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Mateusz Szot Feb 9
The words of your denial,
hold similar weight as your prial.

your eyes speak of disfigurement.
holding your breath,
drowning in a purge of repungnance.
The bitterness of your mind,
leaving scars deeper than you intend.
Your eyes, speaking thoughts louder,
than the whispers you spit.

On that hill,
I see you.
Watering a wilting flower,
hoping it comes back.
I trace my hands across your skin,
words of your sorrow,
seeping through your pours.

Your eyes shine, reflecting integrity.
I hold my breath, to discern your pulse,
swimming in the vibrations,
of your fragmented heart.
You smell sweet,
lavender and open book pages.
Looking to close your story,
forgetting the next chapters that lie within.
I dance in your presence,
admiration and replete,
consume my mind.
I see your scars,
kissing them softly.
Your flaws and foibles look different in my eyes.

laying my hand out,
hoping you shoulder my request,
of holding your heart,
in my cushioned hands.
Stitching your scars,
with threads of my love.
Many armed & many mighty,
A congregation of heads
Taking countless different faces.
As like the nine-tailed fox
Or the regenerative hydra,
Like a whisper from a daimon or seraph.
What an elusive cast overseeing this dominion,
In & out there, everywhere.
Those related to physics,
As like inertia & momentum.
To width & to volume.
Time & energy.
The biological & inert systems.
In the scatterings & distributions
And in the combinations & coalescences,
The raindrop to the puddle.
Islands among the sea,
All with some pulse or vibration
And a resonate frequency.
The chain-reactions at lengths which,
By our perspective,
Span seemingly in excession of infinity.
We are flickering candles
Cursed to decipher dripping wax,
Tracking the days of oil left.
We are pollen to by used by the colony
To construct & fortify the hive,
To feed the young.
Who are we to pick the flower
Thinking it will make us blossom?
To eat of the peach, to pick the apple,
But discard the seed
And rob another's potential?
To burn the bush & brush,
Drain the wetlands,
And sow devastation.
Eviction of the natives off their land
After the destruction of their homes.
What is man not, if not an animal?
What is a man, if not an animal?
What then is an animal if there is not some thought which bares resemblance to such a concept?
And if so; since we are made up of that which is organic in nature,
Metallic, and mineral-
It is not outside the realm of possibility
That other such forms of matter
Could indeed be capable.
Without the pretext of plausibility;
Like Eudoxus, in the disparity between
Correctly framing concentric spheres
And mistakenly claiming geocentricism.
It's a big world we know of
And a much larger universe.
Do plants scream
At the pain of a leaf torn?
Do trees look after their neighbors?
Likewise then, there is such constraint,
As like a straight jacket,
In that total adherence
To thought subjugated to concept
Looking for definition & context
Without daring inference or experimentation.
We'll get some things accurate
Even if there are missteps or failures,
But it's imperative we recognize them.
Thumbing around the galaxies
Searching for an answer
To the question of purpose,
But you're right where you stand.
I'm not sure how this started,
Exactly how this began,
And my memory of the journey
Is like that of the end.
If I were a captain,
If I were a white whale.
Cut the nets,
Ditch the harpoons,
Raise anchor,
Break sail.
If I were master,
If I moved to Bremen.
I'd scratch with claws,
Bare teeth & bite,
Kick with hoove,
Give chase & crow.

Were it that I could remember.
Musings & ramblings :)
I. Autumn came wearing forlorn eyes.
her relief made branches afloat amidst the storm,
yet leaves still fell with memories unmade.

II. Summer came wearing radiant eyes.
her laughter painted tall grasses, rows of  trees and fields of corn.
she smiled so bright sunflowers bloomed,
leaned her way, and mistaken her for sunlight.

III. Spring came yet her eyes remained the same.
although I'd argue, her gaze held winter's weight.
Her lips as tender as the earth kissed after rain,
as her smell sprouted daises in her wake.

