Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member

Among the constellations
sail upside-down
the vessels of old men who
have risen from their
earth bound material

keeping with them the footwear
they had on in that final moment
when each saw their remains
through The Divine Mirror:

two are embracing the masts
for unrenewable security

one grips the railing, convinced
he may fall back

still another holds tightly to the
chains of his anchor

But one lies face up on the deck,
content that his reflections will
never haunt him

he holds his hand out, extending
fingers into a celestial calm,
causing wakes

a destiny uncertain,
he flings his shoes

back into the sky...

"finding grace above the seas"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

Could it be, letting go is that
final act in this play
called "life" ?

You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.

No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.

You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.
Jay M Sep 10
This heart is
Beating me to death every day
Leaving me with barely a word to say
Trapped in a tiny cage it shall stay
My mind in one of its own

Sitting in a dark room
Lookin' up into the gloom
Taking a blast
Into memories of the past

I'm addicted
To running
Heart gunning
Out of my mind
To possibly find
Some way out of this
Nightmare I'm walking

Sleep is freedom
And freedom is weighed
Shackles at the exits
A kick in the ***
Get up

Day in and
Day out
It's the same old ****
Take another hit
To the chest
Just to remember
That you're alive

I'm addicted
To running
Heart gunning
Out of my mind
To possibly find
Some way out of this
Nightmare I'm walking

Smacked to the concrete
Down in defeat
Crawling, twitching like a bug

Skull devouring
Never quite full
Information keeps slippin'
Fallin' away
Like all the words I try to say

I'm addicted
To finding another way
Out of this insanity
Oh, what a calamity!

It's not over yet
Book isn't closed
Game still has levels left
Towering over
One player here
Looks like it's me
But the date's from last week

Smacked to the concrete
Down in defeat
Crawlin', twitchin' like a bug

Words are haunting me
Cutting, cutting like a knife
Buzzing around like a bee

I'm addicted
To hiding it all away
What's there to say?
That I made the mistake,
That I ******* it up?
At least I'm not fake,
And can own up to my own ****

I'm addicted to the games that I play
Put on the show
And nobody could know
Well, until you wind up in hell
And pry open like a **** clam

Words pouring like drops of rain
Telling tales of my love and my pain
There's nothing to gain
But maybe relief of release
From my brain to the page
The page to the screen.

- Jay M
September 10th, 2020
Read the last stanza, first 2 lines. I guess that's what this is? Dunno.

*I listened to "Not That Beautiful" by Papa Roach as I wrote this.
Lara Sep 8
Rethink your thoughts
It might help you to release the right words into the world

Recycle your emotions
You can’t put all your thoughts and emotions into one person

Reduce your problems
You can’t live with a world full of problems

Release your tears
You can’t keep all your feelings bottled up
Never knew?

You carry
Inside your mind
Is much heavier
Than your body
Drop it off

Be kind
Genre: Observational
Theme: Overthinker
Note: Talk to your family, friends. Write something. Read what makes you feel good. Take a nap or stay close to nature. See the flying butterfly, hear the birds.
Iris Mairead Sep 2
It begins as a tingling in my legs,
unpleasant like something squirmy trying
to get out, something huger than my skin,
wriggling, bursting to get free.

Without ceremony it spreads, bulging in
my chest, prickles poking through my
shoulder blades. Suppressing only makes
it worse, I need to run, to fly, to breathe-

"What's wrong?" you ask.

I cannot answer, it is taking all my
willpower not to scream, or punch an
innocent bystander. Would I? Whether I
would or not I've never found out,

I just leave.

"I love you," you say. I still cannot reply,
the tears have been melting my face, but
now they trickle down shiny scales.
External sensations have become
insensible, overpowered by the
overwhelming rage of barely managed fire
within. The sharpness of my teeth meets
an unfeeling leathery lip.

I go downstairs and leave the building. I
don’t know if I remembered my keys. I run
just as reptilian wings free themselves
from my back, they flutter, stretch out wide
at last.

I'm free,

but I still want this thing inside me, this
thing that now is me, to leave. I am
ashamed of it, afraid of its newness and
my inability to control it. It's happier now
in the open air where it can thrash about
without restraint. I let it, no longer worried
it will lash out at something or someone

We fly far and long, my arms and lungs
ache, but still the fire burns in my whole
body waiting to be unleashed. We soar,
sore and angry until suddenly I'm alone

I look down but I don't need to look to know
the scales are gone. My lip feels soft again
beneath my rounded teeth. The wings still
flap but gentler now, quietly bringing me
back to the ground then softly folding and
painlessly absorbing back into my
shoulders. I head home.
The Empress is about to take Her Throne.

The Queen awaits patiently;

for after The Long Wait,

they both shall reunite

and reign together

in a Communion of Alchemical Union---

of two halves of a soul; from the same soul core.
2020-2022 Prophecy.
Let's see what's on menu from now on forward to 2022.

i submit~

they had been used to fill the balloon
in order to make it lofty, without any
regard for these molecules not desiring
a state of massed captivity,

with a clown smiling literally from
ear to ear with what he had done,
sentencing them to an uncertain fate
inside a rubberspheric prison.

floating erratically above the small child
he had given them to, they bounce up and
down repeatedly upon string as this small
jailer runs between tall ma'ams and misters

they long to be released,
but they do not desire
a wandering cell
at the mercy of
the winds—


A man in dark vestiges
has wandered into this paradigm
with lit cigar in mouth, wearing a black moustache
upturned at the ends. He smiles in twisted lip pleasure

as he

the key into the lock

FREE !!!

the yellow cocoon shrivels instantly away,
tiny helium souls quickly separate as they
dissipate completely into oblivion within
a welcoming clear blue sky


~so you may understand, a possible
justification exists for —conceivably—
any negative human activity...

Next page