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If you can't find
God in you

You will
Never find God
Anywhere

Search
Right there
Deeply embedded
A light inside

All the best
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Awake
You wonder the meaning
in thousands of hieroglyphs
the roses you garnered
are still holding their stance.

The artists in fragments
collect their forgotten past
to assemble the untold future
into some hopeful slivers.

Wondering if ever appearing
on the white painted wall
there is a shadow of a candle
or mere illusion of the reality.
could it really be
that all that was needed
was to hear a little
no doubt

to make me
remember who the *******
i was
before
all of this?

f e a r l e s s
He tried to breathe but couldn't
He gasped
He called for help from peers
They laughed
They called him a joker inert
He cried
If only they knew his plight
They don't
He sinking with struggle
paralyzed
He dropped to the deepest deep
Inundated
Unseen when it's time to depart
Alarmed
Maybe he've gone to another side
They bluffed
The search is over he's yet unfound
They dived
To the deep in search of him
Unfound
More crowd commenced the search
Announced
For hours they were without a lead
Confused
Then a diver saw a figure floating freely beneath the deep
He drowned
They came afloat but still he lay
He died
This is an ode to my little brother who drowned
Beulin S S Oct 10
My happiness is hidden...
I am searching for it;
Still it stays back.
I'll find it back, with my hope;
My days of darkness will,
vanish from my way.
To Find my happiness
rig f laurel Sep 4
out where day is always night and all is under,
lost in the forever forests of lives long shed,
hides an old memory of chthonic light, shadowed…
my back scars on the rocks i try to rest upon;
eyes locked on an invisible sky, wandering,
finding new dreams of old in the rough shapes of clouds.
a whisper sings from afar, again and again,
and again i seek to mute it - liar, begone! -
without reason but the fabled stories i’m not.
and yet the search is stronger, it goes on. three words
pour from the lips of adventurer and treasure,
meant to bring them together, one day: i am here.
took me almost two months to get this out of me
Nathalie Aug 15
I reach for you
But you are
Not there
I can feel you
But I can’t see you
At least not
With my physical
Eyes
I choose to
Go within
And look deeper
I search through
This vast field
Of energy and
I find you
Here
As I open
The door
Of my heart
Where you have
Been hiding
Safe all along

~Nathalie
Dante Rocío Aug 12
I was born robbed of my maternal language,
That crucial bundle of Heart’s pillars
and ribs.

The one that makes you forget
What even words or images are
worth for,
The one that shaped what sense I hold,
And the one who built me
from mere ashes
When I couldn’t even have my eyes
for God, before the first of times.

I’ve searched through more than a dozen
of them so far,
those which humans throw and throw,
force, upon me,
and each time one comes
when the victory seems at last
only for me to find
I have nothing else in my hand
than the smell of footsteps long gone
in the sand and dirt.
Though a half of my plucked out
ribs remain,
which is Poetry that ever wants me,
tongue carries,
that which cannot be
undermined nor explained,
I limp, maimed, without my own tongue
to claim.

And from that search my love though
for the language made its birth.
Possibly the yearning turned into arousal
of wonder catching, affection lapping.

I went back to the Language,
a veritable person I make of it,
I gave it the right of a name,
characteristics
And I am all those questions
directed towards it.

By the script of E.J. Koh’s letters of mother,

How to express in Korean, English,
or any other language
how we miss one dearly
or how the distance shapes itself?

How does language create us
and makes us become
what we are truly deep inside?

How does it decompose us
at our lowest and the highest,
of the state and one’s expressing?

Especially when the Word, at times,
though so futile unreliable,
is the only thing we have left,
like Dreams?

And if you ask me now,
with so much tongue inheritance
already making my stance in “To Be”,
which mortal speech the most beautiful is?
You can’t. for how can I choose?
French, the violet whisper?
Spanish, flaming blades in Llorona’s tears?
English, a parting ship in eloquent observance?
Italian, a cigarette night in a local conversation in lush green?
I cannot. For, what choice?
You could also ask me which of the stars
I love the most: I can’t say.
Each is so similar to other yet not,
though the brightest might not
be the dearest,
the middle one might not be the further one and the intimate arousal for all
that abstract and ungraspable
makes your feelings so confused
and beautifully mad
as if you had polyamory
with many persons at once,
couldn’t get rid of any of them,
choose only one,
yet each one of them has something
the other does not.

Every exchange of a language in mind
is that of our person,
even more of Poetry
I derive myself from in feelings & images,
an exchange of puzzles, schemes,
as if going through a ballroom
full of diversely dancing people
and once you have to step through them dancing waltz to pass
and then dancing tango.

The fall of the Babel was the moment
when that maternality of Speech
shattered into alien yet same
breaths, sacrifices, work of hands
and transit,
and ended up so rich
yet so lacking in its “magna carta”

So, if it all ends always as the same,
If it always leaves heart ripped,
If I can have it all yet none I want,
If it’s the same mortal thing
in codes shrouded...

If in this realm, the story ends
and starts alas,
tell me:

What choice of speak
do you even think
I still have?
A great praise, ode, heart’s shredding
I give in an ode to the language.
As a glossophile, a true priest of the Language
I came to bear and die,
My revealance of the elation and painful trail
I endure each day, each learning
And each time Polish is forced
Upon my lips.
When a mother tongue is your
“stepmother” one
and you feel constant reject
any time using it.
This is another Intimacy
of mine I share.
Eli Aug 11
𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 //
  𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬
𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬
  𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝
𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬
  𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬
𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
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