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there's just something about
the stillness of these stones
that sings me to tears—
     today is august 5, 2026...
     today is august 5, 2026...

so screams the years of
layers of dust encrusting
the petrified earth; lonely,
rid of her supple footsteps
to graze and wipe it clean.

like the stagnant roots
that seem to have given up
creeping to grasp for any
foot to cling to or touch
i can only stay so still...
     knowing oh so well
     everything we touch
     turns only to soil.

i could act myself a fool
greeting barren outcroppings
only to the reply of my own voice
hoping that the once green grass
would once again bloom
to the bliss of my welcome—
     but i'd rather settle for silence...

instead of crackling leaves;
stepping, all i heard were
my shoes against pavements,
failing to muffle the cries
from underneath my feet.

*someday, somehow
i will make it so
these lands will know
soft rains once more—
something i wrote before my life just started shutting down~~ partially inspired by he short story 'there will come soft rains' by ray bradbury (hence the august 5, 2026 thing) and mostly just from he rush of feelings i had imagining how my now abandoned childhood home (where the ashes of my mom, dad, grandpa, and grandma are) back in the province looks like when i would eventually return there...

this poem means a lot more now after visiting there last month for the first time in two years since the pandemic began and yeah ._.
One day you will turn around and see something that scares you into submission. It will be your polar opposite. All of those bad thoughts that you don't admit, are alive inside of your polar opposite...and they don't hold anything back. The first thought that comes to your mind will not be acted upon...your polar opposite always goes with the first thought. Bad people will see the light, and good people will see what the bad people used to see.
The edge of my eternity begins with you.

My love, I lulled you with lyricless lullabies, sheltered you in a sheet of stars, yet, in your sleep you still speak her name. "Inferno," was it? You always were a pyromaniac.

I furnished you flames to tame winter's teeth, and yet, you still use them to burn me. How can you pour that boiling blackness in my bloodstream and dare to call it love?

You leave coal-like clouds swirling stormily in my lungs and the taste of smoke to scorch my tongue. Still, my throat is raw and red from coughing up ash and blood, still you call this torture love, and, I believed you.

Tell me, do my mulberry scars entice you? Those marks mingling with my skin of moss and morning glory; you put those there. You made a hell of my skin to rid me of the blue-green, beryl-shaded "blemishes" that provide the very breath you waste, only to build a factory to pump more poison into my lungs. I can taste the tar on my tongue.

My love, as you tear at my being with your careless claws you seem to forget the fact that you need me, but to me, you are meaningless.

Where I was once a sanctuary of life and beauty, you have made me a battlefield- a cemetery of living corpses craving to leave behind bombs and bloodshed, to cure their heart wrenching homesickness and to fall asleep in their lover's arms.

Why must their precious rubies mingle with the ashes of detonation? Why do you **** each other when I have provided you with my harmonic grounds as a home? Why do you raise your children to believe that dying is an art and death is an escape?

My love, I cannot understand why your knees are pained and purple from praying to the angels when you dance so divinely with the demons that you have created. You deserve each other.

Don't you see that you are burning me alive? Can't you smell my cooking flesh or see the charcoal clouds smothering the sky? How can your seeing eyes be so blind?

My love, my death is yours, and if I shall burn you shall blaze beside my broiling bones.
LC Apr 30
I jump into a handstand,
flipping my world onto its head.
the tree dangles from the earth
like my feet in the air.
my hands seize the grass
as I attempt to hold on.
so I reunite with the ground,
and my hands release their burdens.
Escapril Day 29! Prompt: inversion.
This was an interesting prompt! I would love to see how you all interpret this poem and prompt. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
LC Apr 28
the air parts like the Red Sea
so a spaceship can soar,
even as the world
drags it down.

she breaks orbit
to release the earth.
she is now free to float,
and the universe guides her.
Escapril Day 27! Prompt: the astronaut.
I think this poem could have many meanings. What do you think of when you read this poem?
LC Apr 20
their fingers twist around strings
that are tethered to firm balloons.
whenever we see them,
they fly above everyone else,
their taunts trailing behind them.
but when their balloons deflate,
they crash into the rocky earth,
and their taunts are buried.
air always escapes.
Escapril Day 19! Prompt: vanity.
To be honest, this prompt stumped me for a while, and this is what I came up with. Thank you all for reading :)
Yemaya Apr 4
Its beams pull at the heart strings, each a different noise.
No ray on a futile descent.
All with purpose and poise.
Each stream of light reinvents,
the palette of colors our earth bares.
Truly nothing compares.
ScaryGary Mar 30
Remember, it takes a hell of a lot of coal, trees, and gasoline to produce and move electricity. It also takes a hell of a lot of electricity, trees, and coal to produce gasoline. Same can be said about coal. It takes a lot of trees, electricity and gasoline to produce coal. Hello? Knock knock. Anyone home? Add in helium and other gases too.
Zywa Mar 28
The earth makes me move,

each day she embraces me --


in another way.
Collection "WoofWoof"
In the brooding light, you were formed.
You were born in clouds and dust, and you grew up in the luminous sky.
You were scattered throughout the different parts of the galaxy.
You are trillions of miles away,
yet still visible to the naked eye.

As the star gradually evolves and forms
into different entities,
it is either a planet, an asteroid, or a nebula —
or even just a speck of dust and never formed.

It is also the start of your
long, deep slumber.
While in the intergalactic space in your eyes,
gravity pulls back the gas and forms another one. And the galaxy is bathed in gas.

While you were out of breath, I talked to you.
So you can hear your friend in the dark.
Your death is also the birth of another celestial space.
Between the illustrious energy and gravity's back-and-forth,
recycling gases and turning them into a new form of galaxy,
it is like the way you breathe in and out —
while your eyes are closed.

Did you wear an evening gown?
While the patients here wear something ridiculous, you can't stand it.
So you wore a red dress in your deep, restless sleep.

Tonight, I looked over the moon and remembered you.
They called upon the universe and they gave you space.
You were there, starlike.
I gave you one last message before I turned my back.

I will always put my faith in the phenomenon of celestial space.

Then you held my hand, so slow and weak.

You told me, and I smiled, "In the chaos of everything, I heard you."

And another star exploded, but you lived.
Letting go of old things. I’m back :)
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