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AditiKo 23h
Sometimes I take a little stroll
Through the minds and verses
Of others.

Mind strolling through
Vivid colours and memories,
Flowers and fantasies.

I walk across the lines, my feet tapping
To the rhythm and rhyme;
Iambic heart beats with mine

I stop by sometimes, by the meadows
With a ballad, sonnet,
Free verse or couplet.

Just reading through some poems.
Poems bloom as flowers; azure, flushed pink. Watered by the poet's tears.
Poems which rhyme are written with rhythm in the ears,
Poems which do not are written with kaleidoscope in the eyes.
I once asked a demon
who’d fled eternal night,
“Why did you flee the darkness?”
Its answer was, “the light.

My home lies far beneath me
is filled with nought but night.
It’s there I dreamt of fire
that knows the way of light.

Because my home was dreary
and filled with nought but dark,
I caught a glimpse of fire
and sought to catch its spark.

Because this home was measly
and filled with nought but night,
I left to meet that fire
and seek the way of light.

My home lay far behind me
When I’d left dark for light,
and stepped towards that fire
that burnt so bright at night.

My home lay far beneath me,
once I’d escaped the dark,
and stepped towards that fire,
To catch myself a spark.”

Then, I asked the demon
who’d fled towards the light,
“What did you learn from fire?”
It’s answer was, “it’s bright.

My home, so far beneath me,
had dimmed my measly sight,
as living deep in darkness
all one can see is night.

I went towards that fire
and touched the burning light;
living deep in darkness,
you don’t learn flames can bite.

They burnt my skin, let darkness in;
the dream had been untrue.
Fire’s not right, to light up the night,
to make me one of you.

“My demon friend, how did you then
become as one of us?”
Its reply lit up the sky,
the answer was, “I trust.”
Just a bit of fun.
dailythoughts May 13
… and then he massaged after months

my heart lost its rhythm  
my mind lost its focus

my fingers lost their control
my eyes lost their dullness
Lia Apr 22
To you who whip through your pain,

Remember that your mind is abounding,
It is  mesmerizing
that when you start to talk about your ideas,
it's like your wondrous mind is pulling me
inside this enormous galaxy,
not a mere galaxy that is empty
instead it is full of heavenly bodies
and colors and life.
I fly in comfort,
I feel weightless.
When you talk about your dreams,
I can picture you collecting the stardust
and making a life out of it
Your eyes speaks like an abstract
of meteor showers
and comets
and auroras,
painted in one great canvas.
The more I explore into it,
the more I could understand
the rhythm of your thoughts.
If you're thinking
that your life had fallen apart;
Remember me,
me who you shared your light and hope with,
You came to me like a shooting star, 
So rare yet so beautiful.
Siin.li

Remember me, who you shared your light and hope with.
I'm getting back my rhythm,
that flow that I missed,
kissed the wrong list,
I got so ******.

Punctured my own wheels,
walked up to the hills on heels,
got so tired, readily busted,
Nothing so far tested.

Preoccupied with disastrous hallucination,
I lost my sheer imagination.
took so many turns,
unguided blindly got hit by the red district.

So sorry, I missed my hit list.
Strange, where I got to sit next to the stranger,
followed the footsteps of my demons wicked derringer.

Oh my god, I've lost my mind, it's better to sleep,
Look who is talking, the loser who got easily broke and now he weeps.
Now I'm sleeping, not writing,  although I've got the rhythm and would try to write
better next time.

- shivamrealmyself
#poem #love #poetry #mental #illness #lyrics #hell #demon #back
LC Apr 14
my mind is the city
that never sleeps.
thoughts roam the streets -
some with circular commutes.
some glare at each other
some smile, uplifting everyone.
despite the chaotic rhythm,
the underlying beat of my heart
determines the pace of the city.
#escapril day 13!
Currents
by Michael R. Burch

How can I write and not be true
to the rhythm that wells within?
How can the ocean not be blue,
not buck with the clapboard slap of tide,
the clockwork shock of wave on rock,
the motion creation stirs within?

Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: poet, poets, poetry, write, writing, rhythm, meter, motion, ocean, tide, wave, waves
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