Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Norbert Tasev Aug 31
The intended solitude and proud-stubborn silence seem to be his second self; since he is already trying to completely isolate himself from the outside world, since the world has already lied to itself a lot behind its petty bargains. He cannot, although he has tried not only through the pores of his skin, but also viscerally, to withdraw, because for some reason most people still believe in the growing suspicions.

Now, feigning innocence, those who once kicked the younger ones with spiked boot marks, just because they were unwilling to pay defense money in the schools, are defending themselves. All unnecessary, unworthy attempts and resistance were pitiful. Stubborn braininess these days is just an occasional deaf brainwashed awareness that even the average person can have something to add to their milk.

A historical short circuit can occur with an unexpected bird rustle again; a nuclear mushroom cloud here, an expandable Katyusha rocket there. And the stripped man from the distance of historical ages cannot resolve in his soul the concealed coordinates of the so-called zone of silence. Since everything today is so complex, delighting in opacity, it is quite natural that he can give petty reasons for further, inexplicable suspicion.

Hectically trembling, the charm of one wrong idea that wants to innovate collapses one after another; an inevitable confrontation passes from one soul to another in a petty-compromising manner, until an artificially manipulative betrayal occurs. The infinite depth also perhaps changes as it reflects the conflicts of interest of selfish Reality. Consuming the bruises caused by sins, the subconscious uncertainty grows in everyone!
Marwan Baytie Aug 31
Wind whispers low, a gentle sigh,
Life's sailed away, I don't know why.

Love's faded hue, a ghost of red,
Dreams still bloom, though hope seems dead.

Closer than close, a hidden grace,
In lonely dark, I find my place.

Night's bitter sting, a cruel deceit,
I walk in quiet, my path to meet.

Wound walks with me, a constant friend,
Pride's strong red will never end.
Jan Reest Aug 30
Like children,
we chased each other around this life —
a game of hide and seek.

Catching each other’s glimpses
in corridors and daydreams,
your smile kept me chasing,
and your voice kept me lucid.

You hid, and hid,
so I would seek you out;
and when I unraveled the curtain,
you weren’t there.

The promises we made
now live on as echoes in the dust.
The walls are my witness,
and the bruises are my alibi.
Vanessa rue Aug 30
walking a rowdy street
tight grip on the leash
streetlight lays it bare
light pooling on my reach

panorama:
 the leash, in pieces

Anna in daylight,
 hands steady, calm and bright
 embracing cracked margins —
 called it love, her rite

but her fawn,
 beneath thorny shadows drawn
 the same leash condemned
 its trembling spirit wan

broken—
 yet a gift unspoken

street cries, in sight
echo through the night
Peter Aug 30
Passengers on the train, with dullness in their eyes,  
sit in front of me like a reflection.  
They stare at me, unable to look away.

The train rolls on, its sound stretching seconds into hours.  
They continue to gaze at me and then at the window,  
staring so blankly that I can hear their breaths.  

From time to time, some stand up,  
step outside, and free me from their presence.  
I beg fate, "Please, don't let them come back!"  

But they return, sit down,
and resume their gaze.
AnonymousR Aug 30
The darkness before a storm, as if an entity was about to form


I found it so peaceful,when the world became so calm,yet hectic

When the birds started struggling for a shelter,even in a place so chaotic


When the eyes were full of joy, and wonder,seeing even a glimpse of thunder


When the sky began to roar with all of its might,

And the mother became so restless,as the child couldn’t bear the fright


When it finally,let nature feel its worth

When the people,for a duty,kept running back and forth


When it poured and poured until it flooded the brood


As it poured so harsh, yet the children played happily

Some watched silently,praising it unknowingly


The trees were full of life, in the end of this priceless strife


Finally,the sun began to show its witness,clearing a realm of darkness


The flow of existence,again became normal,leaving behind something unknown so dismal.
Damocles Aug 30
Show me the way
Through the streams of time
Wrapped in your arms,
Am I a worthy passenger?

I want to cross these shadows,
Skipping stars like rocks
Rippling through the emptiness
Marbles running in circles,
Around your luminance.

I want to be engulfed,
Disintegrated into ash
Trailing off in the gentle winds

I want to remember closeness,
Like it was a gentle friend,
Instead of how foreign it became,
A stranger to me now.

Crash upon me like waves
I want to bleed my colors
Like wet paint against your shores
Hoping to be splayed out in your likeness
Will you let me be your passenger?

Top down, windows open
Blast beats, on back roads
Into the distance, through darkest tunnels
Let me slumber here,
Through the streams of time.
One more before I board the plane ©️ Dominick B 2025
Limes Carma Aug 30
I wear polo shirts
to cover the hurt,
marks on the neck
from a night
where life was asking me
to settle the final check.
Beyond death and life there is no separation, no frontier, no fixed boundary. What we call life and death are only names that thought has invented, abstractions to divide the indivisible, shadows drawn upon the infinite. Existence itself is seamless.

Life does not begin, as a flame suddenly born from nothing; nor does death end it, as if the flame were blown into emptiness. Life is the flame and death is the smoke — both movements of fire, both expressions of the same unseen source.

The river flows toward the sea. We say: the river dies there. But the sea replies: the river has always been mine. The star burns and collapses. We say: the star is lost. Yet its light travels across centuries, touching eyes not yet born. Nothing is lost. Nothing is separate.

Death is not the opposite of life; it is the hidden curve of the same circle. The wave rises and falls, but the ocean remains. To cling to the wave is to fear its end. To see the ocean is to know that the wave was never apart.

Beyond death and life is the abyss of nothingness — not a void of absence, but a womb of possibility. From this abyss the opposites emerge: presence and absence, form and formlessness, being and non-being. They unfold for a time, they dance, they dissolve, and they return. The abyss is not against them; it is within them. Every opposite carries in its heart the silence of its own dissolution.

To see this is to awaken. Fear falls away, for there is nothing to lose. Grief softens, for absence is another face of presence. Love deepens, for the beloved is never gone, only transformed.

Beyond death and life, we discover the transparency of being: full and empty at once, radiant and silent, ephemeral and eternal. We are not born, and we do not die. We appear, we disappear, we reappear — but always we are the universe unfolding itself.

The cosmos breathes, and we are its breath. The abyss dreams, and we are its dream. Beyond death and life, there is only the One — endless, seamless, indivisible.
Nunu Aug 30
a moth mistook my lamp
for the moon,
and broke itself
believing
the light was love.
ive always found moths melancholic. perhaps they embody the essence of delusion that we cling onto.
Next page