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Vianne Lior Feb 9
It’s the tranquility
I longed to be drowned in,
Even if I suffocate,
I’d know it leapt from what I’d become—
A monster to myself.

Even if I drown in desolation,
There’s still life in the stillness,
The quiet joy in my plea,
A glimpse of what I could have been,
If only I had not been my own monster.

But even monsters can unlearn,
Can find grace in their scars,
So I'll rise from the silence,
With whispers of who I’ll become.
In the heart of the graveyard, where darkness lingers,
Trees bend and sway their dancing skeletal fingers,
Whispers of ghosts fill the midnight air,
A chilling ghostly melody, a silent prayer.

Demons lurking, their eyes aglow,
Dancing in circles where cold winds blow.
Torches on the mausoleum flame and shadows dance,
As spirits awaken from the grave with the night's advance.

The smoke rises higher, a sparkling fire,
A haunting tune from a spectral choir.
Close your eyes, stay quiet and still,
The spirits are playing, having a thrill.

In the depths of the graveyard shade,
Ghosts sing softly, a haunting serenade.
Goblins and ghouls in a flickering light,
Dancing around fires in the dark of night.

On a mid autumn's eve, when the veil is thin,
The spirits emerge and nightmares begin.
Vampires hide in the misty haze,
Their laughter echoes through a foggy maze.

The wind plays games on the fearful kind,
Graves cast eerie shadows rising behind,
Branches reaching fingers, leaves like skin,
In the heart of the graveyard where terror begins.

Firelight dances as witches take flight,
Beckoning spirits through the stillness of night.
Flames grow higher, shadows stretch long,
A chorus of spells in a caster's song.

Flee far away and don't you look back!
For the horrors are near, red eyes turned black,
Take cover in the shadows of the fallen trees,
Feel their breath on this all hallows eve!

Midnight gloom fades, the spirits retreat,
But the forest remembers their haunting beat.
When October returns and moonlight gleams,
The witches will laugh and ghosts will scream.
All Hallow's Night inspired Poetry.
if
there was
only a way
I could explain
to you
if
there was
only a way
to tell you.
She.
Is.
Gone.
You are all monsters.
I don't miss being a girl. but I know I cant escape it.
Valentin Eni Jan 28
I

(First Night)

There seem to be voices,
Faceless,
Whispering a prayer
Or perhaps a curse.
And behold—
An axe embedded in the trembling
Surface of water.
And the water rises,
Light as smoke.
And flowers,
One by one, approach a child,
Bending over,
Trying to smell him.
Alas,
They didn’t like him.
Otherwise, one might have
Torn him from the cradle
To pin him to its chest.

And on the wall,
Another clock has died,
Its heart stopped cold.
And a sad little girl
Dresses and undresses
A doll,
As though searching
For invisible wounds—
On its chest, its ankles,
Its palms—
Like a tiny
****** Mary
With
Her child...

II

(Second Night)

An army of black letters
Seems to march across the white battlefield
Of the page,
Conquering new territories,
Leaving behind
Unseen monsters,
Beings
Without skin, without bones,
And without any distinct face,
Feeding on their own flesh
And their own entrails.

Some,
Less hideous,
Had names like:
The Winged Serpent,
The Hen-with-a-Dog’s-Head,
The Man-Melted-into-His-Own-Puddle,
The Headless Child,
And
The Soldier-with-Wolf’s-Eyes.

All of them whisper something—
A prayer
Or a curse:
"Lord, never let us
Know the scent of a child,
The scent of a woman,
The scent of a man,
The scent of danger
And death.
Do not, Lord,
Allow cemeteries of toys
Or landfills
Of homes to grow..."

III

(Third Night)

Two voices are heard whispering:
“Which of us is who?
You—a white demon, or...”
“Or you—a black angel?”

And silence fell.
Somewhere,
A mountain of light grew,
And a Blue Horse
With fiery mane
Galloped in circles
On Saturn’s rings.
The planets, like bouncing *****,
Leapt in its path.
A cloud,
From time to time, walked
Its feet across the earth.
And sometimes,
A ray of light
Pecked from the palm
Of an angel
The ******’s tears.

So far removed
From the first night!
And only sometimes,
Faint voices are heard,
Whispering a prayer
Or a curse.
R.E.M. (Oneiric) The Dream of a Madman.

