Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ryun 1d
A little girl stood by the path
heart on a gilded platter
Many people walked on by
yet not one of them saw her
By and by a wolf came past
to have a little nibble
Away back to his house of glass
he ran to chew on kibble

And then a kindly granny came
and gave a gentle pat
Upon her heart and her head too
as if she were a cat
Soon after came a bearded huntsman
armed with axe and bow
He did not want that heart of hers
but took the plate of gold

Holding now her heart in hand
holed and flattened so
She wondered how and what to do
wherever could she go

Lo and behold, a little man
appeared on the horizon
Juggling more hearts in the air
as if they were his own
From his breast an ace of hearts
with which her heart he bought
Exchange so made, he then proclaimed
it was not what he sought

So he down along the path he went
toward a distant land
Leaving just the little girl
a paper heart in hand
Above her flew a raven bold
cawing all the while
“What a foolish trade you’ve made!”
He pecked and pierced the paper tile

The raven was then chased off by
a beggar with a cart
“That looks like you’d need it no more
a relic to discard.”
Replying with a tiny shake
of her head, she turned
And trudged back home, a day well spent
with something for to wait and yearn

Again tomorrow she will go to stand beside the
path
A paper heart without the gold was surely still an
art
An old piece, reformatted and edited to replace the original. Best experienced read-aloud I suppose. Initially written as an exercise in narrative poetry.
Steve Souza Sep 23
The radio counts miles in static and song.
Three hours of worn-out melodies
and a preacher selling salvation
for nineteen ninety-five, shipping included.

A beautiful billboard lawyer leans forward,
red lips inviting, blouse open
like she's selling more than legal services.
Need a lawyer? Janet Stone will fight for what you deserve.
Justice comes easy, she claims, just call the number.

Time rolls under my tires
like my mother's worn rosary beads.
Exit signs listing faded towns I knew,
before I stopped coming home
for Christmases, birthdays, funerals:
Millersville, Cedar Falls, etc.

The rich green hills fold and unfold
just as I remember,
etched and carved
by this black ribbon highway
that funnels me home.

Half an inch of cold coffee left,
the rest bleeding my white shirt brown.
Twenty miles to the Pine Fork Gas-N-Go
the billboard says,
but I'm tired,
running late,
and wearing my mistake.

Mile marker 247:
I'm thirty minutes from faces
that will ask about my life
like it's the weather.
Safe. Surface. Polite. Prying.

Nothing that acknowledges what we both know.
The only reason I would come back home
is currently at Blackstone Mortuary Services Inc.

Wearing her Sunday best.
Clutching her rosary beads.
Eyes closed.
Lying still.
A journey home
Rose Adriel Aug 28
"Steady as She goes..."

The turmoil turned terror & life lured a luscious ledge to a sureevil.Predictions, slumped a significant idea of solace within an eraending in tragedy;She conquered nothing but merely a little piece of Heaven &Hell..."Beware of the Storm, it'll wreck us....we're doomed!"

A last sigh of hope, a lingering light - thoughts of despair &dreadful ideals idolised an idle idiocy of obstinacy.The abyss' no longer an enigma : inspite of losing espoir,Calypso's hatred pitied their misfortune...alas, the tempest turnedinequities into ****** silences."The wind...the wind's on our side boys!"

Death was worth living for while life - seemed so solitary...scarceto survive for."It's a pirate's life for me, savvy!"

The tale's to an end.

~ A. Rose
A fictional fallacy behind such a vivid & creative imagery...
Might consider this one as a tunnel of dreams too
Bree Jul 25
It was in a context of words only bound when spoken into existence. Then it became law.
Then it became the Word of Gods.
It became verses to memorize.
To live by.
A thing they coined as “the Narrative.”
Nazareth on steroids.
The birthplace of Saviors judicated in full force.
Henceforth, the Family Bible was conceived;
which was later put through much arbitration to become law.
Osaro is in iron prison,
Drowning in deep river of pain,
Seeking for an escape route,
None found.
Can't speak.
But painfully cries at heart,
Thinking of the glue joining him to hot ***.
His sugar cause him this bitter moment.
His joy makes him cry all day.
He gives her milk.
She demands for honey,
Directly from bee,
Good for her system.
He gives her honey.
She demands for sugar,
Sweeter than honey.
Sugary river expands love,
So her love will flow like sweet river.
He gives her sugar.
"No," she says,
She wants the provisions of fruits, juice and food,
So she can be a leaf.
He makes these ready.
She then demands for mansion,
Containing meal and fun.
That will suffice her.
He bond himself (in debt),
And hands her the key
To her mansion,
Beautiful like the garden of Eden.
She says, "No! Why will I be among the least?
I want an estate,
Not small,
But vaster than an empire."
He bonds himself,
Sells his siblings,
Robs,
And sells all his acquaintances.
And buys an estate for her.
Still yet, she envies,
Jealous all day.
Listens to air.
Sees the world (on Instagram).
Though among the top,
She wants to be the very top.
She then demands for the whole world.
Perplexed and Overwhelmed.
Frustrated and swimming in a pool of thought.
Osaro doesn't know what to do.
He is now a bondman.
He gained nothing in all,
And he had lost all.
All works on woman.
No reward, no profit.
His loss is her gain.
In frustration, he brings out a knife,
And hands it to his delight:
"Since I can't satisfy you,
I present my head
As a living sacrifice.
Take it,
And have the whole world."
A powerful narrative poem exploring the destructive cycle of endless desire and self-sacrifice in relationships.

