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ryn Jan 4
Promises of respite
from sallowed ashes,

adorned with feathers
from a thousand culled doves.

Haplessly wishing that freedom
comes soon.

A hope ensnared
in the clench
of crimson-stained gloves.
Savio Fonseca Oct 2023
I'm uploading My Dreams for Tonight.
When the Sun sets beyond the Sea.
Come forth, My Pretty Woman.
Wheresoever U may Be.
When I step into Light, next Morning.
I must feel your Warmth, on My Skin.
My Soul must brim with Happiness.
So there's a flutter in My Heart Within.
Life at times, can be a Monstrous Devil.
That may sail U on dying Streams.
Feelings are the Fabric to Our Souls,
I Fashion them out, with My Dreams.
Emotions are just like Wild Fires.
They have mystic powers to Destroy.
Sometimes they have the power to rebuild.
So U sleep, on a bed of Crimson Joy.
Chris Thomas Jul 2021
It often feels as though I was never meant
To be the man that I have stubbornly become;

It often seems more likely that at one time,
During my checkered past,
I laid in wait in the foliage,
Sprung a makeshift trap,
Subdued one of my pursuers,

And assumed their identity

It would be one of the few logical explanations
For why I consistently sabotage my own path;

Retreating to my sanctuary,
Setting up tripwires around every corner,
Poisoning my sole water source,
Setting up sensors around my heart,
Camouflaging the exposed crimson,

And stalling for time that I no longer own
Why do I still daydream about the ending
When the beginning is far from written?
FunSlower Jun 2021
There you go again.
That crimson lipstick
Pressed against the wrong lips.

So will you stay there through the night-time
Or are you gonna have a dance with me?
You know I would hold you for a lifetime.
So do you wanna take a chance with me?

There she goes again.
That crimson mystic
Impressed me and she won’t quit.

So, will you stay there through the night-time?
Or are you gonna have a dance with me?
You’d be my Queen.
You know I would hold you for a lifetime.
So do you wanna take a chance with me?
Surely you’ve seen

The eyes that passed by
Have never told lies.
And lives that pass by
Have severed old ties.
So as I sit here and write my story
Into yours in all your glory,
Will you read it? Do you need it like I need it?
Do you see it how I see it?

So I’ll just sit here and write.
Dearest Crimson Red.
Deepest Ocean Blue.
Can you tell how much you mean to me?
Can I say how much I like you?
Melody Mann Jun 2021
In the ruins of memories shall I scavenge for relics,
I seek totems of our union and idols of our departure,
For in the battlefield we shared I sit to relish the agony of separation we now bare,
To the crimson kisses staining our surrender,
A salute to fractured promises.
aspen wilde Apr 2021
i believe breathing in an air of love
would be the same as gasping in the
beckoning sweetness of a crimson rose on a
fresh summers day
The Triple L Apr 2021
The touch of a hand,
The warmth of another,
That precious tickle,
That burning feeling inside,

Living flame,
Dancing throughout my garden.

The garden I cultivate for you,
A field of crimson, the purest red,
It is your colour, a sanctity, a shrine for you,
This garden, my life’s passion,

A never ending field of Lycoris Radiata,
Growing inside my mind.

Temples and palaces,
Cathedrals and castles,
The works of generations,
They’re all incomparable to the garden I grow for you,

Thousands of year in worth of work, the species’ finest art,
Rivalled by the Eden I cultivate for you, the moments it took for my garden to grow.

Problems are non existent in the garden,
Yours or mine, I can no longer tell,
But I know for a fact that they cannot grow here,
All that grows is the Lycoris Radiata, swallowing all other forms of life or death,

That is, before the deluge,
Before the moment you walked into my garden.

Before the moment you entered the realm I constructed for you,
Before the moment you graced the garden with your presence,
Before the moment you shattered the illusion of grandeur,
Before the moment you trampled the finest of the Lycoris Radiata,

The death of my garden,
The collapse of my life’s work, that somehow lasted mere moments.

But it’s okay,
I didn’t want the field of crimson anyway,
I didn’t want the garden of Eden,
You snake.

I hope you know I hate you,
Because now I’m growing hydrangea,
And it’s going to be the most beautiful garden on earth, lush and green and all for me.

By LLL
A poem about me feelings for someone. The inspiration comes from a picture of spider lilies.
Hamna Apr 2021
There is a woman,
With heaven underneath her feet.
When I take a glimpse of her eyes,
I forget about the stars.
For the twinkle of her eyes is better than that of stars.
When I gaze at her lips,
I forget about the crimson of roses.
For her lips are far rosier.
When I hear her laugh,
I forget about the nightingale.
For her voice is far too merry.
But do you know who this woman is?
She is Mama the Marvellous.
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.

The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.

Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.

Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are

Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Sometimes even the simplest things can sometimes a sense of uneasy dread
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