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M Solav Mar 28
All of those past events
The mountain climb, and the descent
They're scrolling past to lay my
Destruction.

And once I'd gone to the other side
Despite all that I had left behind
They've started hunting for my
Salvation.

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm torn
In the maze of my
Contortions.

And they're gone,
Yes they're gone,
While I'm tearing
The fabric of my
Illusions.
Written on July 22, 2020.
Man Feb 23
there's secrets, hidden beneath the corduroy
a world of wonder
where admission varies
guest to guest,
it's a game of guess
at whether you're let in
or you're like the rest,
corduroy's the fashion though
for sure
they'll be others
that hold you high up
just to push you down under
karly codr Feb 19
a really bad habit to get into
is retail therapy
you know, buying things
when your mental health *****?
well i've been stuck in that habit
for a while
and today after school
i went and spent sixty dollars
on things that i didn't even need
at least the scrunchies that i got were cute. oh and i got some more pens that i don't even need anyway because i have plenty. also i don't know why i was so willing to spend that much when i need to get fabric for a pair of pajama pants that I'm gonna make and fabric is expensive as hell
Allesha Eman Dec 2020
In the fabric of time exists
moonlit seas of happenstance
and rose-scented memories
sewed in with golden beads
but it seems to me that life has found a way,
to sew in worn-out frayed threads,
that have lost their silky reflection

yet you,
with your resilient skin
found a way to make
embroidered mosaics of colour
out of the dissonance between good and bad
Blind Pathos Sep 2020
You can see it in a drowned man’s eyes
In the pawn shop window I just passed
Frosty truths that come to the table uninvited

The poet and the truth
Face to face, one whistles, one listens
The napkins fill with cognitive snapshots

The poet drowns in words
Just wanting to say something
Or hear it said at all

The dying words from a poet’s mouth
Blow about in autumn color
Drifts and piles that shape the years of practice

What's worth saying has to be said by someone
So a poet goes looking and would suppose
That words rubbed together right would produce

Word museum sentences ripe with meaning
Phantasms haunting great books and minds
Torches lighting the way for all

The poet takes aim and fires
At the fog of meaning
He tugs at God’s coat tail
We are creators, created in the image of God. Like the fish we are having a hard time realizing the water around us. There is more that has not been created than has been.
Mystic Ink Plus Mar 2020
Simply, not like
What we think of

One day
A time will come
When you will have
Everything
What can be
Touched
Seen
Smelled
That all
Once you wished for

Still
Looking around
You may crave for
Something authentic
That can
Just be felt
A reason to be
What it's all about
Genre: Observational
Theme: Life on small things || value of life
Note: All the possession we hold may glit with euphoric comfort ,  remember all that glits have potential to cause blindness. And you know what blindness means or don't you? Humans are alike. Almost, alike.
Moth Feb 2020
Bright colors dance
Pattern of stripes
Swish and flick
Turning about now
When you turn
In motion flowing
Fabric so light
It could fly
Today my therapist was wearing a very cool dress. When she turned it swished and it was full of super bright colors! I kind of want one as well. I don’t think I’m tall enough to pull it off though.
John McCafferty Feb 2020
Familiar faces in a different space
Times fabric pulled
now feeling flat
Trudging through the unknown
as fear creeps in to inhibit growth
Idle eyed to my surprise
I am not who I thought I was
A year spent in demise?
How did it become just that
The light still shines bright
even if still out of sight
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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