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RRey 6d
by (The Soul-Warrior)

I think I was a warrior once—
not of war, but of wounds.
My blade wasn't sharp with steel,
but soaked in silence,
forged from the fire of forgiveness.

I see him—
my past self,
kneeling in the ruins of choices,
bloodied not from battle,
but from bending.

My hand rises—
not in anger,
but to end the echo of suffering.
A mercy...
to silence the screams he swallowed.

But he smiles.
That broken boy with fire in his eyes.
He places his hand on my shoulder and says,
"Congratulations..."

"You endured."

"You didn’t fall. You didn’t give up."
"You wore the spikes like a crown,
bled wisdom from your wounds,
and now—
you are wiser than me."

And in that moment,
the blade in my hand dissolved,
and all that was left...
was peace.
Life experience...
Pouya May 10
Sitting in the crowd,
Let them think I'm crazy.

Let me let go of ego,
Let me drop that mask.

Power is within, now.
Freedom is here, now.

Am I crazy — or awake?
I'm feeling alive, now.
This poem was inspired by a real moment — I sat cross-legged on the ground in the middle of the city's chaos, letting go of the need to be seen a certain way. I allowed myself to be judged, maybe even seen as crazy. But for me, it was a raw moment of ego death and inner freedom.
Simon Bridges Apr 26
Nobody or nothing
Can convince me
That nothing
                   In it's self
                   Contains nothing
We’re just too small
              Too limited
              To see all that surrounds
                                        From within our body
Sudzedrebel Apr 24
What torture ignorance is!
When you treat ignorance as such,
Perhaps it is.
Being so ignorant,
I could see it.
For the foolishness of it
Is that it is the only route to wisdom!

In how we define it?
By how we describe it?
Of how we perceive it?

Perception birthing perspective,
Yet both products of their environment!
"Self-copulation?"

Of course, given context,
The definitions fluctuate.
So, then our perception of it
And thereby our descriptions of them,
Change or fluctuate also.

Like the rain falling.
Like ice forming.
Like water flowing.
Pouya Apr 22
Taste of a lemonade,
In the middle of perplexity,
Long walks in a small county,

Experience Vibes,
New things for you,
But familiar with the locals,

Which one is true?
Simon Bridges Apr 21
I know why the cats eyes sobbed
What to do with a fallen star

What it is to be captivated
Why icebergs drown
Why we should walk
                                      In our own shoes

That mortality's a phase
              Experience my greatest teacher
My worst enemy's kept in
A mirror the time taken
For a sparrow to exhale
How nothingness conceals all
                The clarity of silence

That life unfolds
As we choose
Based on experience
Of how we expect
                             Unless it doesn’t
Because you can’t live it that way
David Cunha Apr 18
Her prowling gaze strikes
Heart lungs brain electrified
Energy for miles
- David Cunha
april 18, 2025
0:30 a.m.
Wind carries whispers arrayed,
But never is it screaming.
The wisp that calls, lives betrayed,
Unheard is its true meaning.

Bound to its fateful flowing forever.
Its flowing has never failed.
A sacred truth is buried within.
Within what? It never can tell.

Mountainous structures stand strong,
These relics are deemed eternal,
As time passes, the layers form masses.
They keep record of nature’s journal.

The bitter truth is etched in stone.
Carved deep in their being,
Yet tethered to fate, to constantly wait.
Cursed with never leaving.

Like the ocean’s mighty sway,
That never truly moves.
Seemingly more boundless than me,
It's built to traverse in set grooves.

Violent waves displaying a mask,
For It rises only to recoil.
An infinite realm of life contained,
To never feel the soil.

The sun will rise, set, then rise.
A fate with no fate at all.
It treads a path to live and last,
It will not and can never fall.

It soars above, an ode freedom,
Yet a slave to this deception,
For in its path, it’s truly shackled,
To this common misconception.

The grand clock's, a steady unwinding,
That's never completely unwound.
Delaying or pausing is not an option,
Losing every minute it passes.

The hands of time that hold the scroll,
Unallowed to write its own plot,
Emotions within its constant tick tock,
Expressing a purpose that's wrought.

As metaphysical body's walk.
They think, they feel, the react.
Emotions lay open, demand to be spoken,
As our minds expand to retract.

My conscious holds a truth, untrue.
For a lie is so deeply instilled.
We breathe to consume, from cradle to tomb,
In this cage that we've named "Free Will."
Nehal Mar 25
When the earth celebrates
        a solar year,
The cost of life whispers
        in my ear.
It rose up, the easy act
        won't backup.
The easiness of faceless
        is being asked,
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's easy for people to leave.
It's easy to be devalued.
It's easy for mind to linger past.
It's easy to reminisce moments,
Cherished memories— yet to be
         closed as a chapter.
It's paradoxical—they face the same.
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's paradoxical—they feel the same.
Tamara Walker Mar 25
When all eyes turn to nature
When all hearts brush the trees
Whisper into the leaves

When all feet steps the grass
When all hands grasps the seeds
Speak into the trees

When all lips breathe the wind
When all bodies swamp the waves
Shout into the sea
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