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MetaVerse Apr 5
The shuttlecock, served,
Goes over the net.
I'll probably lose
The dollar I bet.

Over the net
It goes back and forth:
It goes north to south,
And it goes south to north.

The birdie in flight
Flits like a sparrow.
She hits it so hard
It darts like an arrow.

I smack it as hard
As I can possibly smack it,
And, wouldn't you know it,
It's stuck in my racquet.
Ian K Mar 27
Why I keep the fire alive, I don’t know.
It wasn’t particularly strong,
or explosive.
You couldn’t have used it to fight any wars,
or heat a city.
From the outside, it was nothing special.
Destined to flare, flicker, then fade.
But to me,
it was soft and warm.
Just enough to keep a hope alive.
But what if that hope burns brighter?
Brighter than I could dream?
Maybe it’s not a hearth, strangled in the crib,
but a wildfire, being nursed to devastating force.
I don’t know. I guess an arsonist
is more interested in the lick of the flame
than its bite.
It’s selfish then;
keeping these embers a glow.
…I’m fine with that
There's a Play
~
There's a play,
& you are the actor.
Sadly,
you don't know the script
or the story to follow.

You still perform
aware or unaware.
It’s an enigma.

Scene by scene,
sequence by sequence,
Drama
Suspense
Romance
Mystery
Tragedy
Thril­l
horror
Adventure
Action..... More's

a floor of diverse genres.

Each performed scene
Hints & Script to the next,
a prelude to another act.

~
Look ahead
what’s coming next?
Are you ready to act?
& remain unpaid?

And then, the intermission...

leading to unfathomable End.~

The End ~~

My Act//Scene of writing this is successfully ended !

The End finally ~~
We’re all just actors in a play~
But we don’t know the script no matter what we say.
irinia Mar 25
some days I can't help wondering what would
Anna Karenina say to madame Bovary
let's say they exchange ruminations, decide the future of clouds,
wonder if memory works like the fossils trapped in sand beds
ask one another what lipstick colour is trendy this year in Paris, Milan or Madrid
argue over their genesis, who is the winner
mind heart bone tissue trapped together
no, not sure about their order in a female lineage
do they descend from the Great Mother or
were they born from the head of Zeus
talk about anything but love: moonless nights, Kafka,
the purpose of life, the fragility of leaves, Victorian women
Madame dreams of Freud, Anna knows Darwin
contrary to their inbuilt frame of reference they wait for a fresh dawn,
touch their bodies with female eagerness.
behind their eyes love's net is heavy with meaning
just fooling around on a spring day :)
Cordelia Mar 15
Someday someone will see the play of my life; my curse,
And she’ll find you, you - my favourite verse.
She’ll know how our eyes met and hear our voices dance,
But she'll never know what I felt, when I took the chance.
The gods smiled and quipped “Love is truly blind”,
“We live on borrowed time, love, and I don’t mind”.
What happened she’ll ask, just hold his hand,
But how could I ever tell her, she’ll never understand.

It wasn't just an epiphany, no, I knew it from the moment we met,
In the glances that lasted just a second less.
Over and over I asked myself, “Why must you stay then?”,
But heaven knew I didn't want to put down our pen.
I could still see us, somewhere in the bittersweet haze,
But your “I love you”s always meant that I was just a phase.
I didn't jump and rejoice “The stars have aligned”,
“We live on borrowed time, love, but I don't mind”.

You told me you loved me straight from the heart,
But your words and your heart were always miles apart.
I told myself “That’s it. It's over. You’ve had your time.”,
Maybe some loves aren't meant to be divine.
I knew we were no longer my beloved rhyme,
The show’s over, darling, we’re out of time.
When I look back, I doubt I’ll ever hit  rewind.
“We lived on borrowed time, love, but I didn't mind”.
Winter Mar 4
today it was hailing
and my socks were soaking wet
but I let down my walls
and released my safety net

now the sun on my face
allows me a little escape
to breathe, open my eyes,
and let life's colors take shape

it's okay to dance! I say,
dance the soft day away
like a fiery fairy, free,
my inner child came out to play
exuberance for life
Saman Badam Feb 16
It's winter time and I am frozen still,
Like meat in fridge, my body heeds me not,
With will like crushed and salted ice, oft lull,
And face like cracked berg with drying snot.

