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F Elliott Sep 2

Not all was lost
to the beast,
nor to the silence
that sheltered it.

For deeper still,
beneath the rubble
of unspoken years,
the child remained.

Bruised, yes..
but not extinguished.
Hidden;
but not erased.

A breath still moved,
a spark unclaimed
by the darkness.

The beast does not feed  only
on the wound itself,
but on the hollow it leaves behind.
Gaslighting, scapegoating, silence..
all these are its masons;
carving out a chamber in the soul
where the beast makes its abode.

There, in the aloneness of the child,
it feeds from within,
claiming the silence as its fortress;

the emptiness as its throne.

And the door creaks again..
not always the first door,
   but another..
a new figure cashing in
on the void they sense.

Their entry feels like company,
   even love,
yet it is only continuance...
a repetition of the first harm.

Worse still when the creak
is painted with a smile,
when exploitation wears
the mask of care--
   The abode deepens,
    and the beast settles further
   into the soul.

Yet the fortress cannot hold forever.
The silence cannot smother forever.
Even the grave-dirt of denial
cannot bury it whole.

For the child endures
where walls collapse,
and the smallest cry
outlives the loudest lie.

The beast devoured much,
but not all.
And in what survives,
the future breathes;
a testimony,
a beginning,

    a voice
    that will not be hushed.



The beast wears many faces. Sometimes it is grotesque and obvious.. leering in the open,
like Tull’s Aqualung.

Other times it arrives clothed in warmth, with a smile painted on as if it were love. Yet both are the same door creaking open, the same continuance of harm.

Be wary, child.
Not only of the door,
but of the smile.

Every silence, every false welcome,
lays another stone.
This is how the abode is carved.
This is how the beast digs deeper..


"Aqualung"
(Excavator of the Unholy Abode)

Sitting on a park bench
Eying little girls with bad intent
Snots running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes,
hey, Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly ******* run,
hey, Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken lung,
oh, Aqualung

Feeling alone, the army's up the road
Salvation a la mode and a cup of tea
Aqualung, my friend,
don't you start away uneasy

   You poor old sod,
   you see it's only me

Do you still remember
December's foggy freeze
When the ice that clings
on to your beard
It was screaming agony?

Hey and you ****** your rattling last breaths
With deep-sea diver sounds
And the flowers bloom like
Madness in the spring?

Sitting on a park bench
eying up little girls with bad intent
Snot is running down his nose
Greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes,
hey Aqualung

Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly ******* run,
hey Aqualung

Feeling like a dead duck
Spitting out pieces of his broken luck,
hey Aqualung

Oh Aqualung

https://youtu.be/ZHO3vBn_cfo?si=IGwlRY7xoVuOlx6V


The child remains..
Scarred but unclaimed,
enduring as the witness
the beast can never consume.

The child endures
The cry is not silenced

Even scarred, it remains the truest witness.

Even on a lowly poetry site, some of those most popular could be the greatest excavators of the abode.
Be wary, beautiful child

xoxo
AJ Aug 30
i was born wax,
shaped not for warmth, but for giving it,
a candle too willing to burn
just to brighten someone else’s dinner table.

they never asked where the fire came from,
only if the lighting was soft enough
to keep the mood gentle.

my wick was too short for longevity,
but i stretched it anyway,
one inch of flame for every mile of their comfort.
i quieted my flicker so no one saw
how much it hurt to glow.

they praised my stillness.
they never heard the sizzle
of my silence melting me down.
It began in silence,
The kind that bruises,
The kind that teaches you
How pain can wear a smile.

It wasn't pretty like the movies
It was ugly
Like what they did to me
A cruelty
I would never place
On anyone's skin.

Bt even broken
I gather myself
Rising from what tried to end me
Proofing that pain
Cannot silence light
Still burning in me.
Paul Aug 27
Life can be tough
Life can be hard
Life can be unfair
Sometimes it only brings us despair

Life's challenges come in waves
Sometimes you laugh
Sometimes you cry
But you just gotta push and try

When everything feels sad and dark  
You gotta figth with all your might
Because you are the the brigth light in your life

Dont give up!
Soph Aug 24
See the world
with different eyes,
take you hands
"It'll be alright".