"MR. OSARO" tells the tragic story of a man trapped in an ever-escalating cycle of giving, where no gesture of love is ever enough. Through vivid metaphors and progressive imagery, the poem chronicles Osaro's journey from simple acts of care—offering milk, honey, and sugar—to increasingly desperate sacrifices that consume his entire existence.

The poem serves as a cautionary tale about toxic relationship dynamics, examining themes of:
- Insatiable desire and the impossibility of fulfilling endless demands
- Self-destruction through excessive giving and people-pleasing
- Modern materialism and social media-driven comparisons
- The cost of unconditional sacrifice without reciprocation
- Identity loss in the pursuit of another's happiness

Written in free verse with a haunting progression, the poem builds tension through its escalating demands—from simple provisions to mansions, estates, and ultimately "the whole world." The biblical undertones and sacrificial imagery create a powerful commentary on love, loss, and the human condition.

This piece will resonate with readers who have experienced or witnessed relationships where giving becomes a prison, and love transforms into a burden that ultimately destroys rather than nurtures.

Genre: Contemporary Poetry, Social Commentary, Relationship Drama  
Themes: Love, Sacrifice, Materialism, Identity, Self-Destruction  
Tone: Melancholic, Cautionary, Tragic
Reece Apr 24
When Fern replaced Jack,
There was no turning back.
It felt like an attack,
And then the friendship cracked.
As the people chose their factions,
And Jack found himself alone,
He came to the conclusion,
Breaking free from his delusion,
That the only person’s word that he could count on was his own.

It happened rather fast,
A single moment passed.
A new transfer student,
Felt that he needed to be included.
He didn’t want to be alone,
So he found the nearest friend group,
And hoped they’d take him as their own.

He walked to the group,
Who were trapped in their coops,
Scrolling through their tombs,
Not having anything to say.
Fern cleared his throat,
His anxiety was flying high.
As he stuttered,
“H-h-hi-hi.”

The group was surprised, someone new had bothered,
To approach them,
Especially someone so nervous.
They pondered,
What his ulterior motive was,
As they looked him up and down.
Fern frowned.
Were they judging him?
His hands shook,
As sweat trickled to the ground.
Eventually, Jack got up,
Took his hand and shook it.
“I’m Jack!”
The moment,
That Jack wished he could take back.

Freshman year went on,
And nothing consequential changed.
Fern grew closer to the group,
As life kept turning the pages,
Of their stories,
Growing closer to the heartbreaking ending.

Sophomore year began,
And Jack noticed that things felt off,
Not oppressive,
But enough that he wanted it to stop.
Fern brought another friend along,
And Jack found himself sitting alone,
Fern’s friend just seemed more interesting,
Than Jack ever was.
Jack’s friends used to talk to him,
Then they didn’t.
Jack figured out right away,
That this was how it felt to be replaced.

So Jack went out of his way,
To avoid his “friends” every day.
If they didn’t care,
He wouldn’t let it tear down his sails.
It hurt,
But he knew he’d heal.
He’d leave them behind,
Clawing at his heels.

When Fern replaced Jack,
There was no turning back.
It felt like an attack,
And then the friendship cracked.
As the people chose their factions,
And Jack found himself alone,
He came to the conclusion,
Breaking free from his delusion,
That the only person’s word that he could count on was his own,
And that was okay!
I've been through a situation similar to this in my life, and it never feels real. Things changed so quickly.
Next page