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DJQuill 1d
Bright sun is shining
View from above warm eyes
Yet I still feel cold
Perla Nov 16
Laughter skips across the surface of the lake like a skipping stone emanating different eerie high-pitched tones that seem to echo the ghostly chirps of birds that have gone quiet and no longer fly. Nothing like one would imagine a stone's speech to be like.

A fine flat surface water-weaves itself once more. Nothing threatens to disturb it again. Not even bubbling from below. There are no thermal vents with life growing along their warm edges. No aquatic life beneath that unknowingly breathes its wishes which are carried to the surface and up into the blank slate of a sky.

Beneath it all is a cool concrete floor much like the ones in any backyard pool in the suburbs. Nothing of nature, of adaptability. Only neutral stone at its depths.
Zywa Nov 5
The trees in winter:

no pigeons, no bullfinches --


the nests breaking down.
Poem "dit kom nie meer op my af nie" ("it doesn't come to me anymore", 2022, Antjie Krog)

Collection "Passage Passion"
Supposed to be a special day,
But I think it's all the same.
Do you think that in any way,
You could light this dying flame?

A year has passed,
Yet I'm the same.
It's not my last,
Still in the frame.

A younger me is left behind,
Truly, I want to see a smile.
My soul, my heart is still so kind,
Yet I can't smile for a while.

I should be happy on this day,
Should be excited for these gifts.
But nothing now goes in my way,
Things have happened, many shifts.

I don't feel happy anymore,
I do not cry any longer.
I have no one to adore,
To help me grow stronger.

And yet, I live another day searching for my dream,
And yet, I live today still searching for ambition.
And yet, Still I want it, to quiet down this scream,
And yet, I manage here to stay, still searching for my mission.

I just hope to find my way,
To have the strength to live today.
I looked for you
in other people.

But,
you weren’t there.

So, I’ll wait,
still, in the space between us,
until you feel the same.
This poem captures the quiet ache of seeking something essential in others, only to realize it's unattainable. Suggesting patience and a lingering hope that the other person might reach the same understanding someday.
Marcus Oct 21
In this damp pen.

Where the children had left.

A sound. Flapping. where the pigeons go to rest.

The husk of the moon looming, like of bird of her nest.

The sun. Drained of her light, preparing for the plight soon to come.

For this moment. When she dies. And cannot fly. She glides down with grace.

Like a bird, of light. Flapping away from. Sorrow. Is the night.

She gives— a breath, of soft and quite.
As the moon engulfs her flame.

A shadow of you is left to gloom. The hollow sky.

The earth has wept, and this bench had two.

The warmth that she couldn't concive.
Was taken from you—
A given. A fruit.

Please hold me. For without you I could cry.
Tilting my head to the sky.

In disbelief.

The sky, empty. Nothing but nothing.

For you and me.

Could be given between me and me.

For outside this pen.
Is an illusion. Nothing but a view.

And pigeons too. Flapping.
I wrote this poem in a short period, I wanted to convey a mirror of human condition. The longing for a connection was an important aspect for me and I found it fitted beautifully within the text.

I'd love some honest feedback and to see your opinions on it.
Hanzou Oct 20
He gave her everything, or so it seemed,
Love poured out like rivers in the quiet stream.
But now she only recalls the storms, the rain,
As if all he ever brought was pain.

He wonders if she sees the man he became,
Or if she’s blinded by the ghosts of blame.
Mistakes, he admits, he made his share,
Yet he changed, but she acts like he’s still there.

She tells the world of her heart’s disdain,
Of memories that still cause her pain.
But what of the moments he held her close,
Of the love that endured when she needed it most?

She paints him in shades of darkness and strife,
As if he never added light to her life.
All the wrongs she remembers, clear and stark,
But what of the times he mended her heart?

He forgave the wounds she left behind,
The scars she carved, the battles unkind.
But now she turns, with anger so deep,
And casts him away, into shadows she keeps.

Perhaps it’s easier for her to forget,
The love, the kindness, the times they met.
For all that remains in her mind’s twisted maze,
Is the version of him that she couldn’t erase.
Shaezah Oct 16
There is still an echo similar to a giggle.

So far away that heart can barely feel them and the mind can barely touch them. So faded away in the fog of despair, I embarked on a journey while floating on the waves of my memory.

Laughter so dying,

Residing in the corner of a decaying reminiscence.

Laughter so dying,

Erasing from the brain like a remembrance of a bird passing by.

Laughter so dying,

Sinking in the depths of hopelessness.

Laughter so dying,

Misery feeds upon contentment and serenity is overwhelmed by emptiness.

Laughter so dying,

It stays in our chest forever, slowly building a house, now called grief, that once was home to decaying laughter.
Emery Feine Oct 12
They should really invent a place where I belong.
Not one with entirely sunshine and rainbows,
God knows I've prayed too little for that,
But one where
I fit.
I don't stand out,
But I'm still my own person
And not that me that I've shown others,
Deceived them for far too long.
My fixation with belonging
It's like a need
That will never once be met.
And I'm left starved and ravenous
For just an ounce of it
And its empty calories
this is my 127th poem, written on 10/11/24
I hide myself away so beautifully,
So I am perceived as an art form and nothing else,
Mimicking a mannequin,
An undeniably inhuman Facade upholds me,
A mere antique is all I can claim to be,
Inhabited in which is a crack,
That i pledges to veil,
Until,
Draps are drawn,
And amused audience embrace their ways to home,
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