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She is
in the little,
endless hums
of the night,
they are
soft spoken
in the
wind by the
poet’s pen
in stroke of
the fabric of
pages with
written by
hums of the
deep sea
arms of
the cosmos
in a flower
in the eyes
of the one
who have
the dark
to cherish
the light,
in bloom,
she rises
from the
drifted by
the seas of
the moon
to the
she rests,
the tides
until the
sun is in
the earth
stars, the
sleep and
they too, are
A M Ryder Jun 27
Something is about
To happen that
We are not aware of
Our only chance
Is to keep our
Heads low and
Act like we're
Changed men
Because we're
Very close to
The end
We need to be
Okay with mysteries
And the stories
They breed
There will always be
Far more questions
Than there are
Actual answers
In this universe and
We need to be
Ok with that
Nigdaw May 22
I'm glad there are
still mysteries
like the wind in the trees
to ancient beings
rather than understanding
how unbearably smug
would the human race be
if we knew ******* EVERYTHING
Anais Vionet Apr 10
You hope that university will answer all of life’s questions, but nope.

I don’t know, I.

There was a guy who’d been hanging around outside our residence lately. Too consistently. At first, I thought he was someone’s friend but he’s always alone. He wasn’t doing anything or bothering my roommates, but that asymmetry set off my alarms.

He looked at me once (which I suppose isn’t a crime), I think, it was quick - a blink of sharp curiosity. I mentioned it to Charles who took his picture. The next morning he said the guy’s a legit student who has no criminal record, so maybe I’m all wrong.

Every girl’s encountered a creep or two before. They’re seemingly everywhere, as if mandated by law, like auto insurance. Most girls develop a sixth sense, a creep-dar. Nowadays, creeps have a new name, “incel” ("involuntary celibate") and they’re a recognized, online subculture. Next, they’ll have a coat of arms proclaiming, “We Would if We Could.” It’s as if awkwardness, a normal human foible, has been distilled into something dangerous.

Although the campus looks like a garden or a perfectly manicured ‘stepford’ park, we joke that it’s really a locked-down, patrolled, surveilled compound, with guards, cameras and card-key access to everything. Which, I suppose, is all to the good.

Our creeper wasn’t there Friday, and he wasn’t there today, so maybe he was nothing.

I don’t know, 2.

I was in Sunny’s room. We were going shopping in a few. There was a little pink book on her bed - a diary!! I’d never seen it before and it was open, about three-quarters of the way. She too-casually moved to scoop it up, like the neglected book of a sorcerer.

My GOSSIP-dar Alerted like a class bell. “Hmm” I hummed, head-tilted, then I laughingly lunged for the book.
Sunny’s eyes went wide for 3-billionths of a second and she snapped it up with the speed of a striking cobra, “That’s MINE” she said, rigid with seriousness.
“What’s going ON?!” I asked, but she shoved it into her night table.
Another mystery!
‘Sleeping dogs,’ I thought to myself.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Foibles: a minor shortcoming in character or behavior.

When I say our “residence” I mean Pauli Murray, one Yale’s residential colleges where there are 800 students.
Anais Vionet Aug 2022
“Have you ever been in love?” He asked.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I love tech,” I revealed, “oh, and the Internet,” I confessed, “I LOVE the Internet!”

He looked disappointed. “You know what I mean,” he said.

I sighed. It’s hard to escape the long shadows cast by experiences and expectations.

“Love’s inscrutable!” I said, helpfully.

“Maybe I’ve never been in a relationship long enough for it to be love?” I asked the universe.

He tilted his head as if he were calculating something.

“What IS love anyway?” I asked. “Does love have to be an instant transcendence?”

“This isn’t going well”, I thought, his silence stood out like a curse in a cathedral.

“Let’s go to Dairy Queen!” I suggested, because that ALWAYS makes things better.

