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Flame of the forest
Burns bright, envies not the green
Vibrant crimson blooms
I like to dance in the light of all the fires I started
just so the flames can wince at the sound of my laughter
just so what once burned me can see me now
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/1/2019

The most beautiful is the one who at the candle top
lives alone and this poem is about him:

tiny flame - a metaphor for life.

Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/21/2008
Only poems that I've ever tried to write myself come from a time when I was 22 or 23 years old and there are only few of them. Enjoy!
malluraeh Oct 7
burst into flames, step into it
be the flame
and burn the whole world down
Cassia Oct 3
I accidentally smiled at a memory of you
Tell me love, were those words true?

Did you mean to tame my shaky breath
With your fire that rivals even death?

Did you see the smile that crossed my lips
Because I saw the worry you thought I'd miss

Etched in your face that no others could read
Was the worry behind how you grinned at me

Forgive me for smiling when I should forget
I'll now let you go again
Remember that battlefield?
Yeah. Well, I'm sorry.
Brad post Sep 26
There used to be a fire,
that burned inside of me.
I never had to tend it,
it had always just burned free.

It roared so fiercely,
and burned so ******* bright.
It kept me moving forward,
and broke the darkness with its light.

Then something started changing,
and the light began to dim.
The flames began to lessen,
and they never grew again.

Every day that passed,
the fire was less and less.
And the darkness creeped in,
making my direction a guess.

Then one day it flickered,
guttered, and died.
The darkness consumed me,
and I grew cold inside.

Now I just stumble,
trying to relight my flame.
But I can’t see where I’m going,
all this black looks the same.

I just need a spark,
to rekindle my soul.
And if I can’t find it,
then I’ll never be whole.
A poem about the slow consumption of depression
Lyrical Dream Sep 24
It's ironic, isn't it,

how the heart's gentle mascot,
the rose,
can make rubies pool in the creases of our flesh

or, how love itself can pluck the beat from our hearts until we are left numb to emotion

or, how we beg our heart to feel,
but when it does, we fill our souls with gasoline and choke matches down our voiceless throats,
hoping to make ashes of emotions that we fail to suppress?
Nazish Idrees Sep 23
I like him yum, warm and strong
just like my coffee and routine

I watch him glowing, wide and bold
just like my hobby and work

I call him sweet, polite and honorable
just like my name and aim

I confront him mirroring and matching
just like my face and flame
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