Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oh blind me now
To the ways of sin
So that I may hide
Myself within
Rip it out
This heart of lust
Take away
My conditional trust
Deafen my senses
To unaware
Cage my guilt
In the dungeons
Of despair

Take away all I've sown
Place a limit on my cares
But you better close the door
Because there's a draft in here
A wind of change
That longs to blow
Into your life
To fill your soul
With the words of peace
Of tolerance that's fair
Allow us to breathe
  A little more fresh air..
Traveler 🧳 Tim

A new word: drafty
Have you ever felt a fire like this? One that is a playful ember. It dances around the tips of your fingers, leaving short, intimate kisses on your hand as it passes. A fire that won't grow wild if you fall asleep with it going, yet its intensity burns brighter and hotter by the second, refusing to be snuffed by what is believed to be common traits. A fire that does not cause pain or discomfort, but one that sparks your veins, and makes it hard to contain yourself to the same spot. If I were able to showcase this flame, it would blind humanity. It would make any extraterrestrial fearful of what they might find. But if they still dared to venture towards our home, they would find the fire that makes the world burn.
Wrote this with no forethought. Just typed out what I had on my mind for the past few minutes.
I knew it was late for me when a girl asked me to do
something romantic for her, and I suggested we play
checkers - and if she beat me, I'd know she made
the draft.🤭🤭🤣🤣🤣
Traveler Jan 3
I wrote my play in portions
and posted them in draft..
I’m only 62
a little over half…

The best part of life is living
Each moment fades into now
I will write forever after
I will return upon the clouds

I went searching for a meaning
Then my Poet took the stage
Now I’m staring in my encore
The best part of my play!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Mandii Morbid Oct 2024
Words they dance on paper, as my body loses strength.

My mind it races onwards, as my soul feels it may fade.

This pen keeps on writing, as my heart forgets to beat.

Every time I open up, another piece of me is ripped from my story.

My binding is bent and worn, with every page torn.

Once I was a fantasy, a story they could not wait to see.

As they read right through me, skimming every page-
the words for volume two, slowly came to view.

Drafts are left unfinished, the story more diminished.

Lonely ink spots, point out the unraveling plots.

I can write all on my own but I wanted to collaborate,
each new character felt like a twist of fate.

I studied every line, every single quote.
Looking for deeper meaning, but in the end it's all they wrote.

No after word, no biography-
not a single explanation as to why they never chose me.

Here's my dedication, I should always put myself first.
I am the author and the story, never unversed.

As long as my words are still written, this light inside could never be fully hidden.

Bring me home, if you want to write in permanent ink, if you won't leave me to myself.
Those that cannot understand and truly love the novel I am, then please I ask all you borrowers, just leave me on the shelf.
vircapio gale Jan 2024
my kindness has now been commodified
whereas before it triggered hate
--seen as weakness, as cruelty's plaything--
still, i saturate to what extent i can
my daily happy-dance with honest friendship,
compassion's ease, delight and pet-store equipoise.
yet my sincerity is sloganed, emptied of its worth:
trained to say 'rewards program' in stead of 'membership, account';
'guests' in stead of 'customers'
'team-players' in stead of 'employees'
'long-term relationships' as first and foremost mission statement's goal--
slither-scripted to promote a highest bottom line
as language euphemizes baby mice as 'pinkies,
fuzzies, hoppers': 'feeders' for a petted multitude
of scaly, fang-ed maws.

pre-thanksgiving christmas-trees
on either side of automatic double-doors--
styro-snowflakes hung
by wrapping-papered end-cap shelves on sale
to swipe our plastics to a higher debt--
to tinsel out the shame of maybe giving less?
reminding 'gift-time soon' and 'this could be a gift'
to ward off never having given childhood its due?
or of being less than cheerful
at incessant jingled tunes?