“I need an ice cream,” I said, as he looked ready to say something but didn't, “cake.” I finished.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Inscrutable: "difficult to comprehend or mysterious”
Yata bionaka Nov 2021
Oft do thoughts trickle through my idle mind.
These plays by the soul is what for it's designed.
Or so thought I. Entertaining the figments
Entertaining, remembering, my soul forments.
Stories I wish never were or at least never
Was ever a part of. But they're mine to keep forever.
Never cherished the light as I did the dark.
When puppies slept and the doggies would bark.
A mouse through the thickets, while she'd move,
Got swooped at once. Death from above.
It was an owl. It didn't hoot. It just killed a mother
But this was for her owlets so ... Necessary ******?
The paradoxes that seem weirdly against what's moral.
Like the tale of the spider in the ******.
I digress far, and the night is passing fast.
Pains of the future, which comes but never lasts.
Sprites from the past which stay and never die.
The long night puts many to sleep but keeps open my eyes.
As my thoughts dwell, the tears swell within my lids.
Intrepid imaginations assault my heart. Courage what it needs.
I think why it is that we hurt and we feel.
The scars asking me, do we ever heal?
Can't help the noise or the silence or the madness.
The grieving soul isn't oblivious of it's vastness.
The scars ask again. Did we ever feel?
The incomplete stories that my heartbeats seal.
Threatening to be revealed with every breath.
Too sharp to be left bare, like a sword in it's sheath.
The tales you sought for me to tell you.
Will only prove your fears come true.
Bones under putrid skin and open sores.
Maggots festering and oozing from the pores.
Dead ones in the open fields, vultures hovering.
Hyenas on the corpses, jeering, devouring.
Jackals eagerly waiting their turn. The aftermath of war.
Grey matter seeping through an eye the bird tore
Out. Dream of war, little soldier, and thus demystify
The mysteries of demise and my lullaby.
Nickolas J McKee Oct 2021
Will you grant me Home,
Safe passage to all your lands?
To taste divine grapes,
Embarking beautiful sands?
So afraid to hear,
Your voice soft & so sweet.
Angels guarding me,
Wandered ever will I meet.
Defeated sadness,
Sinks down below your abode.
Here found my gladness,
Finally breathing the codes.
Mysteries all found,
Yours & only Holy Home.
Mitch Prax Aug 2021
No one likes a mystery-
we hate being left in the dark.
To not know is to suffer
night after night.
What a cruel fate
to be void of
S Smoothie Aug 2021
He came and rested

like a bird on my shoulder  

Cautiously testing the suitability

and equilibrium of his perch

After a few inquisitive glances,

he seemed to ease.

I let out a slow careful breath...

Then another...

and rather gently built up a rhythm

so as not to startle him

lest he fly away.

And seemingly resolved,

he inched closer

till I could feel the flutter of his breast

and the gentle nuzzling of his head on my ear

My conciousness bade him welcome

such beautiful iridescent blues

straddled his white breast

and piercing blue eyes peered through

a velveteen mask

nestled upon a darkened beak

A striking fellow.

his weary feet belied his beautiful veneer

upon closer inspection,

I notice a small part of him missing,

maybe caught in some fierce struggle for life,

I had enjoyed him fluttering and flitting about weaving such wonderful things with trinkets collected from his travels

There was something ethereal,

yet lonesome in his posture

like that of a wise man

whose trials had marked

the strength of the lines

in his weary well travelled face

but a youthfulness glowed beneath

that smiling eyes could betray in an instant.

It felt like he knew me.

An old friend of the cosmos

that I'd crossed by and by.

And when I dared

and he dared,

our eyes met

and instantly our souls

recognised some ancient promise.

After an endless moment of acquiescence

He began to whisper his mystical wanderings chasing the astral turning of tides.

He whispered ancient mysteries in my ear,

of being lost in endless Odyssey's

revealing our secret truths laid amongst the stars waiting to transform

and reunite in some spectacular way,

some new creation

to flush away the yearning of brighter ways.

I pointed them out to him on the horizon

and I did my best to assure him they were there,

it was then that I spotted that low bow that

broke bare and it hung there

In front of him like a stalking giant,

oh well I whispered

"what's the meaning of existence,

if at least we don't try?"

And off we flew in a different direction

searching for some metaphorical chainsaw

to make for a clearer view.

We couldn't help but feel we were missing something...
A little inspiration
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