They said that happiness is a butterfly,
but we met in December,
there was a cold and blue morning sky
and I remember that aesthetic forever.

Roses are painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I thought you loved me back,
and you don't know what you put me through...

People born in March are sensitive
but you were cold and mean,
My sun is in Aquarius
and I am the only one who can feel.

I am the only one who can feel butterflies,
and I felt more when I saw you,
I am a sensitive flower full of sun kisses,
lovely bees and the blue sky too.

All I wanted was a black painted rose,
violets and lavenders with your kind smile,
but you hate flowers and colors of love,
and you never smile, you laugh sarcastically...

Roses aren't painted black,
Violets aren't always blue,
I wish to take the time back
for what? you don't have a clue.

You left me heartbroken
and my scars full of the tears
our love is already over
and my feelings are my only fear.

I hope I don't feel the same to anyone,
and I hope butterflies won't leave me there.
but if I do I hope I won't be the only one,
who sees love colors and paints roses black.
I hate that I felt love. I hate that I turn foolish and sad person.
Isamarie Feb 1
Day lilies floating on the unspoken pond.

Deer's sprint to their pack.

A nature fix in the afternoon.

Doves gliding gracefully, making rapid circles on the water.

Fresh cut grass, surrounded with prunes.

Cicadas chirp sending signals to the bees.

Butterflies flutter onto the glistening willow trees.

Squirrels chase one other and bury
their last gift.

Sculptures of stones stacked on a nearby cleft.

The Sun beamed on the majestic mountain.

Birds quivered there wings,

Bathing themselves on a fountain.

The clouds formed a wispy shape in the air.

Nature is delicate, and must be handled with care.
Retro Jan 6
Benjamin...
god that name...
runs through my head all day until I fall asleep and I get to see you in my dreams...
floating through the cosmos...
I don’t know...
just the way we’re alone...
nothing between us....
stardust on your fingertips...
intertwining your fingers...
so close to me...
feels so real...
the way your heartbeat sounds in the dead of space...
the way your warm breath hits my neck...
in the chilling cold of the cosmos...
just... the way you’re there...
feels so real...
we’re so close...
I wake up and...
there it is again... that name...
Benjamin...
I helped chose Atlas as your middle name because an Atlas is a type of map...
and I knew if I ever got lost...
you’d help me find my way....
pull me out of the deep space and back into the galaxy...
vibrant and bright...
you made my black and white perspective bring color in my life...
so amazing... that it makes me... contemplate...
thank you.
brynna Dec 2020
sun through the window,
the beat of your heart
through your white wedding dress,
i trace reflections art
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