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eurus Nov 7
this facade has cost me damages beyond repair
bridges to ashes
glitter to sand
i feel undeserving of looking up the sky
how foolish of me to think i'd ever shine as bright
my fear coalesce into a person and i am running
running as fast as i can
exhaustion sitting heavy on my back
chains wrapping around my ankles
i trip over the roots of the past
and suddenly i am falling down a rabbit hole
with no end in sight
the stars, they are more stunning than i recall
i have never seen as many as tonight
oh, they twinkle, they wink at me
as i fall down deeper into the earth
dear stars, you must forgive me for my shameless mistake, okay? okay.
Isaac Aug 4
what fantasy should I play into today
watch the fruitful image become laced with dust like Pompeii
what fantasy should I play into today
become just another burnt-out cigarette in your astray
my life is simply a fallacy, nobody truly cares for me, losing my sanity in the name of chastity
my life is unsatisfactory, nobody truly can handle me, confidence beat up no battery, take another shot of vanity
woah, I feel it start to form
woah, the new queen of the swarm
woah, x marks the spot no storm
woah, no longer can conform
to society, their ideology in breach of me
and my values, firmer than statutes
life can bruise, covered in the cool hues
and my bad news is I can still lose
but why focus on the lack and knives wedged in my back
rather not focus on that
discard the cracks and sneak attacks
rather not focus on that
my walls are up and they keep you back
Maria Mitea Apr 4
it stops in the heat of the day and picks your wildflowers.
it's coming. it certainly comes. out of the world. ones.
white moths will flutter their wings at your years
"if you want. come to dinner. we”ll be us ”

for fear of another step back. every second asks incessantly
"what could have happened"
the eyes remained fix on that crucifix.
chain hanging on the rearview mirror "

a heart that splits in the rain.

- it hurts ... but no ... I can't open the door.
"let's run. run with me. now"
one last look disappears in the flood of rain.
it can hit. anyone. anywhere. anytime.
in silence ... keep your hand on the door handle.
if not. we can say "it was the tyranny of time"
we only need a minute. to open the door to the outside world.
Allesha Eman Mar 14
An excerpt from a fairytale:

“You found what you needed from some token of love. Happiness lived at the end of bridges crossed and burned. You swim into an abyss of     oblivion and build a home in a sea of happily ever afters no one has dared to travel past.”

An excerpt from reality:

“What you needed, found you. You spend your days walking across broken bridges, mending what’s left of them and staring out at the horizon. Where the distant sun, ever so close, kisses your skin, and you are where you’re meant to be, manifesting the energy of healing.”
I don't burn bridges, I preserve those wonders of old. I let the waters rise, whilst I remain underneath its ridges and contours.

I don't burn bridges, not because that I am mature.

I don't burn bridges, because I am alone; and a bridge is a well travelled road.
Maria Mitea Aug 2020
How do you know that you take the best way when there are so many ways of being in this world of eternal music, poetry and mystery unveiling the dance of the swans and the hardship of the smith.

How do you know that you wake up for your day and not somebody else’s day and you wear your body, and carry your thoughts on your shoulders, through the mountains and hills, until you wish to reach some destination and rest down the load of the day?

Do you ask what road to walk?
when there are so many forest roads to take, how do you know, when others drive on highways, that promise to reach sooner and faster at any visioned destination.

Do you believe in destination, in a beginning and in an end, and it is not imagination creating the wholeness that already exists and you move to through it at inconceivable speed.

How do you know you do your duty and not somebody else’s duty is taken away by advice, surprise, need or greed,

How do you know that you are writing your own poem, and not somebody else’s poem founds it’s own way of touching your heart, words and mind, despite your mother’s imagery, words come to you as wizards disguised in freedom and intimacy begging your ink waking the spirit of lovers, nations or angels sleeping in sun’s rays?

How do you know that you wear your
own skin and not somebody else's skin, God’s garment for earthy flesh that swims in waters and blood on one side and touched by mountains on the other, that never can be washed and shaped like a river wish, nor tore apart and killed with your own hands as it belongs to its Creator, while you keep believing owning it as a piece of iron armour, God’s trust embodied in skin shining light back. Tell me human of ignorance and disguise, tell me, tell me,
What would you do if you would know that your skin is not your own skin?
Would you be happy, or disappointed?

How do you know your lover is your soulmate and not somebody else's soulmate
when there are so many hungry souls in this world starving and craving for the same soul and for that same love, day and night, salty tears falling on hope’s feathers
dreaming of a reunion.

Do you believe in destination, in a beginning and in an end, and it is not imagination creating the wholeness that already exists and you move through it at inconceivable speed.

How do you know what road to walk
when there are so many forest roads to take when others drive on highways, that promise to take them sooner and faster at any visioned destination.

How do you know that your dream is your own dream and not somebody else's dream at night’s taking shape of bridges, stairs to
rainbows and brides, fairies flying over rivers of kisses at the black sea, embracing lovers sleeping in fields of yellow flowers.

Oh, Life are you the one, or are you the many? How do you know?
Coleman M Lowe Jul 2020
I once crossed a bridge,
That now is burnt.
It seems that behind,
All are hurt.
A word too quick.
Can't be taken back.
My whole world,
Goes to black.
Actions and reactions,
Done in haste.
It all seems,
Such a waste.
Regret, it rears it's ugly head,
and desires to be fed.
But regret, A bridge, can't rebuild
Not when it's very foundations are crumbled.
And covered by the embers,
That used to be a bridge.
Bridges are built on faith and trust.
The strong ones are steel,
And will withstand rust.
But thoughtless words,
Spoken in haste.
Can lay even the strongest,
Bridge to waste.
A reminder to myself, to us all that we should engage our brain before opening ones mouth.
Sarah Jul 2020
she burned every bridge
because the heat from the fire kept her warm
and the danger of the flames were better than emptiness

she burned every bridge
and sank every ship
before she realized she was on an island
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