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harperb 1h
bandaids on bullet holes
they clearly don’t work
but you try anyway
all the time
try and try and try again
it’s like you forget everytime  
so you add another, and another
you’ve added so many,
you can no longer see the original wound
so you believe it’s fine for a while
then it started becomes infected
it stings and you wonder why
well, the bullet is still under your skin
you never removed it
its still there, burrowing itself even further into your skin
you keep trying to push it out of your mind
but hiding it made it worse
you think about it all the time
and when someone reminds you of it
it stings
every
single
time
If we put all our ideas on the back burner
wouldn't we be stuck with undercooked concepts
Angel 3h
The glass is already shattered.
The whole house looks like it's beaten and battered.
The darkness inside of you and me
has shown itself to be
way more than just a shadow.

His plan is as old as time—maybe even longer:
weasel his way in, then… just divide and conquer.
He plants his little seed,
then watches from afar
as we break each other's hearts.

We always knew that he was there,
though at first, we didn’t much care.
We knew his presence was strong
but thought our love would never steer us wrong.

But if he can get us to turn on each other
without lifting a finger—then why bother?
Who better to hurt you
than the one you love the most?
Who better to **** a heart than its host?

And instead of purging him out,
we invited him in—
even showed him around.

We held the key to every door,
but every time, chose the same as before.
As you and I fought for control,
he set up shop and claimed his role.

We were so busy, neither of us caught it.
By the time we did, it was too late to stop it.
Pain, anger, and regret eventually take their toll,
until we forget how it feels to be whole.

The cut runs deeper still
when we realize it was done by our own free will.

Now the only question that remains…
is what happens next
when we turn the page?
Pavel Rup 10h
Гром грохочет! Дождь — стеной.
В небе молнии сверкают...
Сильный ветер налетает.
Дождь примчался затяжной?
Скоро, скоро всё узнаем.

В городском дворе — аврал!
И машины завывают...
Дружно фарами моргают.
Смотришь — «телесериал».

Но светлеет неба свод —
Снова голуби летают.
И дождя не замечают...
Посмотрел я — дождь прошёл!

Кап-кап-кап — на подоконник.
Посветлело. Дождь прошёл.
Ну а что всё это было?
Полчаса — и всё вдруг смыло!
Дождь покапал и ушёл,
Пошумел он — побеждённый!

Вот и солнышко сияет.
Ну, как не было дождя...
Только лужицы сверкают,
Да асфальт блестит слегка.

Ох! Вороны всполошные —
Всё о чём-то: «кар да кар»...
Кружат танцы вековые —
Всё, как времена былые.
Так кружится белый свет.

Кружат грозы, кружит время,
Ненаглядный белый свет!
Не узнать другое племя.
Время есть?.. Уже и нет!

Annotation:
This poem captures a summer thunderstorm as it happens: the roar of thunder, flashing lightning, the chaos of the city — and then, just as suddenly, silence, light, and reflection. From fleeting raindrops to eternal time, the verse moves from vivid everyday images to timeless meditation on life’s transience.
Quiet whispers in the night
Where moonlight dances soft and bright
Love blooms like a gentle flame
In loving hearts there lays a name
Rising with the morning sun
A promise that the day’s begun
To heal wounds and mend the scars
To guide lost souls and fallen stars
Humanity lies within your soul
Within your heart a story told
Threads of kindness a touch of grace
A secret world in a sacred place
Through every tear and every fear
Love and hope all through the years
So let us cherish and always hold
The dreams of now and tales of old
Take a deep breath and then release
With love you'll find an inner peace
Love lies within
Laura 12h
I found all these poems
That don't mean **** anymore
Because they're from a time
That doesn't mean **** anymore
And they're about a person
Who doesn't give a **** anymore

The worst part is
I still give a ****
About this ****** person
From all these ****** poems
Even though I ******* shouldn't
Because I'm not a ****** person
Because now the slave and the master are equally typical; no one is given ownership rights anymore, a diluted, smooth bargaining handshake just scares you into lives and infinity. Is the current consciousness of Lack just a nonsense grotesque epochal picture, or an intentional one, which is no longer possible to fill sufficiently and with dignity?! Is it a big reckoning or who clings to the dwarf dreams of their embryonic age these days?!

The simple man now walks his fate as a slave with a household book, because there is hardly anything else left, at least here; stumbling on stone-heavy instincts, blinded reflexes, he should now serve a higher power with a tough, yet stubborn penguin-like slobber, because even the silenced mouth will sooner or later realize how much of a sucker and fool it is.

Above their heads, millions of scalpels and blades are already trembling with pure malice. Because what kind of vile, manipulative ideas brainwashed minds do not want to create a common humanism in the name of reason and free thought, which has perhaps always been considered a shortage in human minds?

A meager starvation-wage career, or a total failure?! Because it may seem that this is all that could remain; a ******, defiant lust for power, or an over-boiling pride, goes on and on, on the canvases of haphazard little idyllic dreams, pathetic filth, innocent people are constantly squeezed out by a non-existent promise, call, bargain, which may slightly ennoble the public feeling humiliated to dust. Living and witnessing people wander halfway between embodied shadows. The cunning answers of condensed anxieties cannot be measured, cannot be redeemed!
So, where do we go? It's soul-crushing, a demand that echoes through the years.
The heartbeat of America pulses on, yet dizziness grips us,
little bits and pieces of a fading dream.
The wind blows from the west to the east, carrying whispers of what's to come.
I wait, expecting something, anything, to break the stillness.
Time is fixed, yet constantly shifting, overwhelming in its passage.
It adds and subtracts, a ledger of moments, memories, and losses.
And with final details, we're part of the chaos, a fragment of the whole.
The sky unscrolls, a veil of fire,
The earth inhales, a womb entire.
Mountains murmur, rivers bend
All things arise, dissolve, transcend.
The moon’s pale hush, the sun’s fierce call,
Trace shadows cast beyond them all.
The tide surrenders to the land,
No struggle, only open hand.

In every stone, a silent ache;
In every leaf, the wind’s own wake.
A breath not born of lung or throat
Moves through the marrow, keeps it afloat.
What gives is vast, and gives through all
Yet mind forgets, and fears the fall.
It names the love, then runs from flame;
It seeks the path, then veils the name.

The soul recalls what time erased
A rhythm lost, a fire faced.
Through fog and fracture, ash and bone,
It follows songs the stars have known.
Desire appears in shifting guise,
A thousand forms, a million eyes.
Each one a mirror lit by flame,
Each one a wound that speaks a name.

And still the Light behind the play
Does not withdraw, does not decay.
It waits beneath the thrum of thought,
Unmoved, untouched, yet always sought.
Not skyward, no not upward throne
It hums within the blood, the bone.
Let rising fall, let seeking cease,
The fire remains, the fire is peace.

The timeless ones, the inward wise,
Did not pursue the fading prize.
They drank the dark, they kissed the storm,
And vanished back to formless form.
No titles clung, no names endured,
Yet through their hush, the world was cured.
And here the trace of footless feet,
Where I dissolve, where we all meet.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 is a trilogy of seeking, relinquishing and awakening.
This first part: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲, traces the restless movement of the soul through wonder, fear, forgetting, and remembering toward the hidden fire that abides beneath all change. It is the path of searching in stone and river, in silence and shadow, in memory and desire. The poem is not meant as doctrine but as a mirror, for the quiet flame lives differently in each of us.
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