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I’ve hidden lost sermons in my casual breath.
I folded them tight, pushed them into sarcasm.
We laughed at the joke, but you missed the ambiguity.
Some words only sharpen once their form leaves a chasm.

Some things we call unstable, wrong, or unfit—
Become relics we look to, only once their time’s gone.
No one hears the meaning of a prophet, mid-scream,
But we quote them the day that their truth breaks the dawn.

Some of us never even asked to be understood,
We can only hope to echo in your afterthought.
Because truth’s never loud—It’s subtle... Its dissonant…
So, its often mistaken, or ignored left to rot.

I live like a myth half-believed by its maker.
I pulse in and out, like static through wires.
My silence burns louder than sermons of choirs,
In golden temples built on sinful desires.

I left signals in inkblots, on letters I never sent,
And in the way that I’d pause before saying goodbye.
One day you might study those absences closer—
They’ll sing of my essence when I can no longer try.

Cause I once left my essence outside in the rain.
Just to see if it rots, or if a new one would sprout.
Turns out, it likes to sing—but only backwards,
And only to those who tried blocking it out.

This left me so lost that I swallowed a compass,
Just to feel in my gut, something real point to me.
But the needle kept swaying like my body still does.
Some directions are given, some were never meant to be.

If you were to ask me what my words really mean,
I might say, “What makes you think they mean anything?”
Meaning is a parasite; it only lives when it’s fed—
And I’ve starved that parasite to death. Repeatedly…

There’s a hallway in me that will never lead out—
Just dissociates to ensure you’re alone.
The paradox is fixed. You can’t change its course.
You’d rather tread blind, but it demands being shown.

I might carve these bitter truths into the air.
Won’t  see them, but you’ll cough, and know they were there.
You’d blame me for the smoke, and you’d call me unstable.
Ignore my intention, or you might not even care.

And maybe I am filthy, misbegotten, and unstable.
But when my tremors stop, I hope you notice my frame.
And the glow that I buried, might finally surface.
Then you might learn to love me for the darkness you shamed.

You might quote this clean, rid my words of the blood.
Say my signals were sent, from the God in your head.
When you sing my sad sonnets, you might guild them in gold.
I promise... This sounds so much better when I’m dead.

©
♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦️
"The Quantum Bound Poet"
I often wonder about death.
I often wonder about the halting of our breath.
Is it really as peaceful as they all tend to say?
Or just as terrible — in a different kind of way?

I wonder about death,
Time slowly slipping by.
I wonder about life,
Moments gently passing by.

We are all caught up in ourselves,
Doing this and doing that,
When we should really be chasing
The dreams we once had.

“Death is part of life,” some say.
It catches up with you — and ends the play.
The games we play, with ourselves and our minds,
Telling ourselves we’re fine,
When we’re really losing our minds.

There will come a time,
When you will say:
What was all this for, anyway?

Don’t let that phrase haunt your mind.
Make something of yourself — and this little sweet life.
Don’t strive to be the best,
Just strive to strive.

And soon you will see,
That’s really all it takes —
To be someone you admire,
Not someone who’s fake.

I wonder about death,
Not so often anymore.
I enjoy the trivial things,
Not so worried anymore.
written between study sessions and existential dread <3
Cadmus 4d
Let it go under.

Neither the rowers are honest,
nor the passengers loyal.

Let it sink…

For in this floating masquerade,
drowning is the only honest act.
Sometimes, destruction is clarity. When all roles are false and all hands unclean, letting go is not surrender, it’s truth.
Both sending letters,
they tore their love apart—
each line like a "don’t leave me,"
they looked like real love letters.

Reading between the lines,
you’d see who played the part.
The strange thing is, the culprit
was not of either heart.

Jealousy, the silent fire,
gave context and reasons,
possessing their prey,
it moved without control.

Can love be found again,
by one who shared the blame?
Can a fractured soul find wholeness
through forgiveness, love, and name?

