Flee the scene;
Mind, take cover - No!
We must abandon ship.

The battle is lost,
Cover will not save you now;
You must let go.

As the depths rust the ship,
Its living moments reorder and recast;
Transmute and alter.

Its iron-cast reality dissolves away;
It is no longer your ship,
It is no longer your memory.

Now you may float once more,
Undburdended, unhindered - unknowing,
Until the next screaming vessel

Meanders by...

A little insight into a coping mechanism and having a third person memory. Meander is one of my favorite words!
leolewin Jun 28

Metamorphosize my inner eye, dimension shift, new paradigm. Distant lands, travelling through time -  seeking the secrets I may never find.

On the edge of the universe, I feel at home.


Ancient wisdoms of past existences echo throughout the galaxy just as stars twinkle.

It’s all so overwhelming…

At the galaxies end I am in searching for the context of life, and what it all really means.   Suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of ignorance seeps over me.

My journey is far from finished.

I composed the poem "Angel?",
And its subsequent parts,
It is a magical saga.

It is indeed so much beautiful,
And the Angel in the story,
I fell in love with her.

Rhyming or not it is bountiful,
And of all the sorts of arts,
She is an eternal saga.

Roses bloom as she is dutiful,
And me she always loves,
Should she not be real.

Magical she is so screwable,
Days dim into the nights,
I long for an "Angel?".

Much I am like Pygmalion,
Do I like those moments,
I do love the "Angel?".

If I'm wrong then correct me not,
Loneliness is a deadly disease,
I am saved by the "Angel?".

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/265976/angel/

My HP Poem #1602
©Atul Kaushal

It's crazy,
The way I feel.
Something's talking loud.
And it's taking over.
Can't tell the way I feel.
But I know this much...

I really can't take it no more
I been feeling so down and so low.
I'm weak and I'm restlessness.
And now I really can't help it.

I never felt this selfish before
I been living so reckless I know.
Tell me lord can you help me?

Nida Mahmoed Jun 6

I am holding a fire in me,
A fire of words of truth,
I believe that this fire
will lustre our inner song too,
Beloved the sound of truth
that we are holding,

I know sometimes
it’s hard but baby don’t
stop moving towards that fire!

By; Nida Mahmoed

Loneliness & Imagination
two friends of mine
whom I keep by my side.

Loneliness was a bit sad
getting bored occasionally
but imagination was happily high
carrying a garland full of lines.

Both are unique,
and without two of them
I am nothing.

I choose to hang out with them
Gave them food of emotions
with sweetness of my closeness
Kissed & hugged them tight
for making me artistically alive! <3

Creative time is the best time.
I don't mind being alone when
creativity caresses me from within
my heart & soul.
Softly Spoken May 24

They say artists
are tortured
Conceptually
Figuratively
Also literally
Some create through chaos
Out of seeds of destruction comes
a harsh beauty born of the artisans
experience of the world
Some express through their tears
their captivity, and from this
brutality again comes beauty
Joy
Ecstasy
emotive threads bind us
Loss  
Sorrow
it's soft ether numbing us
Driving us to tears
To apathy or
to death
Or to Art
As a means to fight for
something beautiful
A means to resist the cut of the knife
As a means to make
Something that would make her smile
Capture that glow
Make him bite his lip
to hold back tears
Make us see beyond our limited realities
And fears
Make me whole again
With stanzas, Indian ink staining our fingers
With stitches, tapestries of lives long past
With music, that can transport us to the depths of depression
As elevate us to the strata above in one refrain
With paint stained brushes
With spray on trains
Art as protest
Artists are amongst the first in those
waves of repression
cultural victims, with science
following at its heels
Persecution dogging their steps
The possibility of losing your life
for the creative output
.. and many have
let's not forget
So art is born of pain, perhaps
and some from joy as quickly
as from fear
Regardless of its origin
You know when you find that spark
You understand intrinsically
That light as brain and heart ignite
And you breathe catches, ragged, rhythmically
In your mind, alive
Exist in perfect time with appreciation
In this space for here lives Art
Be touched by the pain or joy
Sorrow or longing
Be embraced by flow
of words and style
My chest tightens
and eyes mist
This is the artists tortured soul on display
They placed it there
for me
So all could see
what was laid bare

When you can't go outside in the cold
Cause it hurts your bones;
And you've caused self inflicted mayhem
On every surface of your skin
When the night is your only cherished friend
It comforts your deceiving soul
And sings you a fast tempo lullaby

-Kellie A Scranton

Diary of a night owl
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