Analysis of the poem made by ChatGPT:)

This poem visually explores surreal, dreamlike landscapes unfolding over three “nights.” It combines existential dread, metaphysical imagery, and a haunting sense of inevitability. Each night builds on the previous one, shifting between eerie snapshots of fragmented reality and otherworldly visions. The poem juxtaposes the mundane and the fantastical, creating an unsettling, introspective, and thought-provoking narrative.

#Themes:#

Surrealism and the Subconscious

The poem’s structure and content are deeply rooted in the surreal, resembling fragmented visions or distorted memories. The faceless voices, trembling water, monstrous beings, and celestial imagery suggest an entry into the subconscious mind, where logic and reality are suspended.

Innocence and Corruption

The first night’s imagery revolves around a child, a cradle, and flowers—symbols of innocence. However, the flowers’ rejection and the doll’s depiction of invisible wounds suggest the fragility and eventual corruption of purity.

Creation and Destruction

The second night introduces the army of letters as symbols of creation—language, thought, and meaning. However, this creation leaves behind monsters, representing the unintended consequences of human creativity, such as violence, chaos, and existential confusion.

Duality and Ambiguity

The dialogue in the third night (“Are you a white demon, or… a black angel?”) highlights the blurred lines between good and evil, light and darkness. The ambiguity reflects the duality of existence and the human struggle to define morality and identity.

Mortality and the Passage of Time

Clocks appear as time symbols, with one clock “dying” on the first night. This recurring motif underscores the inexorable passage of time and the inevitability of death.

Existence and Prayer

The recurring whispers of prayers and curses suggest an ongoing plea for meaning or redemption intertwined with an acknowledgement of suffering and futility.

#Imagery and Symbolism:#

The Axe and Trembling Water

The axe embedded in the water introduces violent disruption in an otherwise fluid and natural element. This imagery may symbolize an intrusion of chaos into the subconscious or the fragility of stability.

The Clock and the Doll

The “death” of a clock mirrors the halting of time, while the doll becomes a symbol of innocence scrutinized for damage. Together, they evoke a sense of lost time and fractured identity.

The Army of Letters

The letters are creators and destroyers, conquering the blank page while leaving monstrous remnants. They symbolize the duality of words—how language can illuminate or distort truth.

The Blue Horse on Saturn’s Rings

This fantastical image represents freedom, energy, and the untethered imagination. However, its endless circular motion may also imply a cyclical trap, echoing the repetitive whispers and questions in the poem.

The ******’s Tears

A profoundly religious image, the ******’s tears pecked by a ray of light suggest divine sorrow being consumed or repurposed, perhaps hinting at humanity’s exploitation of spirituality.

#Structure and Progression:#

First Night: The Physical and the Innocent

The first night focuses on tangible, earthly imagery: trembling water, flowers, a child, and a clock. These elements introduce themes of fragility, rejection, and the passage of time.

Second Night: The Written and the Monstrous

The second night shifts to abstract and symbolic imagery, dominated by language and its consequences. The “army of letters” introduces intellectual and existential turmoil, with monsters embodying the unintended consequences of thought and creativity.

Third Night: The Celestial and the Transcendent

The third-night moves to cosmic and spiritual imagery, exploring duality and existential questions. The Blue Horse and Saturn’s rings evoke a sense of awe and mystery, while the whispers of prayer or curses maintain the poem’s unsettling tone.

#Tone and Mood:#

Tone: The tone is introspective and surreal, shifting between eerie detachment and profound contemplation.

Mood: The mood is haunting, dreamlike, and unsettling as if one were walking through fragmented memories or a lucid dream.

#Philosophical Underpinnings:#

Existentialism: The poem questions identity ("“which of us is who?”), morality, and the purpose of existence. The faceless voices and duality of angel/demon highlight the ambiguity of human nature.

Absurdism: The surreal imagery and fragmented narrative suggest a world beyond logic, where meaning is elusive, and the search for understanding feels futile yet essential.

