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Hex May 26
Slipping free from yester's time,
A Feather trapses yond the way,
On wind it floats, a step, sublime,
Dipping and ducking flakes of grey,
Those forged by winter, the sun's decay,
Plates of ivory, why must they hack?
Torn soil, a relic of why you turn away,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Sea, so fair, shimmering as a chime,
As the wind you switch, and you sway,
And your blues shine like a dime,
But if he drifts beyond the bay,
Will waters claim him, as they say?
Or shall he wash back, with the wrack?
To you, O Sea, he mustn't stray,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Mount, your peak, the rigorous climb,
At your summit, scores kneel and pray,
Your caps glow white, with a grass bed of lime,
If you were where the feather must stay,
Shall your perils bring him fray?
Must he lie in caves of black?
Nay, a feather must fly, and outward he must splay,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Feather, O Feather, where will you spend your days?
Here I must halt on the trail of your track,
Seize the wind, O Feather, the world is your prey,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
A tale of independence.
Bell Apr 16
yestereve we succame
A lengthy ballad of longing
formerly one of obstinance
flared in a cacophony of passion

Whilst usually twirling in a seemly epitome fashion,
yestereve a caprice thought laid heavy on hearts
as there was no doubt of desire
nor were there objections to her
for even when my affections consumed you
lady desire was just an inexorable

yestereve she picked petals from a Sinensis blossom
there went the pain
any semblance of grudge
along with sanity
and lastly, the walls as carefully constructed as that of Pyramus and Thisbe's
such vulnerability unmatched
for your sweet scent lulled me from the arms of reason
for reason, although safe,
is the most intricate and fragile part of the ballad
and the first to fall victim to the cascade

What a fool I must be to have gladly forgotten the kinks of your hands
or the freckles on the back of your neck that form a perfect triad.
The way your upper lip curls when you grin
made my glissade blissful and passionate
Your flustered twirl
the very epitome of aubade

Ignorant of the harsh retombe of reality
Your flustered face En L'air
Every touch a pleasant surprise that formed a grand symphony

A moment of unfiltered emotion
A heavenly ballad
so cruelly of yestereve.
twas hard to replicate this feeling after knowing how it all ends
Bell Apr 9
My sweet evanescent orange
although it has been a quiescent season, our time seems to be running short
As you happen to be a seasonal delight
and although our dalliance has been lovely
it has not been one of moiety
I will miss your
rough skin
dulcet taste
and you slender intricate eyes like that of a flickering leaf
Your bittersweet words had a redulcent undertone,
in the most delightful way
but as examine said parcel of citrus before me
I find a scintilla droplet of lament
for I do not wish for this season to end
I am mindful that it would be quite stingy of me to ask you to obtain till next season
for I do not hold possession of your bucolic tree
nor do I know if there will be a following season
So for the time being I will refrain from harboring jealousy of others who admire you
for although I nurtured and paid homage to this Sinensis tree
I am aware
that I am but a visitor
sitting under a grand opulent tree
enjoying your sweet taste
while we are still in season
When you love a poet you live forever.
Eesha Mar 23
Blood from paper cuts,
bloodied knees from falling all day
Innocent blood that transferred to bed sheets and
I began to hide, its profanity that was sacred but
I never understood.
And here I am, no more appalled, celebrating the beauty of blood.
Eesha Mar 22
My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand
By the sweet shrill of your command
My heart beats in my ears and eyes
At the prospect of your lies
You will not sing keep your eyes on me
You will not still at the sight of me
You will not sin
Keep your eyes on me
Eesha Mar 22
Bigotry has a smell of death
The fuhrer would watch piles on piles of empty flesh
In the summer of 1941
On the grounds of Auschwitz, that place weighed heavier than a ton
Years after the shoah, would this understanding begin to unfold
That nothing stains the soul more indelibly than loathe
What do the blind see?
Your oratory abhorrence they forsee
They see, not your bitter visage
But their ears crush under the muscle of your burning rage
What do the deaf hear?
Even years after the passing of a yesteryear
I suppose, they hear words, like skin caressing skin
Your tirade tearing their tissues like a throw of javelin
Along Its path, since decades, turning into centuries
Before times were tamed
Even after times were maimed
Our tongues have plucked
The plumage of quarantined birds
With stubborn shame
And a sequence of demise ensues
Their voice also dies, so does their silence
Because after all
Bigotry has a smell of death
To be afraid of listening classic songs,
While going into the dark,
Because every ****** in a movie happens like that,
In the end, it's just a body on the floor,
And the ol' melody in the background;
Kitten Yvad Feb 20
Worship this world of watercolor mood
in glass pagodas hung with veils of green
where diamonds jangle hymns within the blood
and sap ascends the steeple of the vein.

A saintly sparrow jargons madrigals
to waken dreamers in the milky dawn,
while tulips bow like a college of cardinals
before that papal paragon, the sun.

Christened in a spindrift of snowdrop stars,
where on pink-fluted feet the pigeons pass
and jonquils sprout like solomon's metaphors,
my love and I go garlanded with grass.

Again we are deluded and infer
that somehow we are younger than we were.
one of my very favorite scenic poems. I remember being 16 and lost and this taking my very breath away.
I still recall the minutes spent;
Every kiss and moment โ€” hands intwinโ€™d,
Days with thee, thy interest fully lent.
Sitteth I and ponder sober mindโ€™;
Of thy gaze and grace and lovely face,
Of thy voice tuned sweetly like the lark.
Thoโ€™ time apart hath drawn a pace,
Riseth I, with heavens eye to hunt the snark.
Seeketh I in places dark and sullen grim
With naught but hope and love equipโ€™d,
Plungeth I to caverns gull and dim
Void of joy and weary gripโ€™d.
    I trace the beast and find itโ€™s lair,
    To my surprise: a maiden fair!

~ Inori
A ballad writ for a maiden fair
Ani Feb 19
I donโ€™t know how Iโ€™m supposed to move on

Why is it so hard to accept?
So hard to be?
So hard to live?

Why are you faded away with everything arround me?

My mind canโ€™t keep up.
Everything is moving so slowly but so quickly.

Trying and trying.
I canโ€™t keep trying.

Trying to find a solution but nothing is there.

What do I do?
How am I supposed to move on
when I canโ€™t even live ?
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