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Cadmus Apr 30
[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.
This poem is a metaphorical tale about a young woman challenging the weight of social traditions and limitations, choosing the perilous beauty of freedom over the safety of conformity.
When your Heart is broken, and
The Words within are unspoken,
When you are Hurting inside,
Is when your emotions have awokened,

When you don't know what to say,
As your skies have turned to gray,
When you are used to bright sunshine,
To brighten up your Sunny day,

When a time you were so Happy,
With a big smile on your face,
Now, you're feeling so down and out,
For, your smile has been erased,

When you would stop and smell the roses,
and Dance around with grace,
Now, you feel so cold and lonely,
Oh, the feeling of disgrace,

When heartbroken you try to cope,
with the feelings build up inside,
Even through this time, there is Hope,
Strength and Courage will be your Guide!!


B.R.
Date: 4/28/2025
isaiah barber Apr 22
The dark has come
Take heed this charge
As we stand our ground
The sun shall come

The dark has come
Look to your brothers
Sisters and daughters
The night is young

The dark has come
Tis not the end
We shall not break
Naught but might

Look to the horizon
This is not the end
Lift up your swords
With shield and strength

This path we're on
Twill not be out end
Let our tale be sung
Echo across the hills

Naught but might
We fight tonight
As shadow comes
For all of us

The dark has come
Let not this be
A fading memory
Standing our ground

Our journey made
Paved in blood
Tears of many
This is our history

The curse of mankind
Twill never be so kind
Still, we look to the sun
For the dark has come

Look for the dawn
For the night is long
And we shall see the sun
The battle has only begun
Ahmed Gamel Apr 21
We are not born with fire—
we choose it.
In the silence of doubt,
in the ache of waking pain,
we reach for a flame
that doesn’t burn,
but builds.

Some of us burn
not to destroy,
but to light paths
no one dared walk before.
We carve names into time
with trembling hands
and unwavering hearts.

Creation is not in limbs,
but in vision.
In the breath that shapes words,
in the mind that dares to dream
even as the body folds.

But even fire,
no matter how bright,
must one day soften
into ember.
Even warriors
deserve a gentle sunset.

So when peace calls your name—
when stillness becomes the goal,
not the obstacle—
may you rest with pride,
not regret.

For the world remembers
those who chose to live
with courage,
to create in the dark,
to love in the storm.

And to my friend,
who walks with wisdom and weight,
know this:

You are not fading.
You are finishing—
and every step leaves warmth behind.
This poem is dedicated to a man whose honesty lit something in me. It's for anyone facing the weight of time, illness, or doubt—and still choosing to speak, to create, to feel. This is about the fire we carry, the peace we seek, and the love that binds it all together in the end. Much respect, always.
Choke me until I lose consciousness
Go ahead and try it, I'm waiting
Scream and yell, like you mean it
Release all of your hostility
C'mon
Show me and the world what you got.
You can do it
You have a criminal mind
I know all about you
Everything you have said or touched has turned into a disease
You manipulate others with your lies and psychotic behavior
One day I'll have the last laugh
You will be exposed for all to witness your unappealing characteristics
Get ready
Are you strapped in?
Ready to be destroyed?
Looks like your nervous
Is that sweat?
Do you like being in the hot seat?
The tension is building as I begin squeezing, tearing and ripping you apart
Not in the true sense, but mentally, I'm taking my identity back
Release myself, I am at Peace.
Charles Apr 19
weathering the typhoon
hoping to see it through
so that I may see you

manning the ship alone
it is anything but easy
in a storm that's far from breezy

on days like this my courage wanes
but your memory gives me a second wind
I pray that you won't leave me behind
evangeline Apr 16
Courage wears a pleated mini skirt  
Red tights and Mary Janes
Gold shadow in the corner of her eye
Courage wears a **** bra
Three shades darker from two weeks worth of sweat
A silken ivory blouse, first two—
No— first three buttons undone
Scrubs
Courage wears overalls
Rolled at the ankles
A nose ring
Butterfly clip and an old locket
Courage wears men’s boxers on a female body
Dr. Marten’s with the chunky soles
Carabiner on the (right) belt loop
And her grandfather’s leather belt
Courage wears gold hoops and a silver watch
White after Labor Day and off-white on her wedding day
A lab coat in the morning, a breast pump at lunch, and a little black dress later tonight
Courage wears a uniform
Hand-me-downs and Goodwill sneakers
Cheap lingerie and slutty stilettos
An orange jumpsuit
Camouflage
Courage wears a binder to church
A burqa to school
Box braids in the office
Courage wears the pants
Wears the shoe when it fits
Wears her heart on her sleeve
Wears pain like a badge of honor
Courage wears a kitten heel
Even when it goes out of style
Cada el día de 15 es un recordatorio;
Para que los recuerdos sean recordados;
Para que las oraciones sean murmuradas;
Y para que el amor quede enterrado en las brasas.
Every 15th is a reminder;
For memories to be remembered;
For orisons to be murmured;
And for love left to be buried in the embers.
Honey Apr 14
Before I even decided to run,
I was already caught up with waking up early.
Body laid close to the pillows that I get drowned by all the time.
Clothes unprepared, shoes not in sight,
Mind still asleep, eyes glued to be closed tight.

We will never be ready for something unless we give it a try.
We can never really decide immediately without considering it.
Why? Are we scared that it might not be in our lane of comfort?
Such a funny thing to say. But aren't we all scared? Aren't we all not ready for anything?
But by faith, we believe that it’s better tried than left ignored.

Like words left written but never sent.
Shouldn't we be more daring because we've already lost a lot due to fear and uncertainty?
As if this world isn’t full of uncertainties.
We are built to embrace, to live, not to dismiss—
Cause what is there to live if we keep dismissing the life we are destined to?
If Poetry was cornered,
and about to be scorched alive
he would stand still and strong
despite the quivering fear inside.

His murderers would begin to sneer,
watching Death dangle minutes away,
and torcher him before they'd say:
"Any last words, on your last day?"

He'd swiftly swing open,
his delicate pages aflutter
as their wretched smiles
start to crack and sputter,
in shock at the boldness
of being openly sighted
and so very vulnerable
to being instantly ignited
just to save the great works
of all the world's poets,
who poured out their hearts
so purposefully in pen.

They'd see pieces of Poe,
about to exist Nevermore.
The words of Angelou,
with emotion in store.

Frost and Untaken Roads
that now all lead to Death.
Wordsworth's wisest words,
soon to take a final breath.

Eliot and The Wasteland
will find one another soon.
Not even sad Shakespeare
is going to last till' noon.

As the observing evildoers watched,
Poetry paused on a piece prepared:
"Because I Could Not Stop for Death,"
to which they remorsefully stared.

What a shame it would be,
said proud Poetry,
to let these legacies die.
the spirits of every poet
will haunt you if you try!

The mob looked at one another,
and quickly fled the scene,
leaving the ending as happy as
A Midnight Summers Dream!
Nothing could keep poetry from existing, just like it is impossible to leave emotions bottled up.
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