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Sky Jun 10
Reverie,
come over me,
wash into me
To take me away
from this madness
Ian Mar 16
A story of love aged with time,
Enveloped and inmortalized in joyous rhyme.

There once was a fae guided by the Sun,
Showing the way, he need only follow and run.

Kept under close watch by a vigilant eye,
The fae boy felt that all must be ary.

The world the sun showed him he was sure,
Must be perfect, whole, and infinitely pure.

But hardly was that dream so true,
And with each moment, the sun's fervor grew.

So demanding and resentful were the Sun's ways,
The boy cursed with scorching, destructive days.

But his will persisted, for he knew no other,
Stranded and tired, trading loneliness to suffer.

One evening he pondered on what to do,
Escape back to suffering alone, but where to go?

Then, with the gift of the sunset all was clear,
For what came after was what he knew to hold dear.

Before the fae arose the shimmering Moon,
His eyes fixated on such a dizzying boon.

The Moon wrapped him in bright, soft light,
Assuring the fae that now all would be right.

He felt comfort in the welcoming glow,
At last a gentle soul wanting to see him grow!

The fae openly proclaimed his adoration,
The Moon's presence the source of his frantic creation.

Weaving words of passion and desire,
Finally free of the past destructive mire.

Never once moving in such a flurry,
Desperate to prove his love, but he needn't worry.

The Moon enamored with him for what he was,
And valued him for all that he does.

With guiding light and a glowing heart,
The fae boy knew they'd never want to be apart.
David Jan 21
Dreamlike,
Everytime I wake up,
I can't believe that you're here and that you know it

Dreamlike,
Everytime I wake up fast,
to check if everything is like yesterday
or if it was just a dream

Dreamlike,
it's wonderful to live like this,
to fly in a dream that exists,
down the street from an existing Neverland

Dreamlike,
when all hatred melts thanks to you,
when walls of separation crumble,
because the heat that you put in my heart warmed them

Dreamlike,
To escape from prison and to run in a green land of freedom
and this is part of reality

Dreamlike
Blade Maiden Oct 2018

I sell my soul
for a pre-made bed
I give myself whole
for a sleeping spot in your head

I give my blood
for sacrifical purposes
I crawl through mud
til I no longer feel the worthlessness

I shed my fears
and all my dark feathers too
I spill them like tears
They fall of my leafs like new day dew

I pull out all my flowers
and plant them close to you
they will grow and become towers
which can only hold things that are true

And as my demons come for my lungs and liver
my hive heart will send all my bees
so these towers never wither
and this love never leaves
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
She’s soft and scented in *****
Aromas of fine wine, upon her skin cruise
She holds her glass steady, then takes a sip
Eyes cast out to sea, under the waves her thoughts slip
As if everything around her, was but a blip
Some passerby wants to ask what’s she thinking
But seeing her so relaxed, instead asked what’s she drinking
Jewel M C Oct 2017
someone rescue me from my own mentality
my worst nightmares have become a reality
     I'm losing my mind
     & I can't rewind
     I can't go back to: when things were fine
          /pleasepleaseplease/
               take me back in time


wake me from this h a l l u c i n a t i o n
tell me it's     only my imagination
                    
                    my thoughts, they're running wild
                              I feel just like a child


     but I can’t think straight
     there's no escape:
*take me back to a     ~ + * dreamlike state * + ~
*part of sonnet collection: Revelling in Reverie
Brittany Downer May 2017
She sees the waves ram against the crags, stretching outward and onward to the line that breaks the sky in half, and in doing so it meets the sea in a wholesome piece. The waves crash upon the sand and walking across it is a white horse taller than she; its black eyes capture her in a doe-eyed gaze, and as it approaches she is consumed by a strange fear and in terror she leaps into the sea and is swept away by the white currents that roll her along, throw her, jostle her, swallow her and eventually spit her out only to pound her once more, dragging her slowly, to where the white waves subside and the sky meets the sea.
An attempt at prose poetry
Matei Codrescu Dec 2016
She rises, from the sylvan horizon, like a brilliant entity,
Her skin gleams so that the sunlight hides in her complexion,
She settles lightly, with a gracious fragility,
She approaches me, intoxicating me with a new addiction.

The sun shakes, and the world stops, she starts approaching,
With soft steps, she colors life in her wake,
She embraces me, and then her lips start moving,
She playfully colors my ears with no mistake,

Our hands meet, we now bond like two raindrops under the sun,
A skin so soft, I revel in its deflection,
No pain and can advert us, as we melt into one,
As our bodies start wetting, they rash from the friction,

We’re kissing, evaporating sweat drops roll slowly down her cheeks,
We’re melting into tender delights, Am I what she seeks?
Joshua Wooten Aug 2016
ouranos is pulling a thread
in and out of the pinhole stars
as earth slips it's orbit -
atlas dreams of endless oceans, waves
and his planet sleeps on driftwood,
careening quietly from its perch,
boundless in its fleeing fall
from tired shoulders and arms.
the planet sifts through stardust
and it's occupants rifle through reason,
fiddle with contrition.
what information was misread -
who's to blame for the falling sky?

time moves through amber and sap,
too slow to count with blinking digital numbers
or those in ardent analog.
why do the clocks' hands have icy fingers?
glaciers call the seconds years
and so "time" is no more -
the sun cannot thaw the hands
that push the past away
and pull the future to articulate itself.
the present is collateral to the two
in their eternal twirl through non-being.
the duet becomes a triad
and the triad: a singularity,
but it is not a violent transition -
no, it's edges are soft.
they are soft.
the mind calms at this softness.
time is such a strange, absurd idea
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