But, I've to drag myself to work and earn,
To keep the meat in fridge and heater on.
And only want to curl in cold like fern,
While envy each and every snail at dawn.

It's summer time and I am leaking sweat,
And smell like egg gone bad left out too long.
While craving indoor cooler, filled and set,
A drink in hand and toasting bygone songs.

But I've to drag myself to trim the lawn,
In summer sun that cures and dries like speck,
To show the worn and hidden cobble-stone.
And forget scarf and hat, so burn my neck.

It's autumn and I am sneezing again,
And strong enough to dust our attic clean,
Enjoy a cup of apple cider glen,
And sleep on couch while facing down in jeans.

But, I've to drag myself to rake the leaves,
With no respect for me to fall at once,
And slowly one by one a dance it weaves,
While wriggling branches at me like I'm a dunce.

It's springtime, I am splattered full of mud,
While inside stuck because of vernal rains,
And want to walk the outside blooming world,
While smelling daises near the creeping vines.

But, I've to drag myself to clean the porch,
As all the boots from outside track in sludge,
Against the many insects, stand the watch,
And soak and rub the stains as they won't budge.

And want to roll and make the angels snow,
And want to **** the mango flesh from seed.
And climb the golden tress so girls could wow!
And run through ankle deep of grass and ****.

But I've to drag myself to shovel yard,
But I've to drag myself to clean the pool,
But I've to drag myself to paint the wood,
But I've to drag myself to oil my tools.

Another year has come and gone again,
While want to do so much in little breath,
And want to change my ways to freedom gain,
To hide my craggy, jagged edge in sheath.
Bekah Halle Feb 5
“I want to create,”
I said to myself.
To let bubble up what’s deep inside.
To live: jump off the shelf.

So splat, plonk, slam dunk.
And then from play,
To deeper things of this world,
To question: why are things this way? 

From thinking about me,
To think about us,
From survival, limitation, and not enough,
To live out the plan, maximus.

Throwing off the constraints 
Letting things fly,
Being intentional,
Seeing the significance if we don’t try.

The world needs us,
Today: right now!
Be present; hear the call,
Plant the seeds we’re born to sow.
Blaire Blues Jan 30
Act I
Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses.

Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea!

Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection.

Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up)

Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds!

Dover:what even caused such a commotion?

Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum
the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes!

Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore.

Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours?

Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems.

Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs!

Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting.

Awfully surprised Dover reads.

Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord!

Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains.

Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes!

swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs!

It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills!

Dover shakes his head exasperated.

Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones!

End act 1
Oliver Feb 1
I never knew you wore a mask,
Not one stitched of velvet and lace,
But something deeper, carved in silence,
A role you played without a stage.

They called you charming, bold, and bright,
A leading star in life's cruel play,
But now I sift through tattered pages—
Scripts you wrote, then cast away.

Each line rehearsed, each smile strained,
A careful act, a practiced art.
But somewhere in the endless stage,
You lost the echoes of your heart.

Did you ever dream of slipping out,
Of shedding costumes, painted grins?
Or did the role become so seamless
You forgot where it begins?

Your laughter filled the hollow halls,
Your voice rang sweet, devoid of doubt.
Yet I can see it now—between the lines,
A silent plea you dared not shout.

And when the curtain slowly fell,
Did you expect a standing cheer?
Or did you hope, in some cruel mercy,
That no one saw you disappear?

I found the notes you never spoke,
The truths you buried in your chest.
The world’s applause still lingers hollow,
Yet you have finally found your rest.

So take your bow, oh phantom friend,
Beneath the lights that burn so bright.
I only wish I'd seen you sooner,
Before you faded into night.
I like making story's and the story behind this poem is the speaker learns their late friend didn't really know who they were and felt like they were pretending to be someone they weren't. when the friend realized this it was already too late they didn't know what was really them and what was a forced act. the reason for the late friends death is up to you, it could be self inflicted or sickness, or any other reason.

When I was proof reading and finalizing this one it made me cry.

I came up with a few ideas for the title here they are
The Mask You Wore
Applause for a Ghost
Lines Unspoken
A Role Too Well Played
A Role Well Played
The Tragedy of You
Obviously I chose Applause for a Ghost but I like them all so I wanted to share what the potential titles could have been.
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