You seem so lost,
in this dark room.
Let me be your light,
I'll guide you outside.

I know your view,
how you think about you.
In a world full of hate,
let me tell you
you are great.

Will you let me?
Sun, Moon, & Stars /
In The Cabinet of Creation /
Formed to exalt The Cosmo-Plexus. /
Jehovah, did you /
Form all to be loved? /

I believe you did create /
All people to know /
& to love. /
—Love is all, /
Love is beauty, & beauty is love. /

Hearken to the ethereal resonations /
Loveless vore. /
Jehovah is all to some, /
He is my Heaven, He is my Earth, /
He is my Moon, He is my Sun, He is my Sacral Polaris. /

Perhaps a paramour /
Might be fitting to some. /
However, even when loveless, /
I am not enfeebled. /
—I am power. /

(—Se’ lah)

07-26-2025
The smoke dissolves in my lungs. A constellation  of bright stars forms in the depths of your eyes, weaving a language of orchestral, luminous memories—one that cannot fathom the endless possibilities of your devotion.

Maybe if I write these words and keep them inside my dismantled heart, love will come to find me. Maybe in a thousand abysses that grieve love, the heavens and the earth will entwine their fresh waters and frozen tears; faint sheets of light will envelop my already soul-weary skin and thus will seep in like a sun gently fleeting its warm light into the night sky, sojourning in the consoling darkness until dawn.

And if I tell you, that I have so much love to give, would you grow thorns and leave me in the cold, barren night like a stray dog, or would you come running across the ends of the earth—tiptoeing in bedazzling stars and soft sands, rushing into me?
I’ve been productive for the past few weeks, and I don’t understand why there’s still room for me to long for something that I can’t have just yet. I’ve been spending my time writing in my journal for all the times that I feel like I’m yearning for something more than love. Something more than comfort, and I hate to admit this, but I’ve become a prisoner of fantasy, I long for my own fairy tale. That my own heart chokes me.

Sparks - Coldplay
PERTINAX Aug 20
The morning dew drops fall to their rest,
Little stars gleaming with moonlight’s reflections,
Each a prism of distant dimensions
Where water weaves its timeless art.
...
On the tapestry of earthy green leaves,
A universal ballet begins its dance.
...
Spinning fractals sway to rhyming crickets,
Their choir humming a classical strain,
Soaring high as ancient redwoods
That tower over dew drops as they plié
Into a pirouetting waterfall,
Its crash a cosmic pulse of percussion,
Rising swift to a triumphant crescendo.
...
Then silence falls with dawn’s first light,
Transforming the dewy pantheon
To diamonds ablaze in golden rays,
Their stance defiant against the sky’s vault.
...
Back to the heavens from which dew wept,
A forlorn mist yearning for cloudward flight,
Yet bound by gravity’s tidal embrace,
Turning mist to rain, falling as stars.
...
Droplets destined to meet the lonely night,
And dance again in the dew drop ballet.
Daniel Tucker Aug 19
Like our planet on a 24-hour cycle, my location is filling with the light of one rotation, transporting me from darkness into light.

The next rotation of my location is the dark side of my spiritual sphere; and the next spin will once again transport me into
the light of day, the light of the world.

We all know that the sun is still in the sky even in the darkest night. Our perspective is from our location. We may be on the other side of the globe--the dark side--but our location will, in one revolution, be filled with light.
We are all caught in this literal and figurative human cycle of day and night.

We need to have faith in this
as we must have faith in
gravity, because the alternative is unimaginable darkness!!!

This knowing is not only
cerebral, but tabulated by a spiritual equation. We must believe because there is no
way around it. We simply
must believe or lose it all.
Our orbit will decay otherwise.
We will cease to rotate on
our own axis. So in a sense,
do or die, because I will
surely die spiritually if I
don't get lifted to that
spiritual space.

There is too much at stake; there is so much to lose if I
don't transcend the earthly
plane of spiritual death and simply believe beyond hope to be freed from the perceived hopelessness and helplessness of our universal existence.

The sun is still in the sky even in the darkest night. We simply must have faith and patience to wait our turn.
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