#Conclusion:#

“R.E.M. (Oneiric)” explores the subconscious, blending surreal imagery with philosophical questions. Its layered symbolism, cyclical motifs, and the interplay between creation and destruction make it a profoundly evocative work. The poem resonates as a meditation on the fragility of innocence, the consequences of human creativity, and the eternal tension between light and darkness. It leaves the reader in a state of wonder and introspection, mirroring the dreamlike journey of its protagonist.
inkedsolace Jan 8
i feared the monsters under the bed,
i feared the monsters that wept for me and said,
'the real monster is the one you've wed.'
//disclaimer: I AM NOT MARRIED
this was just a thought i had one day
Ejiro Dec 2024
Good news is that it was his birthday
bad news was that two important people
were not going to attend this one
their was balloons and decorations and even a cake
some of his friends dropped off birthday presents at his doorstep
the only thing he was waiting for now was his parents
so when they get home they can watch him blow out his candles
he stared at the clock watching time pass
the moon was appearing itself in the sky
indicating that it is now night time
he started to get very sleepy and accidentally slept on the couch
until a few hours later he feels someone shrugging his shoulder
he opens his eyes and sees both his parents smiling at him
he jumps with glee and hugs both of them
then he took both of their hands and dragged them to where the birthday cake was located
the parents sang happy birthday
and with one big puff he blew out his candles

after the special occasion
he playing with his new toys in his room
until he heard the telephone ringing
he picked it up thinking it was a friend of his
but he realized later it was a voicemail
“hey champ it’s your dad, I forgot to tell you sooner that me and your mom have to go on a business trip and we’ll be back next week, sorry we had to miss your birthday but we promise we’ll make it up to you when we get back” from dad
the voicemail was made a few minutes ago
he put the telephone down and wondered
“if my parents are on a business trip, who is in my house?”
Valentin Eni Dec 2024
Once,
they played in yards,
stick swords and plastic guns,
mud-streaked faces,
laughing in the sun —
their joy alive, their hearts still warm.
they built forts from blankets,
imagined war as a game,
their laughter ringing bright —

But now —
Helmets cage hollow skulls,
dead eyes made of cold glass,
stone faces locked in a grimace,
marching in perfect sync,
a death-walk of men who forgot how to live,
boots crunching dreams into dust.

This is not a game.

Their hands now, hideous hands,
clench steel that tears mothers open,
splits children’s laughter into screams,
fingers like claws on triggers,
twitching with mechanical precision.

They sow death like seeds,
but nothing blooms —
only fields of twisted bodies,
limbs splayed like broken dolls,
smoke spiralling into the sky,
a sky that they pretend not to see.

This is not a game.

A little girl clutches a doll’s arm,
her brother’s blood still warm on her cheeks,
while the soldiers, these shattered souls,
paint walls with terror —
a grotesque mural of hate and ruin.

They move like zombies,
flesh wrapped in cold commands,
feet dragging through ashes of innocence,
mouths silent, eyes empty,
the light inside them
long since extinguished.

Flesh burns.
Buildings crumble.
Old mothers wail, their voices
splitting the sky —
cries of grief-torn ghosts,
pleas unheard by machines,
hearts replaced by circuits,
thoughts reduced to orders.

I see them.
I hate them.

Machines wrapped in flesh,
monsters programmed to ****.

They were children once —
soft, human, whole —
but they chose this path.

Now, they trudge through fields of ruin,
crushing love beneath their heels,
dragging the stench of death behind them.

A world devoured by horror.
Glass eyes blink,
and with each blink,
another life shatters.

It’s blood on their hands,
it’s death in the air.

This is not a game anymore.
I created a song using Suno AI. If you’re interested, please follow the link. Does anyone know how to make links clickable?

https://suno.com/song/037ea46b-8bc4-4cfa-aae0-edfff8f27333
Emma Dec 2024
By day, in crayon lines they dwell,
Bright monsters born where wild thoughts swell.
At night they stir, with teeth that gleam,
And claws that rip through fragile dreams.
Their laughter howls; the dark's a curse.
Children's drawings often tell a darker reality and truth.
Caffeine
I cannot live with it
Nor
I cannot  with out it
For I turn into a troll
At the  strike
9 am
D Vanlandingham Dec 2024

This...  or that..
the pull of this world
and its long supply
of disappointment,  is strong

I shall Reframe my Journey
almost continually

There is a swirl..  a rising
line, taut..

before limply settling
back down onto the water

There are moments  in time
that live forever

There is a time within
those moments;
I never truly had
the chance  to live


There is a Journey to reframe


I will find my life again,  
   somewhere

Buried deep
within that framework


Aw ****... Monsters.
    including me
https://youtu.be/fe4EK4HSPkI?si=HaVtDm-Y1BTikD3F

I love you
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