Your sorrowed letters shake me,
each farewell cuts me through.
Some of us never get letters—
not of friendship, nor of loss,
much less of love from you.
Full translation of Cartas y culpables, originally written in Spanish by Tiálen. AI-assisted and guided.
I stretch beyond what eyes can see,
A boundless realm of sand and sea.
So vast, so still yet never bare,
A silence breathing everywhere.

I shimmer calm beneath the sky,
But hold a thousand storms nearby.
At times I whisper, soft and slow,
At times I rise, and roar, and throw.

I do not ask to be explored,
Nor beg the brave to seek my core.
I simply am too wide to bind,
Too deep for most to even mind.

They stand in awe along the shore,
And claim they've seen what I restore.
But all they see is surface blue,
A surface hiding what is true.

Some dip their toes, then flee the chill,
Some surf my waves, chasing the thrill.
They ride the rhythm, skim my face,
Yet never touch my shadowed place.

And then the divers come with pride,
With lungs like iron, eyes stretched wide.
They plunge with lights and fragile charts,
To chase the secrets in my heart.

They dive so deep their spirits strain,
Convinced they've touched my farthest vein.
But still I stretch, unknown, profound,
No end in sight, no solid ground.

And slowly, spent, they rise and drift,
Their courage dims, their will grows weak.
They whisper soft, “Too vast to keep,”
Then fade away, in silence deep.

Yet I remain the silent sea,
Not empty, but too deep to see.
A depth not meant for every soul,
A truth too wild to grasp in whole.
Los dos enviando cartas
rompían su relación,
parecían un no me dejes
reales cartas de amor.

Mirando entre palabras
verías al culpable,
lo extraño del culpable
ninguno de ese amor.

Los celos crean
contexto y razón,
poseyendo a sus víctimas
accionan planes sin control.

¿Será posible volver al amor
siendo un coautor de tal error?
¿un espíritu quebrado unirá sus trozos
con palabras de amor y perdón?

Conmociona mi espíritu
tus tristes cartas de adiós,
algunos no recibimos cartas
ni por quiebre, ni amistad,
menos siquiera por amor.
Isaac C 7d
The day is near when you will not
always want to share your soul.

Learn every flower has spent some
hours in daylight, aiding growth.

Next to a sprout, you're a high tower.
You have felt the sun's warm light.
Even if you grew in a forest's shade,
some of it made its way to you.

People shame you and think you'll hide,
so face them and strip them of power.
They disrupt peace because they're sour.

Most people won't think about you twice.

But there are some who take time to hate.
They think they know the way you move.
Your tempo, if they follow, can subdue.
You can lull them into a hypnotic state.

Since you have an audience, create.
Defy expectations and surprise them.
If you're brave enough, let them notice.

You can act out a monologue on stage.

You have the spotlight; it's yours, alone.
Cadmus May 14
I see the endings in their birth,
The wilt curled in the bloom,
The echo in the first soft word
That hums of pending gloom.

Yet on I go, with knowing steps,
Down paths that twist and burn
Not for hope, nor fate, nor faith,
But just to feel the turn.

It’s not some tragic grandeur,
No noble, aching art
Just a quiet urge to prove myself
The fool I knew at start.
A self-aware confession dressed as poetry because sometimes wisdom doesn’t save us from walking straight into the fire we already smelled.
J Lobo May 14
If that gem lay there before you
the one you never knew you needed
if it shimmered
would you not reach to make it your own

If it sparkled, just enough
to lift your heart from where it sank
if it was there
would you turn away for lack of reason

Would you tell yourself it’s not for you
not meant, not earned, not real
that some hands are made to hold beauty
and yours are not among them

Would you fear it might fade in your grasp
or that you would
break it
smear the shine with doubt
taint the treasure by wanting it too much

Or would you kneel
not with greed but with wonder
fingers trembling, heart split open
and take it gently
like it had been waiting
for you
all along
Mirage of lives,
Ever tell me current lies.
Mirage of time,
Sever bells that cries.
I live today,
But I died tomorrow.
I live today,
To see the old of me present.
Dead memories,
Unknown reality,
What shall wake me,
treacherous why.
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