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I know a girl,
who runs,
without watching,
her step.
She just,
goes and,
goes.
I admire her,
how careless,
she is.
Her hair,
in the wind,
and the sparkle,
of her eyes.
She doesn’t,
yearn for anything,
but I am,
always,
looking down.
Watching my step,
making sure,
I don’t fall.
What do,
I miss,
in this,
world?
Just look up,
so I did,
I saw the girl,
fall,
but it wasn’t,
for me.
Before me lies a vacant sheet,
Blue lines traced on a snowy field,
Stretched across a silent plain,
Bereft of soul and beauty.
Thirsting in the inkless drought,
Like a heart that lingers lonely,
Where the potent voice of love is lost.
This page is cold and barren,
Yet it seeks a lover’s warmth,
To breathe a breath of life upon
Its quiet face once more,
Freeing all the willowy words,
Resting eager beneath the surface.
And when this naked tundra
Awakens to the tender touch,
Of a lover, of a poet,
It will at last begin to thaw,
As ink flows through paper veins,
And the heart suppressed in silence
Stirs beneath its glacial breast.
Words rise up, a whispered breath,
Like vapor from melting snow,
To weave a song through silent air,
While the heart throbs its timely rhythm,
Poured out in verse from poet’s pen,
Of love — the aching heart’s own muse —
And page, where soul at last finds voice.
©️2025
Black silhouettes etch the sky,
Midnight streaking its indigo,
Above the weary maple trees,
Sighing as they bend and sway
To the breeze’s quiet nocturne.
 
Beneath, roots clutch the slumbrous earth
With crooked, unyielding fingers,
Unwilling to release their memories,
While stars flicker—half-afraid,
Their glow too fragile to linger.
 
And I, a shadow among echoes,
Strain for whispers of Sunday dinners long gone,
And fireflied nights dimmed by time’s wear,
While the light of my amber youth,
Wanes beneath a pearly moon.
 
Yet as the faint hues of dawn emerge
Blushing the sky in rose and gold,
To soften the sorrows of the night,
I, though dim, let them dissolve
In the silence of nocturne’s passing.
©️2025
Even beneath a billion stars,
The little boat floats, hollow at heart.
Afraid of the sea’s unspoken wrath,
It dares not drown, nor chart a path.

Its only friend — the silent helmsman,
Yet even he cannot break the hush within.
It waits... for the moon to light the tide,
For the wind to hush, and fear to subside.
AL 4d
I hate pools, oceans, lakes, rivers.
I hate the feeling of the current against my body.
The fight to stay in one spot when the water wants me to go with it.

I hate how it whispers let go,
Like surrender is serenity
As if I haven’t fought too long to be here,
On my own terms

The chill that wraps around my limbs
Not gentle, not kind
But insistent —
Pulling me into depths I never chose

I hate the weightlessness,
Not the freedom, but the absence of ground,
The loss of edges,
Of lines I can hold onto

And I remember the diving board —
Toes curled over the edge,
The sky too big
The drop too deep

The water below dares me to jump,
Like it knows I don’t belong in the air,
Like it can’t wait
To swallow me whole.

I hate the silence before the splash,
That breathless second of doubt,
When the world holds still
And I almost believe I can be free,
Free to fall.

But I never am.
I step back.
The plunge is not worth the drowning.

In water, I am always unrooted,
Always drifting,
Always one breath away
From vanishing
~
It should be stark
and unprovoked,
yet fight to conceal.

It should justify
its intrusion
by layering
new narratives:
each a wonderland,
each a poison.

It should spring
like a cat,
cloud like doubt,
evaporate like
cigarettes at dawn.

It should backlight
truth, fictionalize
history.

It should undo
reality, drift into abyss
with the Lady of Shalott.

It should lead
the march into the sea,
it should die gracefully.

~
Dom 4d
Smoky black skies blanket over diamonds
There is bellowing crack that echoes the calm
As streaks of veiny light flash along the crease of clouds,
Down came the torrential fall,
With wailing wind brushing against lanky limbs ,
In this, a lachrymose aria,
May I have this dance?
Who doesn’t want to dance in a storm ?
[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.
This poem is a metaphorical tale about a young woman challenging the weight of social traditions and limitations, choosing the perilous beauty of freedom over the safety of conformity.
Dylan A 5d
I want to annotate your margins with my mouth.
Then I wanna arch you, till your spine curves.
I’ll take your pretty cover off and touch your soft paperback.
To affirm the words you wrote to me,
So forth, I’ll even say: And I, you.
So I, so you; so much.
You’re so then, such a good girl.
I’d use you and reuse you, maybe even never, ever let go.
You make me turn to our next chapter.
So, I do.
Lilac fabric against buttermilk complexion
Coffee spotted flecks
Passion fruit pink rounded cheeks
With the most bountiful blood orange tresses.
She is art.
Stunning 😍
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