Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Spriha Kant Oct 1
For concealing myself from the wicked eyes of melancholy , I tightly hug reverie and melt into its fragrance on intertwining with it as a twinkling soul.
clementine Sep 27
fairy floss skies and white beaches surrounded by azure seas, saw you with your charcoal hair blown by the wind. your muscular arms wrapped around me and kissed the tips of my fingers. your voice drew me like how a pollen draws a butterfly and said i'll be your forever horizon. then, someone once asked me why am i always lost in my cerulean reveries. i told them, perhaps, reality aches.

under the furls of wavering clouds, all i see is that untouched stare. untouched feeling of something magical. tried to reach you but suddenly you turned into a flurry of snow. snowflakes, just like dreams, beautiful but falls down and melts. i just want you to find me, to fill these gaps betwixt this void in my heart.

"but you're just a fantasy, a fruit of my imagination."
"but you're just a fantasy, a fruit of my imagination."
"but you're just a fantasy, a fruit of my imagination."

no more fantasies and no more lovesick daydreams, gotta face reality but i'm afraid. afraid to touch the tips of the authenticity of love. lost and confused. i don't know what to do. perhaps, i'm gonna let it come to me once again.

gently whispering enchanting spells to my dreamy ears, bringing me to the majestic feathery silk of flowers. putting me into a cavernous sweet slumber. yes, drown me again.

"you'll never be a forgotten reverie."
"you'll never be a forgotten reverie."
"you'll never be a forgotten reverie."
still lost
Jennifer May 2
love, i dream of you
often. my
mind is lost in a
haze aphrodite
cast upon me;
my skull is a
honey-***,
waiting to be
scooped
up by some loving
hand.
This morning
bird song
like black tar ******
incapacitates

dizzies senses
slight numbed
by minor isolation

all too brief
a moment of reverie holds

before returning to
web spun garage
and forgotten loft

to make busy
Daniel Feb 5
Far beyond the gable ends of dark suburban streets
Riding past the furthest flats where paths give way to fields

Where giant cranes with groaning frames are elevators into space
Looming over dark estates, unoccupied and halfway built
A regiment of vacant digs

Set out just like theatre props; a sort of play not yet begun
The porches laid with welcome rugs for when the future tenants come

And when they take up residence and get their keys and pay their rent
They'll surely never think of me as I have thought of them
The countless nights I've seen to spend, exploring every lamplit bend

Or how I'd trekked those distant places, before they'd laid the first foundations
Beyond the reach of tired feet, where fauns or fairies surely meet

The dark and curing plains are real and stretch for starry miles around
The rustle and din of windblown things, the rush of moonlit clouds

And soon from now when strangers come and pick the perfect house to live
And make it theirs and settle in and pick a room to put the crib
I'll stop the squeak of spinning wheels upon some distant mound or cliff
And moving closer to the lip; Dublin twinkles past the tip
format altered to fit website restrictions
pistachio Jan 31
You are there, you are in front of me
I reached my hand towards your face
I do not want to wake up from this reverie
I do not want another moving on phase
But as I open my eyes I see agony
For you are not there in the first place
Chandra S Dec 2019
The neighborhood sleeps robustly…charmingly.



I sit quietly
utterly breathlessly.

Listening sadly to the inveterate, rasping wheeze
and pensively perceiving the impelling, piercing eagerness

of my dismal, labored breath.

Constrained to stay put, there is little I can do
but to repeatedly browse through
a raft of 'get-well' messages
which have consistently traversed
across your sedulous time-tables

surmounting the bustling maze
of the capricious world-wide-web.

I think of you and your caressing ways -
Your determined thriving to bolster me
through my trance-like medicated days;

planting a flimsy little flicker
to my dead-pan face.



This bantam lightweight note intends to modestly denote:

♔ my incalculable gratefulness for your unqualified wishes

and

♔ sportive acquiescence to my maiden experience
of loving your love

quixotic and so cogently beyond
the most adept shot of the Cupid's arrow.
Erin Oct 2019
melodious sounds drift into the air
unleashing emotions

the beauty of the notes
quietly hypnotize you into a trance

time is suspended
as you surrender yourself

dancing to the memories of life
A composer
of the stars,
& astronaut
of dreams,
the unsung
swan of the
night, who
draws the
paintings
of her
thoughts,
the clouds
of dandelions
fields forever
in reverie,
her sigh settles
the seas of
lilac dreams,
as music
plays, she
enjoys the
indigo hues
of a bohemian
way of life,
and every
person
on this
earth is,
in their own
way, an
eccentric
of their
own hue,
upon the
painting of
life in the
microcosmos
to the lights
beyond, one
possesses
the traveler
in the chest,
a seeker of
the secret,
unrevealed
revelations,
a hidden
lover of
truth,
a flower
always
in perpetual
rebirth,  
the secret
dancer
of the
night,
musing
upon the
wisdom
of how
every
human
holds the
aubade
within the
intricacy
of their
silver
scales,
in the
deeper
tides
of eyes
meeting
to become
one in the
balladry
of being
within each
other’s gaze,
for eyes reveal
the drifters,
who sail in
the ocean
of words
and catch
her star-dew,
where she
hears the
hidden,
secluded
symphonies,
they reveal
the lights
of their
own as
time, the
mysterious
one, flows
her fabric
and they
grow closer
to one, she
watches
upon them
unfolding,
as she
opens
her wings,
they close
their eyes,
when two
had once
seeked
to be other
than the
truth of self,
from their
chests are
opening
butterflies,
they awaken
in their
cocoon,
awaiting
the voyage
to the
moon,
the poet
sits by his
window,
and softly
sung “all of
what the
eyes see
in bloom
is poetry”
Next page