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BEEZEE 3d
An abandoned cathedral
where I drag my soul to repent for my
š™‹š™šš™§š™«š™šš™§š™Øš™žš™¤š™£š™Ø.
A lady appears in a wedding gown-
I feel like I am š™„š™Ŗš™§š™š again.
Her dress turns š™§š™šš™™. She turns her head—
and wicked reads her eyes.
I face my fear and go too near to find thatĀ she’s gone š™¬š™žš™”š™™.
She disappears and then appears a punyĀ Ā š™Øš™š™–š™™š™¤š™¬-š™™š™¤š™”š™”.
It chases me, I trip, I fall, they drag me to a hall.

ā€œš˜•š˜°! š˜”š˜ŗ š˜±š˜¦š˜³š˜·š˜¦š˜³š˜“š˜Ŗš˜°š˜Æš˜“!ā€

I wake up-
deep breath & sweat.
I wonder of what it meant…
To dream of
š™¢š™® š™§š™šš™„š™šš™£š™©.
This poem came from a dream — part confession, part confrontation.
I’m in a drought for time— yet flooded with ideas.
as the sun rises with the dust, and by dusk, all hope
feels spent, or quietly scattered.

I know destiny calls— even without a map, signal
or a location marked. "Yeah, I don’t know what
I’m doing," I often confess, in quotation marks—
still walking toward the shape of who I’m meant
to become.

Pushing through bruises and bitter slights—real joy
flickers, but most smiles still feel perfectly rehearsed.
To stay above the arrows, but never ahead of myself—
sharp enough, still, to pierce through the soft fabric
of my many, many daily doubts. And I’m learning:
sometimes the cage has no door— but only the illusion
of one, built from fear.

There’s always a world just outside of it— waiting.
We’re all just finding ourselves day by day.
And life? It’s one day after another— until, finally,
you recognize the person you've been becoming
all along.
Crowded foresight —  
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā thoughts stacked sky-high,Ā Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā  cluttered windows of a dreaming mind.Ā Ā 

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Out of mind,Ā Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  out of sight…  
Ā Ā Ā Ā  yet somehow, I keep seeingĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā  the better days of my lifeĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  skimming the edgeĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā of a hopeful smile.Ā Ā 

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  That smile —  
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā soft, unspoken —  
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  given with time,Ā Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā drawn from deep thoughtsĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā folded in silence.Ā Ā 

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā . . .Ā Ā 

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  Any life worth seeing —  
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  any better version of me —  
Ā Ā Ā Ā is shaped by what I’m willingĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā to put light on.Ā Ā 

Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  So IĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā paint myĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  foresight withĀ Ā 
Ā Ā  firefliesĀ Ā andĀ Ā sunbeams,Ā Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā  hoping the darkĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā makes roomĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  for theĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā light IĀ Ā 
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā  keep.
Asher Graves Apr 14
Youth—epitome of experience and extremes.
You fall, you seek, you cry, you scream.
You slow down, begin to see the seams—
A vast world quietly opens to you.
You notice the meaning behind the semblance,
And the silence that slowly leaks through.

You finally get the answers you long pursued:
For frustration’s weight, for storms you never understood—
The unexplainable quarrels, the anxious moods.
And at last, you reach the solace you once dreamed.

But—
It’s not the end. It’s not the cure.
This is nowhere close to all your angst, your ache.
ā€œTo live is to sufferā€ā€”a belief we often mistake.
To live is, was, and always will be to seek—
To validate the silence buried deep beneath.

To let go of the nagging thoughts,
The voice that creeps, claws, and speaks.
Only the brave can release that grip.
It was never meant to be easy—
That’s why it clings,
But trust the process.
You’ll hear the silence—full and complete.

Once you’ve let go of that voice,
That essence of shadow,
No more doubt, no more need to borrow—
You’ll find the peace you sought
Beneath the drought of noise
That once left you hollow.

Yes, I know your agony, your sorrows.
But brave warrior, you’ve found it at last—
The real you,
Untainted.
Unburdened.
Unbound.
                                                          -Asher Graves
wrote it a while ago. was going though something.
dead poet Jan 9
you pay the levies
you grant the deceits

you fall behind
you fall from grace
you freefall

you get what you deserve
you deserve what you get

you take your time
you partake
you mistake
you get the point
you get by

you yearn
you learn
you lone
you moan
you atone

you know the stakes
you do what it takes
it’s all you
dead poet Jan 7
stream of consciousness
carves a river, unknown -
ego takes a dive.
Through veils of twilight realms, my steps align,
A pilgrim bound by questions yet untold.
Between existence planes, I seek to find
A purpose veiled in shadows, bright yet cold.

The liminal expanse, a fleeting seam,
Where echoes hum with truths beyond the light.
Unfinished whispers weave my fragile dream,
A cosmic hymn that calls through endless night.

In this in-between, I find my soul,
Where stars ignite the cosmic harmony
Through shifting mists, I glimpse the infinite
Within in its depths, peer into a dark hole
The dance of shadows, darkness, and pure sea
And in its rhythm, my heart finds ecstasy
dead poet Dec 2024
a fog, i saw,
in the mist of night.
humble, it led me
to the ***** of the beast -
who pet me, and held me, and licked me,
until it, and i, were one.Ā Ā 
my restless heart would not let the
beast be at peace…
ā€˜what lies into the night?’, i insisted.
ā€˜i must know. tell me now, i say.’
and the beast shook its head - nay.
ā€˜travel not, nor inquire, into the sea of despair’,
it groaned, ā€˜it leads good men astray’.

ā€˜but i’m not scared’, i said.
ā€˜look at me… i’m you. i’m mighty.’
ā€˜what could possibly hurt you?’
ā€˜what could possibly hurt… us?’

ā€˜you mistake me for my appearance, young man’,
the beast hummed from within.
ā€˜i am but a vessel.’
ā€˜i do not possess the might you seek.’
ā€˜i was sculpted in your image,
and scores of such valiant seekers
who carrowed their poise for pride’.
ā€˜but if you must -'
'i’m obliged to warn you, as they would -’
ā€˜you may not forget what you see;’
ā€˜you may not like what you hear;’
ā€˜the sea is not forgiving to men
who trespass upon the realms of solitude’
ā€˜hope you’re ready - ’  
ā€˜it gets colder as we get nearer.’

and as we passed the bay of deadly sins,
where tales of woe would barren lay -
sure enough, i heard a faint
rallying cry from far away;
ā€˜the captain must’ve lost his wits...’,
sighed the beast -
ā€˜his compass must’ve failed to obey.’
a requiem followed the shipwreck,
as the shallow winds kissed the
waters grey.
dead poet Nov 2024
he lost his way, he knows not when.
chasing false idols he mistook for men.
he'd lose the child, if he only knew then -
he'd find a way to be a man again.
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