Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
there is a place
there is a place
there is a place for this
and it's secure in my chest
bigger than my heart
more like my soul
there's a place for this
music
listening to maisewellermusic on instgram. Truely wonderful
Part I: The Journey

The sky unscrolls a veil of fire,
the earth inhales a womb entire.
Mountains murmur, rivers bend—
all things arise, dissolve and transcend.

The moon's pale hush, the sun's fierce call
trace shadows cast beyond them all.
The tide surrenders to the land—
no struggle, only open hand.

In every stone a silent ache;
in every leaf the wind’s live wake.
My breath not born of lung or throat
moves through the marrow, keeps it afloat.

What gives is vast and gives through all
yet mind forgets and fears the fall.
It names the love then runs from flame—
it seeks the path, then veils my name.

My soul recalls what time erased:
a rhythm lost, a fire faced.
Through fog and fracture, ash and bone,
it follows songs the stars have known.

Desire appears in shifting guise—
a thousand forms and a million eyes.
Each one a mirror lit by flame,
each one a wound that speaks my name.

And still, the Light behind the play
does not withdraw and does not decay.
It waits beneath the thrum of thought,
unmoved, untouched, yet always sought.

Not skyward— no, not upward throne—
it hums within the blood, the bone.
Let rising fall, let seeking cease:
The fire remains and the fire is peace.

The timeless ones, the inward wise,
did not pursue the fading prize.
I drank the dark and kissed the storm,
and vanished back to formless form.

No titles clung, no names endured—
yet through their hush, the world was cured.
And here the trace of footless feet—
Where I dissolve, where we all meet.
The One Within the Silence is a triptych journey through seeking, surrender, and return. Blending mystical imagery with deeply personal reflection, it explores what lies beneath striving the quiet fire that never fades. From the ache of longing, to the breaking of ego, to the discovery of peace within, my poems invite you into a contemplative space where silence becomes home.
Zywa Aug 6
In the dim twilight

of the temple my mind finds --


only emptiness.
Collection "web tissue"
Zywa Jul 26
Safely walking the streets
on the sidewalk, looking around
what's there, seeing it
as something special

Warming myself by the fire
and gazing into the flames
Letting thoughts be consumed
without missing them

Listening to the waterfall's
rush, rain
Washing myself clean
of what is to come

Circling like a hovering bird
seeing everything and nothing
Until an insight stirs
that I dive into

It happens by itself
as if I am capable of something
understand something, am something
beyond my reason
Collection "WoofWoof"
Draumgaldr Jul 23
A withered soul at the shore of dreams,
It pondered the waves as they gleamed—
Arrays of light, oh, what heaven beams,
Caused by clouds so white they seem
Formed from pearls or angel’s wings.

It prayed for this day to be its last,
For no day shall be worthy as this day will.
A weary spirit lingers where light and shadow meet, yearning for release beneath celestial whispers.
No nettles within the gardens,
No ¹needles within the haystacks.

Who made for them new navels
And showered with salted-wine what would not leave us.

Who thrushed through every grain of every chaff,
Picking out & crushing that which was rotten.


We who made the meadows free!


Who liberated they who were encased in ²amber;
Rain, Lightning, Thunder.

Who slayed the ³Fearsome Hydra.
Slew the ⁴Slithering Gorgon.

They who silenced the speaking weeds
And the whispering flagons.
Companions of the ⁵Dragon.

Who caused the Titans to bleed.
Who stitched the wound,
Who cauterized it,
Who bandaged it.

The first of us to understand,
What was the seed.
1 - Pine needles, pine snakes.

2 - Those who evolved or changed.

3 - Parasites, disease, pestilence, sickness, et cetera.

4 - "Satyrs of Cybele" - Ignorance & arrogance, especially that of which is brought on by things like psychotropics.

5 - Electric, in the context of thought and expression by that of the body's muscles. Science. Communication or illustration of one's consciousness.
Zywa Jun 20
He loves the *****,

and sometimes, I go with him --


to sit there thinking.
Collection "org anp ARK" #117
badwords Jun 18
I found an empty bottle
It’s better than
The empty cans before
It holds the same
But reaches taller
To receive
My ash
A poem about recognizing patterns of behavior in yourself and healing and growth and acceptance and accountability.
The chameleon swallowed hard.
Its tongue: hungry and burnt.
Feelings? A privilege of others.

Eyes wide open,
patiently waiting
for the flickering chance.

Who understands nature, unfiltered?
Too painful, without some sweet utopian IF
Nobody understands the vivid mortal chain.

What’s happening in his mind?
The heart - a precise mechanism
clicking down his time to the end.

Changing colors, matching seamlessly—
And what if the only help is calling?
No! Showing his tongue,
he just wants to catch a fly,
sticking her body to his hard palate.
Protein is so good for living.

But she? Her end makes sense
if we observe patterns.
Nobody notices – nobody’s fault.

Can we be a ripe orange
with green leaves untouched?
Or do we become a passing flavor
for other dining creatures chewing us,
without deeper reflection.
Next page