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In shadows they lurk, with deceit as their guide,
Claiming truths not their own, where their morals have died.
A hollow pursuit, in the depths of the night,
Seeking light from others, to claim as their right.

But truth is a flame that burns from within,
Not a trophy to steal, nor a prize to win.
It's the essence of being, the core of our soul,
Not a void to be filled, nor a gap to control.

So let's hold our truth, with compassion and grace,
And walk our own paths, at our own steady pace.
For the truth that we live, is the light that we give,
In a world of shadows, it's how we truly live.
Maria Mar 31
You asked me: "May be it's love?"
I didn't know, what to say.
If it's dark without you every time.
So I can't even see myself anyway.

If wine is water without you!
If the air around is more bitter than poison!
If I'm not me without you!
Every day less of you I feel like an old some.

Every my step is a step into hollow.
No forward or backward, into an abyss.
I'm empty, I'm nobody without you!
And every my next step will be amiss!

‘May be it's love?’ - you asked me again.
I realize that I'm lost at all.
I don't breathe, I don't live without you,
And the Universe is tiny for me in whole!
I really want to introduce you one more my poem about love. I like to write about love. Although it is probably more correct to say that I love to live by love, with love, inside and around me.
Thank you for reading! 💖
Maria Mar 24
She doesn't wear vanilla dresses,
Ethereal shoes and a mint beret.
She doesn't accept gluey embraces
And kisses, where the truth is away.

She doesn't like stuffy speeches
About the Moon and stars at her feet.
She doesn't need a fiery chatter,
If there is a hollow behind it.

No use to disturb the Sun in vain
And lead it to shine only for her.
In fact all your cries are trait falsehood.
No need to be so low-lived amateur.

The sea throws a foam right at her feet.
Sea waves are noisy and bold.
Her ear's softly caressed by seagulls.
These birds are the peerless sea gold.

Her clothes are surely relaxed fitting,
And so it has always been.
The wind in her face, unfastened hair,
And he's nearby - it's the ultimate thing.
Perhaps it's her mistake, and vanilla dresses guarantee success. But alas. She doesn't know any other way. The other way isn't her. Her undeniable values are freedom, the truth, the wind in her face. And of course him! The one and only him!
One more story of true love. Thank you for reading! 💖
it does not carve a place inside my heart and demand it empty. this hollowness sits beside me like an oak tree, overshadowing and demanding. I fear it will become so great that I'll forget how to feel as it towers over me. Even while the beating of my heart peers from behind the leaves. Still there but ignored in favour of the desolate sky.
kinda in love with this, ****? i wrote that?
Oliver Feb 1
I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.
I like making story's and the story behind this poem is the speaker learns their late friend didn't really know who they were and felt like they were pretending to be someone they weren't. when the friend realized this it was already too late they didn't know what was really them and what was a forced act. the reason for the late friends death is up to you, it could be self inflicted or sickness, or any other reason.

When I was proof reading and finalizing this one it made me cry.

I came up with a few ideas for the title here they are
The Mask You Wore
Applause for a Ghost
Lines Unspoken
A Role Too Well Played
A Role Well Played
The Tragedy of You
Obviously I chose Applause for a Ghost but I like them all so I wanted to share what the potential titles could have been.
Daniel Tucker Dec 2024
Tolling hungrily the hollow bell
High in pious belfry hung.

Lofty words as pride dictates
From deep in cavernous dwellings
To keep a doctrine as one
Keeps hope of the future
Locked in a chest --
The ritual of past and present notions.

Receding line at edge of seaboard
Feeding on dry land the watery grave
Filled with borrowed sentiments adrift.
The open sea -- open sores of prejudice

Cut off from inlets of vision and reason.
Preserved as Lenin's body under glass.
Copyright©2024 Daniel Tucker

Religion without spirituality. Just going through the rituals, the motions. no depth
neth jones Dec 2024
low by day    a massive moon full
a bowl of candy pallor            
and this city is taken   to a more charming realm

more than one figure takes out a camera
aims                  and   i am not a real person
     but i am represented
       by an attempt     at something 'in bounds'
                       playing it safe
i feel like greeting
     and if truly bold  asking others
      of the quality of their experience right now
nov/24

[early version
Hello / I’m not a real person / But I am represented by an attempt/ A massive full moon /Pink and low by day/The city is taken to a more beautiful planet]
Nahin Nov 2024
The sky doesn't smile today.
It has the imperfectly carved moon.
A bright lit hollow upon our heads
Lightening the earth like a
Lone in dark street light.
Sometimes what I think when I see moonlight.
Morgan Howard Nov 2024
My soul is a lacuna
An empty void
Filled with nothingness

It's hallow and dark
The cold walls
Covered in cobwebs and mildew

And I search
Far and wide
To find the missing piece

The missing piece
That will fill my lacuna
And make me complete again
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