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When I get to Saturn,
Feet as sure as stars,

I’ll cry out in a voice,
Not a blemish or a scar,

“I’ll do it right this time”
No mistakes or misspelt words.

I won’t forget my backpack,
Cut my sandwiches in thirds.

I won't hurt anyone like I did in the last place,
This orbital acquittal for my crime.

I’ll love the right people, in the way they deserve.
And I’ll hold them for the right amount of time.

See, Earth is a write-off for me
I just did it all wrong

I tried until I bled and shook
This desert’s where I belong

I’ll wear this ring like a holy chaplet
My sins ice, dust, and rock

My memories sullied yellow
I leave them past the airlock

My mistakes can't reach to Saturn,
Though their fingers are thick and strong

I can’t break anyone from here,
My arms just aren’t that long.

There are no decisions here to fail,
No stanzas left to rhyme.  

Just me and all these moons saying,
“She’ll do it right this time.”
This poem is about hoping for another chance in another world
The earth is changing
into a turbulent world
by man's heedlessness
A haiku written in late 2021.
Press your ear against the bowl
can you hear it ringing
I think the earth is singing
Zywa Feb 23
The ground beneath her

feet has taken her, the earth --

whose praises I sang.
Novel "The Ground Beneath Her Feet" (1999, Salman Rushdie) - Orpheus

Song "The Ground Beneath Her Feet" (2000, lyrics Salman Rushdie, music U2, album "All That You Can't Leave Behind")

Collection "Low gear [2]"
Hadrian Veska Feb 22
The lunar craters sit silently
Painting an image of a bygone war
One that no grass or flowers
Will ever grow over

A war of annihilation
A destruction so complete
It was etched it stone
A grime reminder of a vicious cycle

That the very thing itself
That decimated our moon
And sent it hurdling into the earth
Would one day return to us

To finish what it had begun
Those distant eons ago
Hadrian Veska Feb 21
Rolling hills beneath a low grey sky
The rippling water in the back of my eyes
Stillness hallowed, forlorn and sweet
The black sacred ground beneath my feet

The earth is rich yet nothing here grows
The river has dried and no longer flows
The trees are bare of leaves but not fruit
An omen of something below the deep roots

Does anyone here but lost husks remain
If I stay will anything thus here be gained
Does the sun here rise or does it merely set
The twilight stretches on but cannot end yet
A journey from when to where
Ghostverses Feb 21
heaven on earth.
a strange phrase for such a dreadful place.
i always ask myself, "what makes earth so.. peaceful?"
I have yet to get answer.
sitting here, hearing the rain drip down buildings and houses.
Maybe I can count to a thousand reasons why.
maybe I'm just delusional.
that word.
makes very many people happy.
but why not me?
am i afraid?
or am i just dull.
a planet we humans call home.
but are we really home?
questions like these keep me up at night.
heaven on earth.
why is it so cold?
honestly, I thought about this while my boyfriend is peacefully sleeping. I don't know.. maybe i think better when my partner is a ease. :)
Zywa Feb 15
Princes, princesses,

like everyone, each of us --

is an honoured guest.
Gedicht "Hij is een prins, hij wil geen onderdanen" "He is a prince, he wants no subjects", 1982, Ed Leeflang)

Community for young people with an intellectual disability

Collection  "On the fly"
Robert Ronnow Feb 13
There are 12 types of joy:
simple joy
almost joy
systemic joy
Saturday joy
expressing joy
knowing joy
all joy
max joy
constant inputs of joy
single greatest joy
sacrifice or joy
the face of joy
at the periapsis of earth’s orbit.
Isaace Feb 8
What we learnt from the Masks:
What we did with our freedom:
What we saw when we took up the pen.

Shall we learn what we had learnt once again?
I don't think I could stand another night
Locked inside the shadows of Earth-den.

Subsequently, the Masks coiled around us,
And we set down our penmanship in the shade.
They beckoned us to sing, once again.
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