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When the sun sets at night
losing its colors in the sky
All those colors wont be bright
Now a cloak of darkness has set to fold
Only to get those fancy golds
All those diamonds you had sold
The night no longer has its dew
The sky no longer shines anew
No comets and no stars
only dead heroes of wars
With those times we cant par
Now with only that dead sea of ours
The night has died
The roses have withered
And the leaves have wilt
Long ago they once said
Once you shall meet your doom
When darkness shall devour the moon
Your thrones your crowns would crumble soon
That's the end you shall meet
That's the storm you shall greet
All the darkness has consumed
All of me and All of you
__tsuki no ume
Damocles Apr 20
The pearlescent moon glows
Beside a supporting cast of iridescent diamonds
Spanned across the dark indigo expanse
Wrapped in the white gold of a nimbus
All yours for 6 easy payments.
Just reminiscing on space, the beauty of our universe and how materialistic we are as a specifies
hsn Apr 2
this is how you rise.
           shed the old, reshape the rest.  
                 stand straighter, speak softer —  
                      beauty is just another word for belonging.  

step into the light.  
           let the fabric drape just right.  
                      let the colors speak for you.  

      (if it glitters,  
                 does it matter  
                       if it suffocates?)  

  cut the hair.  
          swallow the accent.  
   paint the lips  
                the color of currency—  
                      polished,  
                              bloodless.  

       now you are seen.
   now you are wanted.
now you exist.

smile wider.
let the teeth gleam.
walk taller.
let the rhythm match.
speak carefully.
let the voice lose its edges.

(soften.
soften.
disappear.)

lovely, isn’t it?
      to be chosen?
           to be one of us?

isn’t it?
raahii Jan 23
पूछ रहा हूँ लोगों से हाल, आजकल,
सबका अपना दुःख है,
बंद हो गया है चार दीवारी में,
तौलते हैं आज़ादी, दौलत के तराज़ू पर,
फिर कहते हैं, 'वक़्त नहीं है आजकल'.
The alienation and emptiness experienced in the modern world, where the pursuit of material wealth often takes precedence over emotional well-being and true freedom. It delves into the idea of how society's priorities have shifted towards financial success, leaving individuals disconnected from each other and themselves
Emery Feine Sep 2024
Her
She was given stacks of money, more than she could see
Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds in her jewelry

She had friends that talked to her day and night
She had parents that never took her out of their sight

She had things that only the richest could afford
Piles of things she wanted on her own accord

Shoes, shirts, and dresses too
Not one day people saw her as blue

People assumed that her riches were her ideology
She was given everything, except an apology
this is my 12th poem, created on 5/30/23
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2024
~
I.
Killing Mary Poppins
with a spoonful of sugar,
the sugar from the medicine
on the other side of town,
the town called Silent Hedges
And A Bit Of Fluff.


II.
Only a display model,
her name is Marmalade;
skin white like the moon,
she wears her ****** stranger dress;
one of her sisters is dying,
the other never lived;
God is a far off concept,
the fuchsia colored ball on
an overhead power grid
points her way to salvation.


III.
Morning became something else:
bright decline,
cold things start to burn,
tragic saxophone
among the beckoning,
everything's a symptom:
tax exiles, imperialists,
girls talking nitrous
--mouths full of soil,
Virginia Reel around the fountain
(do-si-do),
ready to buy up impossibles
as the dominoes fall.


IV.
Memory is a chemical
to the girl who cried champagne,
like ceiling stars
during the prodigal summer,
she played the game
on all fours,
and found a drawer
full of quarantine polaroids,
some with blood in her mouth,
others, of rain on her birthday.

~
Sonorant Sep 2021
A pearl mansion, three stories tall
Soaring on a halcyon hill.
A stretched view to read the world.
A throne with riches to fill.

The comfort of a swain.
But carnality in silence
An everlasting reserve of cake.
A bottomless appetite in defiance.

A quail in a cage, the keys in her hand.
To pluck the plume languidly.
A daffodil to determine fate:
“I love him. I love him not.”

To spoil their fly,
To reap their fall.
Their loyalty hazily sewn
In grounds of her royal hall.

Heels encased in crystals of tears.
To lien their names
And shine her shoes
Perched high on a golden bluff.

To shutter her windows
On cloudy days.
To be a star in the night
Despite the moon’s wane.

Eternal seasons of the self.
To watch feathers move
Without the burden of wind.
The quietude of stillness but to fill the void.

To reign solely as a dreary majesty.
To kiss and then walk astray.
Or perhaps earnest denial
To pacify the pain.
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