Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Man 23h
Suppose I was a gardener,
In a field of dreams.
I would **** the earth
And plant innumerable seeds.
Of passion, of faith, hope and belief
To sow happiness, to offer relief.
The corporeal, and the intangible
Working in tandem, coupled together.
The offer of body and soul
With the goal of a
Brighter tomorrow
Bergamot morning

the astronauts are sleeping

and she dreams like a mannequin

ceiling stars abound

like hummingbirds in celestial flight

about the nectar of

young bodies, young machines

we drew a map together

from burst to bloom

from fever to neckline

from scale to mirror

pretty scar, a thing of awe

when the curious girl

realized she was under glass

raining in time lapse

she traversed me ad rem

with might and main

I didn't have the heart

to wake us from

her brainchild's motif

My Dear Poet May 25
I’m falling
through an hourglass
I’ve no time to think
Like all the others
falling through
it’s now my turn to sink

Closed in
by glass unseen
I thought I was almost free
Dropping down
I hit the ground
my escape, high above me

Smash the glass
and fight the flow
can’t be shut in any more
till I break the mould
I  put time on hold
I lose the hour I was born for

Awaiting my turn
taking time to learn
to be forever falling again
as long as I’m bound
I am forever crowned
no more than just a grain
arsonpoet May 19
i am terrible at explaining this feeling. the feeling of not being enough. The feeling of sacrificing life's gold to obtain silver. they say human relationships are pure but what's pure in exchanges which only speak of dreams and desires? what's so pure in exchanges of commodities between souls when the essence of love evaporates in the potency of moonsoon. i think i have done enough for everyone. the emptiness in me is nothing but an anthem of loss of meaning in the miniscule negotiations of life's key moments. and the only way to escape losing my essence is to stop injuring myself and healing the same scars. all over again.
an observation into the innocuous piety of my life.
Healer May 18
Failure a ruthless painter
splatters my soul with its tainted brush,
Staining the fabric of my hope,
Shredding the canva of  my ambition.
Eroding the castle/ fortress of my desires, it washes away the footprints of progress.
I am left stranded in bottomless sea of missed opportunity
collecting the shattered pieces of my expectations.
Psych-o-rangE May 17
"I dreamt that the river was burning"
"I dreamt that the snow was on fire"
"In dreaming impossible dreams"
"I dreamt that you were my lover"

the river dried up,
the snow had melted,
my eyes opened,

I can't remember
My Dear Poet May 17
father  said
you should
only dream
with open eyes
to see clearly
the rays of lies
dreams are only
made for sleep
not for day
nor light to seek
keep your dreams
beside your bed
and a candle lit
inside your head
keep it there
and keep it where
vision withers
for  no light
redeems or
day delivers
your dreams
once your dead
Healer May 16
I never noticed that my heartbeat was so beautiful,
In the solitude of my evening,
I discovered this delight,

As my heart played a symphony of treat,
Lub dub Lub dub Lub dub
In this melodious Serenity, I found myself wrapped in my own embrace.

It was today, I came to know that
The pulsing of my bounded soul, the cadence of my fading heart,
Is my harmony to myself, my whisper of peace.
Note to the reader: Embrace your inner symphony and find harmony in life's beautiful beats.
Next page