Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You passed away but
Our love for you will
Never fade away and
We miss you more
Than words can say
And pray you're resting
In a better way.
Always Thinking About You
Norbert Tasev Jun 29
Halfway between my two hands, perhaps, that certain bottomless, lasting disgust will still splash out, like when the diligent, eager patience picks beetles from the emerald leaves of pleasingly grown potato beds, so that there will - hopefully - be no more problems with the crop. As if they were slippery, exposed slug bodies, as if they did not want to understand that they too have their place in the cyclical order of nature, as in the ranking of ecosystems.

These heatwave days greet us now in idle, sparkling whiteness; black cannibal laughter is heard surprisingly close, as if it were the howling of greedily starving wolves, who are not afraid of the cheap anger of hunters, nor the terror of lightning rods.

- A universal age of unbridled debauchery, like a test of floods, as if it wanted to inject itself into the smallest, almost micro-millimeter poles of man, from which there is no escape, but - true - hardly any salvation. Because between pores there is still inevitably hiding, and secretly and cautiously fleeing some inner misguided memory, refuge: the hanging of eyes without perspectives towards the uncertain future.

Man would almost constantly try the nerve endings of sluggish indifference, beneficial infarct-shadows nestle richly in his heart, while he receives a small pension for the time being. Nothing will come of Mak's captivity, because something is preventing him from doing so and will no longer allow him to exercise even the simplest of actions, which wouldn't hurt if it could continue for another twenty or so years!
To start living,
you have to shake off the dust of yesterday
and refuse to let it define you.
We are not our failures, we are not our mistakes.
We are not our incomplete sentences or lost words.
We are our future,
shining bright.

-Rhia Clay
Soul Jun 29
The dangling leaf at the edge of a twig.
waiting to be caught by a gentle swig;
"Why not shall I, if you are awful dread,"
for he just slipped into the dreams ahead.

Swinging from side-to-side the leaf goes,
The blade; oh sweet, so smooth, tickles her toes.
His cunning eyes, glistening with mischief,
lets her slip away, the smile of relief.

The tender breeze tip-toeing at the edge,
waits until he searches her over the hedge.
Sweeping past the weightless sighs of the skies,
his heart races to the soft lullabies.

As his golden touch came into her sight,
She blushed and giggled; With a laugh so light.
The sly leaf crawled cozy on her lap.
With cheeks of caramel; there left no sap.

Up and down the hills, their happy feet rolled.
in the deep dark woods, hand-in-hand they strolled.
The great treows, all bowed with crowned heads, all low,
along they tracked their trails, each step so slow.

Red robins with voices beyond the lyre,
sang sweet songs that made them never feel tire.
Whispering secrets, hummed the swarm of bees;
as the shy sun melted into the seas.

Along the coastal strip, that's full of sand,
they built yellow sand castles, all so grand.
The leaf blade cut the black ebony doors.
The touch of the breeze smoothed all; sky loors.

Seeing the two hands being hold up tight,
the moon, into the sky, it took a flight.
Their irises bloomed like blue berry dyes,
when met upon their vulnerable eyes.

Over the glistening marine seas they flew,
as on their soft peach cheeks, the moonlight grew.
In the blue spotlight they began the dance,
as the stars shined out to take a good glance.

To borrow their small breaths the dolphins swam,
to light the scene the pearl glowed of Mr. Clam.
Their calm reflections followed as they go,
they held red roses in their merry slow row.

In the night skies they drew Andromeda,
racing a past the fastest comet-a.
Soon the days of sorrow began to rang,
seeing Venus, in the journey,—they sang.

The mighty seas who blessed, changed it's mind,
not gentle at all, he who was so kind.
Up roared the rough waves of anger and rage,
trying to force the leaf into a cage.

The entire scene of their story transforms,
from all directions, evoked thunder storms.
Their love never died, 'cause their hearts were strong,
for they wrapped themselves, to meet fate along.

Through the deathly grey-blue arcs the two rode,
holding each other not slipping the code.
Unexpectedly, her cheeks touched his nose,
The battles held on, to smile for a pose.

As the traitors left, the two of them knelt,
as inside them, tough heaviness they felt.
The shining edges of pure gold were all torn,
the sweet chuckles of the breeze, all were worn.

