With tears in her eyes;
Her tongue in cheek,
She spat out words;
Filled with deceit.
Her heart recently emerged from the kiln;
Stronger, hardened.
The liquid gold fell effortlessly,
As she told a truth wrapped in lies.
Her eyes reddened from the flames she hid behind the waters;
She wouldn't quit.
Not until she had convinced him to take her back;
Not until she had completed her mission.

Her plan was not all candies and sunshine;
She was out for blood.
Her heart was like clay;
Fragile, soft.
He took it and left it on the beach to melt away.
But she picked up as much of it as she could, while some slipped through her fingers.
She became the potter, molded it and put it under high temperatures.

Now her heart is brand new;
And every emotion is fake.
The genuine feelings toughened in the fire;
Her being devoid of desire.

She comes searching for the one who changed her;
The one who transformed her ways.
He thinks she's still as fragile as he left her;
Because of the tears on her face.
She has him fooled;
And so the plan begins,
He will soon realise that candies;
And sunshine aren't in the deal.
This is the first poem ever written by me.
E McNamara Mar 3
I loved Him
Like the moon loved the stars
I studied him
Like the stargazers
A masterpiece

Please be mine
Never to be mine

Two planets
With different routes
Desperately wanting.

I destroyed myself
For you.
So that my meteors
Would go closer
Than I ever could,
I’m yours for good
Steviee Mar 2
You didn’t break me. 

I rebuilt myself 


a fucking masterpiece.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 1
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.

It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.  
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Cause amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern!
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise.

Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
Mystic Ink Feb 13
On 13th Feb, I asked,
“would you mind if I write about you tonight?”

Silent, she was.

Once again,
“I will write words as beautiful as you”, I said.
Her silence answered,

It doesn’t exists.
Theme: Silence hears, the same silence answers, Irony it’s only me who understand. Then, nothing matters.
liv Feb 6
tell me everything you were
where you are now
where you wanna be
and i'll try to complete you
help you become
that masterpiece
you always knew you could be
we all just need a little help
sarah Feb 8
a masterpiece,
you were,
perfect in every way,
painstakingly chiseled
from stone,
every curve
made with detail
and precision.
I had
of the
I wore
the veiled
a voice
“open your
the words
came to me
In a dream,
I opened the
pages, and
began to
write every
little note
of my
spoke of
to me,
as the
of the
the flower
of unseen
to open,
a man
from the
the ocean
of love,
I, the woman
appear to him
In a vision,
"you seek
the rain
and the
rain seeks
the desert
the depths
of the mist
“why do
you wait,
and see
a eyehole,
when you
are the
of falling
the petals
fall from
the heavens,
my hands
let the
pages close,
I am the artist,
and my heart
is a canvas
where I
paint the
of love
Michaela Jan 30
The echo of your soft sound
                     there are cars around

Textured surface, I can feel it now
the valleys rise while the soil forms mounds

and here you are now.

Colder than ever but only from warmth

Kiln of my love
for I have found.

My masterpiece
Ceramics, wanting to do it again.
Rachel C Jan 21
Your mind is a mess.
Your mind is chaos.
Your mind is beautiful.
Your mind is art.
Your mind is a masterpiece.
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