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Stifin 5d
A pulse of darkness sleeping within,
Beyond the light, it's secret twin.
He who's sleeping all this time,
Awakes now, rising in his prime.
A shadow with horns, humming along,
So gentle, yet why does it feel wrong?
An aura so ominous it gives shivers,
So strong that even light withers.

It's the demon inside me, shrieking!
I can feel it rising, giving me power.
My heart is charging, it's striving!
The light is losing, it got devoured!
Those virtuous moments all forgotten,
In a single pump of the devil's deceit.
Look how your reality begins to rotten,
This is what it wants, evil is in heat.

A reflection, I saw my eye so beautiful
That eye of pure deception, how powerful.
I have absolute freedom, this is my peak,
Is this really the world? I see it so weak.
There's so many pawns in the game,
How exciting! I'll burn them all into flames!
So the story of this poem is your evil side taking control over you. On the 1st stanza, it's a introduction of what is the subject which is the demon, the 2nd stanza is about revealing the demon inside you, lastly 3rd stanza is a reflection of what is inside you, and how you see the world through that.

So the stanza represents the mind, spirit, and body. I'm gonna keep make poems like this with some story in it like the other poems I made. I want to practice more and improve.

I hope you like it!!🌺🦋😖
Stifin Jan 11
How beautiful can it be?
The chaos of oddyssey,
That I thought was a misery,
Turns out to end in serenity.
When It all started within me,
To where I thought I was free.

A silhouette inside me who brings bliss.
It whispered saying, "join me in the abyss."
What harm can it do, so I agree,
It's fun and beautiful, like a fantasy.
I wish this could not end,
"It won't" said the silhouette friend.
Suddenly, my reality, it's burning!
As if my life is decending.

Someone save me, please!
My reality is not at ease,
I'm stuck at this disease.
Help is what I seize,
Look, i'm down to my knees,
Begging to exceed.

Is my shadow talking to me?
He brings a monster so scary.
It attack and demanded,
My comfort and joy, I handed,
It smiled and stop, he finally fade.
Why such sacrifice must be made?
The monster left me in peace,
Giving me life that I please.

How beautiful can it be?
So this is what they call reality.
A journey that you must see,
Where you practice vulnerability.
Embracing your tranquility,
The true path of serenity.
I made this poem with some story and transition. I'm practicing this kind of poems, I would like to make more like it in the future. I love this poem🥰🌺🦋
Zoe taylor Dec 2024
A sagging Gladius wallows inside me, limply,
It's rotting in its own wretched flaccidity,

I see others around me nurturing bounds of fruitful irises,
Some even mother sycamore, burgeoning with vigour, effortless as chaste kisses,

Tender fertilizer blots my chin in a bloodied marling,
I ingest the stolen soil, even when I feel the white sting of my innards' snarling,

So I'll inject myself with litres upon litres of putrid compost,
Only for my gladius to continuing shrivelling within my innermost,

It's stem-deep in nutrients, and is none the less decayed,
Atop the valley, even in the passing June, it stays, wilted withered and frayed,

Now, all I'm left with is the curdle of wetland moss festering in my blood,
Weighted with this fetidity, I let my gladius go, dead, in peace and clotted mud.
Feel free to interpret as you please, however my poem is originally written is about your potential/inspiration dying and no matter what you try to do to keep it alive (Basically its about Burnout). Even when you attempt to steal ("I ingest the stolen soil") and use other elements of another's work, you still feel uninspired and are not driven to be creative at all even when people around you seem to have the ability to do it so easily.
Zoe taylor Dec 2024
Disassociating in the ebony mirage,
I called your name, knee deep in that tender visage,

You didn't answer, so I sung to the fireflies at my windowsill,
I kept crooning, but I knew they never really cared for my fill,

Serenading until my throat was limp and hoarse,
I left it bruised indigo with mellifluous force,

By both the luminescent bugs and the Empyrean sky,
My ballad was left, bound and dry.
An allegory for loneliness, and being unable to make new connections. The fireflies in this instance being potential friends or lovers but fireflies die young, they don't last very long, neither do connections made in disparity.
Zoe taylor Dec 2024
I felt the sting of nightshade bubble up inside me,
Once more, I cough up the bloodied Solanaceae.

Purged into my lap, budding with flesh,
Pallid petals ripe with Persian plum mottle, gored and fresh.

Racking my body in waves of herbaceous excruciation,
Crawling up my throat, clawing in botanical mutilation.

Lain out on the creased stone,
My macabre of a garden is blotted with the watercolour of my own.

Weary from retching, I stare at my withering ***** with distain,
I shrivel internally at the burden of mopping each and every stewed stain.

But I know I must clean the mess I've forged,
Because its nobody apart from me, who impulsively gorged.
This poem I have written is an allegory for impulsive anger. The act of vomiting nightshade is a metaphor for lashing out, the flowers used as a substitute for harmful words and the dread of cleaning is the regret for the harm the intentionally caused by the outburst. Feel free to interpret as you please and comment on the poem if you enjoyed reading <3
Man Nov 2024
When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.
But we keep trying!

Inspired by a comment from another poet, badwords.
:)
lilli Nov 2024
my blood is warm
when it spills
drip—ping
down
my
thighs
my heart longs
to speak words,
secrets of
the flesh
but instead
she just weeps
and pounds against
my ribs, her cage
and my stomach
is wet with her tears
i always have felt that i feel emotions that i will never be able to confess properly, that no one could possibly understand what i feel. it feels like hands around my neck, that thought.
Man Nov 2024
Plenty, long - it is pitiful.
Is it never better than to taste of it?
Empty, numb - it is pitiful.
Is it naught that is more flavorful?

In the living glass of the universe
I am a liquid,
Drink the drink.
By the marsh like mixture of life,
Split the iris,
Eye to eye.
As the electric echo of an echo
Waves as expression,
I am a particle.

I am the light

By the gypsum rose grown.
I am the order borne out of the primordial.
In weaves & webs perennial,
I am the pyramid doubled.
By the barycenter offset zero,
I am without mass & weightless.
In the predeterminants of the hypermatrix,
I am a bolt of lightning and the thunder.
By the storm of the ocean struck,
I am a standing wave in motion.

Material and immaterial.
Man Jun 2024
Our chariot soared through the tunnel
And from out of the dark, light.
The sight of the city erupting
With fires' glare burning bright,
Venom like a snake's bite.
Vast buildings careening down,
As we maneuvered around them
The air was thick with smoke
And the smell of lead & sulfur,
The ground shook in violence.
We landed in a clearing,
The end was close at hand
The limits to see it, subjective;
For many laid dead in our stead,
Many enemies & siblings come to head,
And long did we have to tread before rest.
I unfurled the flag
And hoisted it up overhead,
Flying high on the mast.
I said my prayers
And made my peace,
Before the rain began.
All around me was storming,
Shutters battered marble
Amid crys for no quarter-
Blood was to be our recompense
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