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Emery Feine Sep 28
A tourist came to visit a church
One that had burnt down and rebuilt anew
Then he heard someone in the street say,
"Besides the design, there's something you should know too!"
"Many visitors have seen images in this church,"
"Scenes from the old place!"
The tourist felt a simmer of excitement
And entered the church at a steady pace
And when he entered, the hallucinations hit
Celebrations and songs from the past
People building the church was first
And the rebuilding after the fire was last
He noticed the masterpieces on the wall
And the wooden pews where people could sit
He saw white marble so enchanting, so dimly lit
And he then saw a sign saying "Do not enter"
And he knew walking in could be a sin
But his curiosity got the best of him
And so he marched right in.
And as he entered the dark room
A new hallucination entered his mind like a liar
He turned to leave, but the door was locked
And he was trapped in with the fire.
this was my 44th poem, written on 11/9/23. I hope this makes sense idrk
Emery Feine Sep 24
Did it all mean nothing, just wasted my time?
Was it all worth something, something I claimed mine?

The people I’ve met and the journey I’ve been on
Did the friendship really set, from dusk till  dawn?

From setting off fireworks on top of the school,
To happily acting like a fool,

From what I’ve learned and to I’ve bought,
There’s been a growing guilt which I have fought

What did she mean when she said, “The dark side of this place”?
What will, in the future, will I face?

Helped others but still felt the presence of wrath,
How do I know that I’m on the right path?

In the past I knew it was the eye of the storm
“I’ll find out the unknown,” I have sworn.

As learning is the only thing I find entertaining,
But in terms of my enemy, reality, there’s nothing I’m gaining

So, I look back into the past, scavenging for advice,
I hope in the future I’ll learn to think twice.
this is the first poem I’ve written, created on 9/14/22
annie Aug 19
after anti-lamentation by dorianne laux

Regret nothing. Not the true-crime shows that kept you up in morbid curiosity,
Anticipation and cynicism you couldn’t help but chase like Pandora’s box,
A price you paid with the death of childhood ignorance.
Not the hours you spent trying to delude yourself into forgetting,
Trying to bring the fantasy worlds in your fictions to life as a distraction,
Only for them to be tainted by the blood of your supposed savior,
Not the nights you woke up in the purgatory of consciousness held down by restraints,
Inescapable regardless of how much you tried to urge your muscle nerves to just move;
You broke the rules - your mind your prison,
something you could sense but would never truly understand.
You were born to live an unfulfilled life,
Half of you chasing comfort in the warmth of the radiating body in the sky,
Only for the other to seek its death - to watch a being of vast power, provider of light,
devolve into infinite darkness - emptiness warping space and time, void of destruction.
You’ve been here before, sat in front of fate dealing her cards,
Only for her to reveal the fool, just like she had the last time, and the time before that.
Regret none of it, not one of the countless sleepless nights you’ve endured,
Not one of the days you walked through the world with your vision spinning,
Permanently blinded by the haze that stood between you and affirmation.
You’ve been blessed with a beautiful gift, so relax.
Don’t bother thinking about escaping the fog,
The way that it consumes your mind with unanswerable questions,
An uncontrollable desire to chase against your rationale.
I mean, you asked for it, didn’t you?
a creative imitation of dorianne laux's anti-lamentation
David Cunha Aug 17
Curiosity
from the depths it comes, expands.
Tears, joy, holy grail
- David Cunha
august 17, 2024
4:08 a.m.
After meditation
AE Aug 8
To bind the books
I have written in a consciousness
about all the little things
that manage a heavy weight
the things I pour into my mouth
along with the endlessness
and swish it around like mouthwash
hoping to taste the peculiar flavour of wonder
enough to forget the pain from
dunking my hands into buckets of wood chips
and fishing around for the next steps
retracting my fingers from future mess
that are now covered in the challenge
of scarring and healing
Zywa Jun 7
I am curious

and break the glass, it turns out --


to be an alarm.
Short story "The Sentinel" (1951, Arthur C. Clarke)

Collection "Human excess"
Chad Roman Apr 21
You're an island
that housed beauty many shipments ago
For a drowning soul,
can only be saved by a rush of gold

Treasures of gold, lie hidden bestowed,
Beneath the crater of an old souls bowl

If my heart be the earth,
I'd look for peace
If my death sparked life,
I'd look to leave
And if life had meaning,
What could this be?

If my heart was round, I'd assume the earth fits this mold
Many moons ago it could dare lay low

Darkness fears the light
Like a kid in twilight 
Pondering on quiet times
Spent churning the street fights
If you search and search, eventually you'll get the answer
Zywa Apr 18
The holiday guests

stay away, I imagine --


a quite poor reason.
Novel "Buiten is het maandag" ("Outside, it's Monday", 2003, J. Bernlef), part 1, chapter 10 --- Collection "Unseen"
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