Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Stuck hither in the dark
Not knowing what would come
Waiting for that moment
The painting comes unto me

This canvas bare empty
No color, naught but black
As dark enters the land
The blackness lays bare

No color of thee
No voice for me
Twould be a wonder
How I would shed red

Where art thou river
Gold and silver
Rain falling down
The beautiful rainbow

Where art thou willow
A tree of wonder with light
The fairies of twilight
Pixies dancing with me

Where art thou green
Grass lay tall unstained
Beauty of nature
Where the dandelions grow

Where art thou sparrow
Thou once was with me
Twould visit and dine
Drink of the river

Where art the sounds
The golden harp
To sing unto this plain
Playing in the night

What once was
In the stillness
Within my mind
Where art thou

My painted realm
MacGM Apr 12
The other night some man took a trip outside city limits.
He ambled along until he got to a pasture where the ghosts were warm and thoughtful,
missionaries in a newly old land.
They looked as though they were brimming with knowledge on how to live correctly,
but he was just a visitor looking for freedom from thought,
and so asked nothing.
Though he did learn the ghosts weren’t fully translucent.
It seemed there was still blood in them.
I love books
reading them
entering other worlds
filled with romance
and dragons
and magic
and anything you can imagine
so enchanting
the words transport you
into different dimensions
feeling what the character feels
experiencing what the character experiences
the words turn into images
that turn into a portal to the setting
when the book closes
reality slams into you
the rapid change in worlds is jarring
The uniVerse Apr 6
I’ve dreamed of many things
of queens and kings
I've seen within
how soon it takes
for moons to break
and stars to burst
but which came first
the dream or the dreamer
I’ve already been here
a million times
lived a thousand lives
so watch me die
a supernova
still a ******
the sun, my lover
I’ve tasted warmth
and burnt my tongue
I’ve cried through fear
but didn’t run
so still I’m here
lost in dreams
fighting giants
without the means
I’ve been the hero
and the villain
of the same story
so I keep killing
as nobody’s caught me
death to the dream and the dreamer of things
let us see what reality brings.
Originally written Dec 1st 2021
EnitezC Mar 30
Acaso no ves, o no crees
y solo Como amigo es como me ves?
Acaso lo sabés o es que acaso No querés?
Acaso lo sabes, pero crees
Que jugar conmigo debés  
Acaso lo que yo pienso creer
Es diferente a como tú pensés
Pero ojalá llegue el día en el que
 Me acerque y lo intente de una vez.
Acaso podrías odiar ese recuerdo?
De cuando pensé “ es peor que no lo intentés”
O es que Acaso al contrario pensés
“ no me arrepiento, estés donde estés”
Puesto que no ha pasado todavía 
Mi letra es única conocedora de lo que pienso día a día
Día a día en el que creo en el momento que pase
y yo quiera repetirlo estés donde estés
Sé que tú no sabés, pero me ilusionas, y es algo que no debés
Pero no puedo impedirlo si pienso que 
Mi boca sin el beso de tu amor se fué
Estés donde estés creo que al final
Lamentablemente por años te recordaré
 Y diré “ Como me hubiera gustado que ella me recordara por ese momento, nunca fué”
Grey Mar 28
My fantasy self once thought

It's easier to be a shifter
You scream mate
like a second nature

Nothing or no one,
Could detach you from them

How do i know to stick my neck out
For one person for all eternity

Reality check was hard
But I needed all of it

Romance was the last hope
I had in some sort of love,hope

It's hard to be bold
Because i want to
Scratch that need to be taken care of
I'm the one who bleeds herself
Just to live a life of bliss.
But my life is a complete mess.

I live here fantasizing about warmth, so I let myself burn in the fire of affection.
And here, my heart turns to ashes.

How does it feel to have the biggest scar?
Yes, my scar is the scar of love,
Which haunts my mind.

And your words are like knives that stab my heart,
Forming scars that make my heart bleed.

But I'm the kind who clings to the same knives that make me bleed.
My heart has bled so much that the ocean within it has turned red.

But my love is like the ocean, so deep.
Where I drown myself, surrendering to the depths gladly.

Stab me with your love, and I am still ready to hurt my bleeding heart, even if it takes my life.
And I'll be blessed, just to be stabbed by your knife of love.
Isaace Mar 26
In the gloom of the Mindfear Caves, my chanting echoed throughout, and I could see the Seven Heads hovering before me as I uttered the Oblong Mutterings. In here I could become one with the land of Tok-Tuu and its spiritual soul.

Having reached the culmination of my meditations, I emerged from the caves into the warm breast of summer, passing through Tok-Tuu's ancient orchard on my journey home. There, seemingly by fate, I met an old mystic who was in the process of painting the lifecycle of the Bulbous Tree, a tree which grew into full bloom and expired in the space of mere hours. He introduced himself as Outside-Inwards Jenkins— a descendant of Oblong Jenkins-Kennedy— and had been cast from the village of Tok-Tuu for practicing occult techniques in the manner of the forbidden doctrines, using these teachings in the creation of his artworks.

"You shall become my pupil, Earthbeing, and accompany me on my iminent journey into the jungle of Vorboon, in search of the Abstract Scroll. Within its writngs are techniques that are crucial to my artistic progression, and I shall share what I learn with you. Once I have learnt the teachings of the scroll I shall finally be able to complete Emerson, The Great Water-Lilly, and apply the finishing touches to my homage of Rotondo The Clown."

Our words had been spoken and I would begin to embark on a quest that would be of great importance to what was meant to be in a time when we would begin.

We began our journey in the evening, when the air was cool and the Bloodfang Mosquitoes were perched high in the trees. The jungle of Vorboon was dark and abstract, especially at night, when winding vines and hollow trees could lead lost travellers deep underground. I quivered in fear as Outside-Inwards Jenkins led me deeper and deeper into the heart of the jungle. However, I still saw an inner light transmute within my mind's eye, morphing into the form of the Abstract Scroll. I allowed this image to guide my fearful heart.
Le Toad Mar 25
Gift of The Magi

Were I, Magi,
I might toss the runes,
Look across the sweeping sands
And marvel at the dunes.
Read the words of poets
Who have courted many moons,
Search the far horizon
For signs of passing.

This sense of great sadness
Moves through the midnight air.
I ask a lone stranger, but they
Just look at me and stare.
And if I stare right back at them,
Their stare becomes a glare.

So I look across the sweeping sands,
And marvel at the dunes,
Open up my velvet bag,
And again, I toss the runes.
Next page