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Kayden Oct 31
In the quiet green of a sunlit vine,  
Where dewdrops rest and shadows twine,  
Lies a melon round, with a heavy sigh,  
In fields where days drift idly by.  

Soft and sweet, its flesh inside,  
A tender heart it tries to hide,  
Yet weighed with seeds of fleeting cheer,  
Its sweetness tinged with hints of fear.  

It’s summer’s child with autumn’s gaze,  
Golden light in shorter days,  
Both ripe and raw, it knows too well  
The taste of joy on the edge of farewell.  

And as the fields turn bare and cold,  
The melon dreams of days of old,  
Of laughter, warmth, and skies so high—  
A sweetness meant to say goodbye.
Theme and Tone:
"Meloncoly" explores the bittersweet nature of endings, using the metaphor of a melon to evoke themes of nostalgia, ripeness, and the passage of time. The poem's title, a play on "melancholy," suggests a feeling of gentle sadness associated with change and loss, reflecting the subtle beauty of natural cycles.

Imagery and Symbolism:
The melon represents fleeting happiness and the inevitable approach of loss. Its “tender heart” and “heavy sigh” imply an emotional weight hidden within its sweet surface, much like how joy often conceals sadness. The contrasting images of “golden light” and “bare and cold” fields symbolize the shift from abundance to emptiness, from summer to autumn, emphasizing the idea that all things pass.

Structure and Language:
The four quatrains are simple yet rhythmic, much like traditional pastoral poetry. This steady form mirrors the natural, predictable changes of seasons. Phrases like “fleeting cheer,” “tender heart,” and “sunlit vine” evoke softness and gentleness, while lines like “both ripe and raw” hint at the complexity of emotions that ripen with time.

Tone of Farewell:
The poem ends with a sense of departure and reflection, suggesting that sweetness and joy are always, in a sense, fleeting. It leaves the reader with a contemplative, somewhat wistful feeling, as the melon “dreams of days of old,” encapsulating the essence of "meloncoly."
TorturedPoet Oct 30
pay more respect to the women working at morgues.

they tend to the dead
it takes sympathy
it takes care
it takes courage
it takes control

not the control of fear of stray souls
not the control of fear of phantoms
but the control of wanton

and that is why men aren't hired by morgues.
My first poem here... :)
This is actually inspired by someone on the net saying that some morgues in their city did not hire men due to....yk
Sewanti Oct 30
Today, I dared to set my foot upon the world's stage.
And the sunlight rushed forth, blinding my sight in boundless radiance.
A strange sight unfolded before me, a world bathed in a ghostly, whitish hue.
Oh, how my eyes endured the agonizing throes of reality;
Their gaze so deeply enamoured by the allure of darkness,
Wept for the embrace of comforting shadows.
My skin burned with an unearthly fervour,
As if I had been whisked away to the fiery depths of infernal hell.
I retraced my steps in haste, falling into the arms of a formidable beast,
Enshrouded boldly in his wily grin of triumph,
As though his feast had willingly surrendered itself to his grasp.
I had always been destined to be ensnared within the web of hopelessness,
Like a fragile moth drawn inexorably to the relentless flame of its existence.
For this monstrous entity has divested me of strength, cradling me through endless day and night,
While feasting upon my very soul beneath the soothing veil of shadows.
I dwelt in such delusion, losing sight of the truth that the sun has long forsaken my sky.
Must I wait for this fear to gobble me up and let me vanish into the oblivion?
Or dare once more to descend into the radiant expanse of the unfamiliar,
Where the light of hope may still be flickering, beckoning for my return?
Àŧùl Oct 29
Commit it,
If loving me is an act of treason.
I love you,
And I want to rest in your prison.
Your heart,
May it reflect all of my emotion.
Your lap,
I will rest my head with devotion.
Your hair,
They would obfuscate my vision.
This love,
It will shine brighter than the sun.
Just 'coz,
True love is a two-way phenomenon.
My HP Poem #2017
©Atul Kaushal
The dark and the light,
In a restless fight,
Peace not declared,
And I remain scared,

I find my own feelings, there's darkness to bear,
My only hope is, I won't face despair,
I look down upon my two ****** hands,
hoping for a fraction of peace that still stands,

Somewhere out here, In this broken land,
Everything covered by bright red hot sand,
Perhaps there is saving, In this world so dark,
Perhaps there's passion that just needs a spark,


There may be a thing that I must make known,
Before the whole world is frozen in stone.
There is no need for a single fight.
For if you're at peace you bring a new light.
ImosyrroS Oct 28
Remember, you asked me why I always take pictures in the dark?

Because I fear in daylight,
I might not catch the beauty, I only behold at night.
                                                                          ~ImoS
Those little questions of yours still lingers in this head.....
Falling Awake Oct 26
Hunting the marrow of my brain,        
Raptor talons feast through flesh,
Shredding tissue with each tear–
my neurons scream.

And as pain pulses in violence,
I’m swallowed by a cloud–
The external muffles, then drains,
Leaving only the talons.
aster Oct 23
maybe i ask for mercy too much.
the tragedy in the unfathomable
creaks at the footing of my bed.
it waits to grab upon my free will.
my greed destined to be beside
the body that dances in desire
for a single breath of clarity.
human nature may grasp the
ebbing of my mind as i sing in
glee for relief. human nature
may define that we all are
inherently built with greed to
progress us but my heart
has faded and my soul has
been defined. i ask for mercy
out of greed for myself.
i am too greedy.
Lying down,
wrapped in a simple ribbon
of cloth,
I sigh

This connfusion is a displacement
of my time here.
Thus I become
disenchanted
and unclean.

Not willing to open my eyes
and accept the causes
around me.
The burdens of rapture
surround me.

It is not clear.

Are they ample beginnings
or disasterous ends?
With a small dose of
peppered reality setting in.
I sigh

What holds the ribbon together
is just a simple knot.
A ball of deception
which allows no movement.
Tangled but organized.

A single thread of wool wrapped tight,
so tight it ruptures our core.
Coarsing it count on dismal displays
of solitude and empty hands

It is not our fears that scare us,
it is being bound up
with no casual effect
that makes us surrender
to ourselves.

I stay wrapped in a ribbon.
Eyes covered dark,
Soft and secure.
I take a deep breath.
Then I sigh one last time.
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