IV. Tested by time as seasons unfurled.
throughout autumn's loss, summer's radiance and spring's quiet bloom.
The cold may touch with its chill,
Yet even then,
Winter never came.
anna Jan 22
But I think to myself now,
on these many auburn nights,
a year passed,
How lucky I am to have something
to miss amidst the fleeting
haze of life.

A photo I took three summers
ago; a boat immortalised behind glass.
It had reminded me of the careful details
and perfect colours, delicate strings
strung tall into ropes, pen barrels
into hard iron pipes.
  
The photo I took, buried under years,
a drop colliding with the sea,
indistinguishable.
The image is flooded with the fact
that it was never seen as I had intended.

Three summers ago, I looked at it,
and thought of him.
Though it was never shown,
it sits, buried.
Because, this winter, I look at it and
think of him.

How lucky am I, to have loved and lost?
How lucky I am, to have loved.
Rose Adriel Dec 2024
Gratifying sounds...
Delightful notes...
Each mirroring a sonnet of faith,
All conducting an aura of afroth !
For how could She, be such a gifted one ?!?

Sui generis" is the word,
Lyrical bliss per a chord,
Beauty as such an award...

A delicate Goddess within Her craft;
Why can't I spot any blunder in it ?!?
Soothing, soothing, soothing...
As pleasing as it can be;
She's of a divine femininity,
Yet, not precisely picturing Her glory,
Falling short in delineating Her charm.

Woman... O woman;
A certain euphoria, You conceive,
An eyeful masquerade, You evolve in,
An addictive healing, Your manoeuvre became to me.

~ A. Rose
In this life, I think that we've all met a woman/man, who has evidently struck something in our soul... This piece honours the emotions & feelings which have been kept a secret, somehow buried deep inside our darkened and oblivious inner self. I would personally classify this poem as, an analysis of Self, when it comes to a love that has never been achieved.
Or, you might also interpret it as an anonymous letter to an individual, depicting each facets concerning one's sentiments about her/him.
DJQuill Dec 2024
Snow falling from the sky.
Feel the cold breeze again.
Why?
Why are you back?
I feel cold.
I'm freezing.
Longing for a blanket
A blanket to hold me,
Warms me,
Comfort me.
Can you be my blanket?
Or can you just sit by my cold fireplace and listen to me?
And can you please put my name on yours?
I promise you that even though my fireplace feels cold,
I can make it burn if you help me.
A blanket that I can’t buy but a blanket I can find
silvervi Nov 2024
Silence
I invite you
To bring me the truth

Silence
I adore you
For you are what you are

Silence
You help me
Find myself again

Silence
You are an anchor
In this present moment

Silence
You are here
And you always were

Silence
Sometimes
You are louder than words

Silence
In your lullaby
I want to fall asleep softly

Silence
In your presence
I am.
Calming myself down before sleep after an exciting day, listening to silence.
KN Nov 2024
Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
Grant my pen a poet's gift
Let me scribble my pencil thin,
Writing, kindling your blossom smile.
You, beautiful as you flip my file
Which has me commit to your homework, while
Sitting at home with a radiant smile.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
'tis true, nobody's perfect -- nobody but you.
Naughty I was and punish you did that's true.
"Write, 'I will listen in class.'" you said demure,
"on each line of those two pages; and stop being immature."
I'd Sit and contemplate, drool and scribble,
"Lovely miss Anderson. My miss Anderson"

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my elder?
Were you younger, by a decade or two,
I grant I'd hop and merrily skip,
With you on the park and  buy you a sweet.
I'd look in your eyes, and call you Anderson.
My dear Anderson.
Lizzie Bevis Nov 2024
I watch you write,  
your pen flowing like a river,  
each word a current
that pulls me under.  
I am ensnared in your story,  
captivated and lost
in the beautiful, broken
and hurting depths of you.

©️Lizzie Bevis
What can I say, you all inspired me!
I love reading your pieces, watching your creativity bloom onto this page.
Thank you for being you. 🙂
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