As they gently walked across the lawn,
bringing life back that came out at the dawn.
Bluish dew drops shone on green yards along,
as their hearts hummed, murmuring a soft song.

As they came to an old, forlorn cottage,
only dusted pots left with some potage.
A heap of ash lay in the frozen hearth,
No tender sprout grew in the near-by earth.

Flew the leaf with grey stones stitched to its bones,
holding shards of glass; the breeze runs and moans.
The two moved through the lonely dull walkway,
with fingers intertwined, no words to say.

They journeyed so far as long as they could,
for they didn't mind time, as if it's stood.
Their breaths smelled of a garland of daisies,
for they smelled pure joy like new born babies.

Underneath tall box-grey giants they roamed,
as thick black ***** swept past her hair—they combed.
The floor roared vibrations from everywhere,
folding the two into a dark nightmare.

As she let out a sneeze the leaf went low,
Into a white disc he crashed with a blow.
For they didn't know it's a busy road,
Into a cogged drain he fell like a toad.

Soaked in wet the leaf horribly howled,
she couldn't resist, the voice once crawled.
The worn breeze chased him ignoring each bent,
for she followed every echo that went.

The fragile curves of her lips all were snatched,
her white gown of silk, every part was scratched.
Her fingers reached out, but tears rolled down,
for they never touched his, in the harsh town.

Blocked her way the snow etched bars in the drain,
she burst up high in the midst of the rain.
Over the metals she ran on her way,
secretly listening to words he say.

Every inch went cold as winter arrives,
the leaf hid in the depths of frozen thrives.
The breeze lay her heart so low with blind eyes,
as the last ray faded into the ice.
A poem, about nature, and how it is polluted going through a scene of Romance...
Finally, I’ve made it
Thirteen years now graduated
But with all the pain I’ve seen
What the hell does it all mean?

At last I’ve crossed the line
It’s crazy how fast the time flies
It’s a joyous day, that’s what it seems
But what the hell does it all mean?

Raise your glass, let’s make a toast
To all the pain and dread we boast
During these years I should’ve dreamed
And figured out what it all means
CE Uptain Jun 28
One day I’ll end up dead
No more words in my head
Hope all my pens are out of ink
Left on pages when I tried to think

I’ll be dead and gone
Only my words to live on
No more rhymes or even prose
Cover my grave with a rose

Cry for me, pages wet with tears
I wrote you love poems, all my years
Read them when it’s late at night
Read the ones where I find the light
Wrote this one at a redlight a couple of weeks ago.
A funky turtle so slow
On the go and his
Dreams of a trip oh so grand
He'll wander around the land
And he'll explore evermore
In search of the sandy beach
Where he plans to go.
Turtle 🐢
Rohidul Rifat Jun 28
She walks unlit between the crowd,
A hush beneath the voices loud.
The hours bruise her open hands,
Bartering breath for small demands.

No desk, no page, no teacher's name—
Just lessons scraped from soot and flame.
Her dreams, like threadbare hems, unwind—
Too delicate for those half-blind.

They do not see the shape she bears—
A rootless bloom that learns to care
For scraps of sky, for drifting sound,
For silence in a world unbound.

The mirror offers her no script,
No birthright carved, no title gripped.
Yet in her chest, a slow-burned spark—
A vow that glows beneath the dark.

Outside, the banyan dares to stay,
Its limbs a home for those astray.
She sees herself in trunk and leaf—
A quiet spine, a growing grief.

What voice is hers, if none reply?
What name survives when none ask why?
Still she persists, unknown, unseen—
A bloom that breaks through concrete green.
This poem is for the girls and women whose brilliance blooms beyond notice—those who learn from hardship, grow without guidance, and carry strength in silence. The Unseen Bloom is a tribute to the quiet, root-deep resilience that refuses to be erased.
Have you ever felt unseen, yet still deeply alive inside? What “small sparks” have helped you keep going in silence? I’d love to hear your reflections—especially on the last stanza and what it evokes for you.
A greenish wonder; wrapped in white,
It gave a floral scent of sublime delight.
Plucked from life; it held a belle desire,
There it held the glamorous shire.

The purpose was lost; a withered corpse,
The vase remained; a ceramic coarse.
Depraved of soul; an empty gloom,
There was a vase in my room.
Next page