Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A Lambert chuckle was it, resting deep
Into frightful circle of trees, thereof, opening
Lantern of hope dies, shall I be more esteemed?
Rumbling with the grave of a sinner, tears wiped or not?
Shrugged is the gestures, of a dead man talking
Twittering in moans, voices of the wild mixed
Shallow timber puffs symphonies of death out loud
The decay is here’ where the deceased live no more
The final decay arrives; you shall see the color of her eyes!
The devil lives in them and smiles; Ah, the chanting
Tetiana 8h
Minutes float by like water
you pass your quiet days,
difficult thoughts becoming hotter
don't drown, dear, into fault
it's just a phase,
just put your
bad and good on place.

Your thoughts fly like the wind
but it doesn't fan your fire,
your years just ticking away.
When will you require
that sincere naive fairy tale
to fade into grey?

You take your path as a road
which weaves like a wreath
and, after all it is slowed
to boring, joyless dance,
you feel wholly disturbed
like in sad episode.

Obediently, like a clock your heart goes
that is life-weary
and faith inside it froze,
it is weak being teary.

And your faith in a dream is in mind
it used to be joyful in flight,
but you're confused in a fight
with your fears which like beasts
lay in wait to eat you or bite.

But you, my love, have your time
to catch up with your dreams
just move on, try to climb
to the sky,
overcome all the frights.

Dreams will always be yours!
Spread your wings to take off
take whatever you want and know
that dreams will destroy all the flaws.

--
(Ukrainian)

Спливають, як вода, хвилини.
ти проживаєш тихо дні:
складні думки, тяжкі години..
в тих днях ти тонеш у вині,
ти розкладаєш по площинах
думки веселі і сумні.
летять як вітер ті думки,
та не роздує він багаття,
лиш тихо жевріють роки,
а в тих роках пусті заняття,
наївні, щирі, мов казки.
та йдуть в нікуди ті стежки.

Стежки сприймаєш за дорогу,
яка плететься, мов вінок,
та, зрештою, вона убога -
нудний, безрадісний танок,
і він ще й сповнений тривоги,
що встряла в серці, мов клинок.
покірно, як годинник, йде
те зморене життям серденько,
бо в ньому віра - більш ніде -
подавлена і вже слабенька.

То віра в мрію, що в думках
колись так радісно буяла,
та ти заплуталась в страхах,
які, мов звірі, чатували,
щоб ти здалась, щоб ти упала.

Та ти, любима, маєш час,
щоб свою мрію наздогнати,
бо кожне серце має шанс
та сили, щоб жахи здолати.
біжи до неї, доганяй,
вона твоя і буде завжди!
Розправ вже крила і злітай,
бери що хочеш, просто знай,
що мрії нищать негаразди.
I got stuck
in a plot
                                        t
w
                              i                    
                                                s
                  t

and it made
me

A) Dizzy
B)  Sick
C) Light-headed
D) Aware

............(Answer)..............
Fly away black bird,
perhaps you’ll encounter a carcass
or someone kind
will offer it to you.
You’ll hide in the dry bushes with food,
Your black feathers will flutter in the wind,
satisfied and full,
your body
will heavily descend again to the ground.
Styles 1d
Your trust in us;
         makes me so *****
         it aches
         in a good way
         you take care of me
(Literal Translation from Romanian)

This poem, actually,
it's not even a poem,
just some random text
that
will waste your time
and energy,
will try to hurt you
and rub salt in the wound,
it will mess with you a bit.
That's what happens when you don't read
what you're supposed to.
This text was born
to teach you a lesson:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Alternative translation I)

A Poem Not Meant to Be Read

This poem, in truth,
is no poem at all,
just a simple text,
meant to stall—
to steal your time,
your energy, too,
to wound your soul
and rub in the salt,
mocking you,
it’s your fault.

That’s what happens, don’t you see,
when you read what’s unworthy.

This text was born with a goal in mind:
to set you straight, to make you find
a better path, a wiser way—
be cautious in the books you stray!

(Alternative translation II)

not recommended for reading

this poem truthfully
isn't even poetry,
just some random text
that will steal your time
and drain your energy,
will try to wound you deep
and on that wound will heap
salt, in other words
it's making fun of you.
that's what you get, it's true,
when you don't read what's due.
this text was meant to be
a lesson, you will see:
next time
be more careful
with what you choose to read!

(Original poem)

poezie nerecomandată lecturii

această poezie, de fapt
nici nu e poezie,
ci doar un text oarecare
care
îţi va lua ceva timp
şi ceva energie,
va încerca să te rănească
şi pe rană să-ţi presoare
sare,
adică îsi va bate niţel joc de tine.
aşa-i, când nu citeşti
ceea ce se cuvine.
acestui text i-a fost dat să se nască
pentru a te pune la cale:
altădată
să fii mai precaut
în lecturile tale!
The poem playfully critiques the act of reading indiscriminately, mocking both itself and the reader for engaging with texts of questionable value. It examines the relationship between writer, text, and reader, exploring notions of expectation, disappointment, and self-reflection.

The tone is ironic, self-aware, and lightly admonishing. The poem is a "non-poem," undermining its significance while drawing readers into its trap. Its conversational style, fragmented structure, and casual rhythm reinforce the playful nature, making the critique feel lighthearted rather than harsh.

Mocking its lack of depth, the "poem" provokes the reader to reflect on their choices and consider the value of what they consume. At the same time, it critiques the culture of superficial engagement, urging a more thoughtful approach to literature.
~a companion to “A Flawless Poem” (1)
<>
time is truly never on your side,
but it lends an assist
with a continual grinding inexorable steady draining,
but that narrowing perspective, clarifies, opens eyes wider, and yes,
simplifies and prioritizes

there is an elegance in simplicity,
and write this as a reminder
to self,
that the beauty of
straightforward brevity,
with a honed tip
is likely the fastest path
to the sticking point,
and there, and here,
will I leave you
to it,
flawlessly
I was simply singing,
watching red poppies
in the field,
thinking of nothing,
just remembering
the sea of my childhood,
as Banville does
in his book.
How pleasant it is,
even in winter,
to hear the murmur of the sea.
Kai 1d
Imagination so dark
Mind so dark
I can't see a single thing
Not even anything
Except from gore
It traumatizes me more
Than it should've
It makes me disgusted
It makes me distrusted
Of my own imagination
My imagination
Makes me cry
From being scared

Kai is my name
死ぬ is my other name
Or at least that's what my dark imagination tells me...
Imagination makes me a fool for life and dreams
I can't tell the difference between life and dreams
It's difficult because of my dark imagination
It's too realistic
My mind is a bit too artistic
A bit too much gore
I don't want anymore

It makes me scared
Scared
That I might become one of them
Whenever someone says something like- "if you stab someone under their eye, their eye will pop out." It makes me imagine it in detail. I just hope that none of my imagination will actually happen to me. It's too gruesome.
Kai 2d
She looks so divine
I'd wish she'd be mine
The way she looks at me
The way people can't see
How pretty she looks
She's as pretty as the girls in the books
She makes me mesmerized
She would never make me traumatized

It feels illegal to meet someone
As pretty as this one
I can't believe people dislike her
It's the way the sun glistens against her

You can't change my opinion about her
You can't change how greedy I am for her
I just feel so warm in her presence
I feel so good in her presence
She has such a pretty personality
Too good for me
I just want her all for me
Next page