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yasmin 3d
are you the ink
on this pad,
or the hand
guiding the pen?
he had a galaxy
in his mind
and it showed
through his eyes
it spilled
from his lips
at his fingertips
planets in his pockets
moon drops in his pen
he drew what he knew
again and again
Pooja Jajoo Sep 29
When nobody lent the ear, then it was they who would calm the storm of my mind.

annh Sep 24
Outta whack,
Outta sync,
Wanna write,
Can't think.

Words dance,
Outta time,
Bad rhyme.

Lines smash,
Commas fight,
Vowels heave,
Rhythm's *****.

Verses clatter,
Phrases crunch,
****** muse's
Gonta lunch.

Gotta write,
Gotta pen,
Words'll come,
Dunno when.

Day's boshed,
Outta sight,
Gonna bed,
Good night!
‘Nonsense wakes up the brain cells. ...If you can see things out of whack, then you can see how things can be in whack.’
- Dr Suess
annh Apr 22
Alas, for I am master of my pen;
But Calliope is mistress of me.
‘I kept reaching for my muses, my wandering muses, floating on clouds filled with their passions.’
- Chimnese Davids, Muses of Wandering Passions
Seanathon Sep 16
We remember heartache for a spell
Not because of the significance of those who have cast us off
But because it's the brightest color red
On the first of many canvases
That is until
The permanence of togetherness
Bring together both pen and quell
Not quill. Not a typo.

Pen and quell the memories of past lovers with togetherness.
Amanda Sep 14
Summer is leaving me behind
Though I wish I could go with
Following seasons is like
Chasing a monster you know is a myth

It does not make much sense to me
Living a stalker of the sun
The glare makes it hard to see
Smoke left rising from the gun

She is too smart, too fast, too fly,
For mortal man to hold
Many have given a lifetime
To catch her until they grow old

I know my place
I'm not ashamed
Let her slip away again
Just another way to reload
Ammo for my empty pen
Inspired by nature which seldom happens
Shofi Ahmed Sep 13
When the poet's pen
lends on the page
the magic can begins.

Goodness knows
who and what will read
and touch the dream!

The Sun might
turn the light off
for the cool Moon.
And the stars will never
show up in the daylight.
But day or night
in a poet's mind
they shine so bright!
In my hand I hold a ****** pen
repeatedly staked
into my hole ridden heart.
-As I write walls around my mind,
I am locked so far away
from the scolding stares
of ignorant eyes.
I mark the trail of my escape by
Silently bleeding ink across the canvas,
that is my written world.

In my shaking hand I hold a pen,
A sword secretly unsheathed each night
To resist  the unrelenting
demons that dance in the depths of my mind.
Afraid to succumb to sleep
for the fight to seize a soul so shattered
that it longer swings, slashes and stabs
at the black hands holding down
the broken body
desperate for demented thoughts to dissipate.

In my hands I no longer hold a pen,
as out the throat that screams
of a self fulfilling prophesy of pain
protrudes a pen,
and as only silence survives
an empty shell stares back,
haunted by what I've done
longingly gazing at the light far above
as I crawl out the  black pit
I willingly plunged into
for the last time.
Sometimes writing is an escape, other times it takes you to the deepest part of your mind that you fear, and sometimes it's the strength needed to break free from the hold of the darkest parts of your life.
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