november fifth--decorations up;
guy fawkes night of trick-or-treater-candies
tweeting hallowed flu-shots
as my manager in elf-cap-antlers squeals in glee:
says she starts promoting christmas back in august.
i tell her that's appropriate!
given jesus was perhaps born in august.
says she didn't memorize the bible.
i tell her that part was left out anyway--
i don't mention the holiday's titular meaning;
or the waiting gnostic manger,
royal transhistoric camels,
mary on her donkey, joseph's wind-blown face
las posadas... the loneliness of exile
O mary... in her starlit tears of unknown pain and joy--
the unremitting love for barnfloor bodyheat,
todos santos
nonhominin humanity...
earthling rights day
a stranger's kindnesses
of yule-tide warmth and evergreen,
solstice-fulcrum festivals of lights
veteran's day's existential loss
and bureaucratic selfhoods shelved;
gurpurb at a gurdwara
the martyrdom of guru tegh bahadur
the garifuna settlement day
the tazaungdaing festival
fasting over christian as well as buddhist lent
the five days of deepawali, diwali:
bodhi day
découverte d'haïti and vertières
jamhuri day
chalica
zamenhof day
sadeh
pancha ganapati
malkh
soyal
mithras day
osiris, adonis and dionysus day (all dec. 25th)
humanlight
--republic day! national day! and proclamation day!
in the maldives, brazil, northern cyprus, chad, yugoslavia;
in the central african republic, burkina faso, kenya, malta, kazakhstan, niger, south sudan...
chahrshanbeh soori
modraniht
the dongzhì festival
the saturnalia of pagans (lit. "country dwellers"; "those of the heath")
dies natalis solis invicti
newtonmas
kwanzaa
watch night
hanukkah
boxing day
malanka
the day of goodwill
wren's day
quaid-e-azam's day
yeni il
guru govind singh jayanti
international solidarity day of azerbaijanis
fête du vodoun
hogmanay
Iemanjá
darwin day
milad-un-nabi
lohri
pesach
chocolate-egg-laying fertile-bunny-day-- or ishtar day
butter week, crepe week, or cheesefare week-- or maslenitsa
happy holidays to all in particular

on November 24th, 1675, "Guru Tegh Bahadar, the ninth Sikh Guru undertook the supreme sacrifice for the protection of the most fundamental of human rights - the right of a person to freely practice his or her religion without interference or hindrance."

http://www.sikhiwiki.org/index.php/Martyrdom_of_Guru_Tegh_Bahadur
Steve Page Nov 2023
Today is a first draft day
With no re-write on its way
I’m at the messy stage
the unstructured phase
with a faint promise of better
or maybe just more neatly arranged.

I’m a first draft
and on days like today
I feel it.
Jeremy Betts Aug 2023
(First draft)

An authentic smile defeated then deleted long ago, zero chance of winnin' stretchin' all the way back to my beginnin'
It was a genuine expression that slowly melted to an unrecognizable reflection
All pigmentation givin' way revealin' a secondary, ghostly stand in
Granted, it happened in my formative years before I was abandoned due to the mutation
But the impact has been felt through forty somethin' calendars and countin'
A true representation of life's failed mission, I'm guessin'
Not necessarily my opinion but one every other person is holdin', no question
Still wouldn't say it's been a waste but the needles strongly leanin' towards no reason for existin'
An overall lack of position, doesn't seem like I was designed to fit in, that is if my life has been any indication
I manage to make it to and through the proverbial one more day but where's the lesson?
This just feels like non-monetary extortion of a life-sized portion
Take far more than what's given, with or without permission
I'm still in competition with myself, the prize, livin'
The compromise, loosin' myself in a broken system or durin' the transition
The eradication of an inner companion, replacin' compassion with aggression, smooth sailin' with frustration, no direction, no validation
The transition to curmudgeon happened earlier than expected, drawin' parallels from the curious case of Benjamin Button
Not for nothin', the infestation of negative thoughts caused a mutation inside and out, completely loosin' what it means to be human
It's not a lose lose situation, and it sure ain't win win, and any other option, I'm guessin', got lost in translation
But I'm pretty sure somethin's gotta end in order for another somethin' to begin, at least that's what I'm hearin'
Still can't find a reason that justifies the conviction, is what I'm feelin' damnation? Is what I'm seein' my own creation?
It could just be that no matter what I'm not goin' to enjoy the conclusion, not allowed to settle on your preferred endin'
No fat lady singin', just a band playin' as I feel myself sinkin' into oblivion so pardon me for givin' up on salvation
It should go without sayin' but you're waistin' away waitin' for divine intervention, be careful what you use for inspiration
It may not be your intention, but there's no hate like the love of a christian, I'm just sayin'
Pay attention, who you're praying to every day may not be the one listenin'

©2023
Poetries in the draft explains the reality well
Published, just make it beautiful..
Editing can be done in poetries..
Not the moments
Next page