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Spurious correlation is when two random variables line up,
Such as shark attacks increasing with the amount of ice pops sold,
Unfortunately for health nuts, ice pops don't cause shark attacks.
But what is truly spuriously correlated is this bullet board,
That I am using to unravel the secrets of writing today.
Such as the number 122 lining up with severely different artists,
As well as well defined writers turning into many missing cases.
If I was ever offered a job as official poet detective,
Of course I would take it, but I would run circles each day.
Official Poets' Association Of Detectives
My love will reach every atom of your being—
touching the physical with my lips,
the unseen with my heart.

And beyond the atoms,
my love will reach the mysterious force
that binds them,
the force that shaped you
into the soul I treasure.

With my soul,
I will connect to yours,
beyond the visible,
beyond the known.
SPhiros 6d
Feelings unravel, turns into mess
Butterflies rumbling inside my chest
Indescribable this feels
Pain.. it shall be
Haven't felt this way in forever
Hurting about something not to bother
Gentleness isn't something with comfort
In pain you find a lullaby it matters
Who hurts and who hurt
It doesn't matter
For my soul had chosen
Its you who matters
SPhiros 6d
My name is something lost then found
Screamed by one of the greatest mind
Both a mystery and accomplishment
Under the water I was made
Told of cultures that is ignored then found again
Willing to keep everything alive
Art is something daily seen
Yet heard and also feel
Mathematics that hides within the depth
In the naked eye you can't possess
Innovating it makes us closer to each other
With less words connects us to one another




Hint: My name is hidden
I choose to publish this as my first poem. This account is made anonymously, I changed everything from email to username. But through poems you can connect to one another, you can get to know a person and how they think, so if you can figure it out, I guess it's worth that you also know my name:) Thank you.
Immortality Mar 12
The wind was howling,
the moon was glowing,
and me?

Trying to glimpse
the stars,
hiding from me.
trying to reach for something just beyond me.
Ankush Mar 11
A lovely she is..
I watch her all day.

From dawn to next day,
I wait in dismay.

Each sunset I stare,
My white window's view.

I can not find her.

Each night i spent,
And of each day's lament,
More i want to know,
The meaning of the white,
Window engraved.

This white wall ,
And the white window.

It's too shiny,
The bright coating.
Its viscous colour,
Dripping ,
drop by drop,

I can't seem to break by,
Halting and trying,
rock by rock.

I do have a chair to rest,
But I wait for her,
standing,
By window's view ,
& I wait.

I do have the other wall,
I do have another window,
But I can't seem to make myself
Break through the white wall,

While by the moonlight,
I stare her shadows engraved.

Why this white wall,
Seems a storm to the
Beautiful rainbow,
And if i all i could is wait
Then Why is this white window?

A lovely she is..
I watched her all day.
Maryann I Mar 6
A hush upon the water’s crest,
where morning spills in golden rest,
a figure drifts in light’s embrace—
a dancer poised in fluid grace.

She bends, she sways, a feathered sigh,
her alabaster wings comply,
each ripple waltzes at her feet,
as if the lake and she compete.

No step misplaced, no hurried flight,
she moves as if she weighs but light,
a whisper in the dawn’s repose,
where every motion softly flows.

Yet in the dusk where moonlight wanes,
another shadow breaks the chains.
A glint of coal, a sharpened glide,
a phantom in the silver tide.

Her beauty sings a darker song,
a wilder pulse, both fierce and strong.
No fragile twirl, no measured bow—
she rules the water, here and now.

She cuts the lake with silent power,
the night bends low, the stars turn sour.
A haunting echo in her wake—
a ghost of grace, a breath to take.

One swan to soothe, one swan to strike,
one day, one night, both wrong, both right.
Two echoes spun from fates untold—
one draped in white, one cloaked in gold.
Sara was the designated babysitter in the neighbourhood
She was booked solid for two months, she was that good
All the parents loved her because she was a sweet girl, saving up for college
She would study and read, soaking up all knowledge
This helped with the difficult children, like the Milton’s twin sons
They were hellions who would run around shooting off their, pretend, guns
Sara was asked to babysit them Saturday night
It’s a huge mansion, with glass walls & always gives Sara a fright
But they always gave her quite a bit of extra money
That night she gave the boys a treat, two cookies with oats & honey
With the boys in bed she decided to watch a movie, when she heard a bang
When she went to check it out, the phone rang
“Have you checked on the children?” this creepy, deep voice said
She checked on the boys, they were fine sleeping in their bed
So Sara went to check all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked
Then as she sat back down, on the front door someone knocked
Sara, with caution, looked through the peephole
There was no one, not a soul
A little spooked, she decided to get a book and quietly read
The phone rang and again the deep, creepy voice asked the question, filling Sara with dread
“This isn’t funny, who are you?” she pled
But the line went dead
She checked on the boys once more, they were sound asleep
She figured it was just some immature creep
The phone went off, with the same question
She texted a friend, she wrote back to ring the police for a trace, it was a good suggestion
Sara phoned the police and asked them if they could please trace the call
The guy phoned, asking the same question with a drawl
She was waiting for the police to respond, when she heard a noise on the second floor
Sara became scared to her very core
When the phone went off, she picked it up & the officer told her with urgency
That the calls were from inside the house, Sara tried to ring the Milton’s number for an emergency
But they didn’t pick up and then all of a sudden everything went black
When the Milton’s finally came back
The boys were fine, but no sign of Sara, so they searched the entire house
In the east guest room, strangled, bruised and dead, she was found by Mr. Milton’s spouse
Behave and check the children if you dare
So ends this tragic tale



Based On An Urban Legend
Just an Urban Legend based of the story of The Babysitter
I am not alive, although I am not dead
I need to sleep in a coffin not on a normal bed
I can also sleep in my earth’s dirt & mud
I don’t eat food, i feast on warm, juicy blood
I have very sharp, pointy fangs that glisten in the light
The only problem is, I can only come out at night
I dare not go outside in the day as i burn in the sun
But surprisingly I do have all sorts of fun
I am classified with other mythical creatures
I don’t believe, I know I have beautiful features
I have decades of knowledge; so, I tend to be smart
I can be killed by a sharp stake right through to my heart
I can also die if you cut my throat or cut off my head
I can make you feel either desire or dread
And hell no, I do not sparkle, I am a the macabre & heartless
I am a vampire; and I reign the darkness
Can you guess before the end
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