Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amory Caricia Feb 2017
Come, take my hand and quickly!
We'll sail the seven seas
We'll find buried treasure
Enjoy merry weather
And do all of the things that we please

Come, follow me quietly!
We'll sneak up on the cave of a troll
We'll steal his good ale
Fill his shoe with a snail
Don't get caught, or he'll eat you up whole!

Come, run now, beside me!
I'll show you where Pegasus fly
We'll go and won't stop
'Til the gold mountaintop
At the spot that just touches the sky

Come, sit here before me...
But, don't move much, for not to disrupt it
See, between you and I
A tiny village doth lie
Only look, for 'twill break if you touch it

Come, think closely on all I have shown you
May you forever never forget
While in one place, you're a giant
In another, you could be a shy ant
And who we are now is anyone's bet
the title is a play off of "fairy tale", because I originally wanted to call this piece "fairy tale", because it fits, but that would have been too expected, which does not fit. Combined traditional fairytale fashion with elements of greek mythology and smoky, but subtle notes of pirates. I miss childhood.
Thomas Hatchett Dec 2016
It's my own reflection of which I'm most terrified
Because it shows me exactly who I appear to be
It may not look like who I think I am, but it's the only me the world can see

Now it's been years and years since the man in the mirror
Resembled the man I know I can be,
But it won't be long until that monster is gone,
And the world only sees who I know I can be
Walker Marema Sep 2016
This poem is about itself
How did it become in the first place
Oh, it just did I guess.

It’s not deep
It’s just about……
Itself
It’s not even that good
Ummmmmm….
What else can it say about itself?

It’s written in English.
That’s a fact
It’s a very factual poem
And it knows it
It knows it very well

There’s not very many big word in it
As far as it knows
It’s still pretty curious as to how it came to be
So…..let’s think about it together

So…
If this poem is only referencing itself
And we know it is by definition
Then, how could it have referenced itself in the first place?
We know, also by definition that it exists
But the only reason it exists, is because at one point it didn’t exist
Because it had to have started from somewhere
Otherwise it would have just been here to begin with
There has to be an answer, because, well, it exists……
I think it’s ranting now.
What do you think?
Is there seriously not an answer to this?
This is gonna drive me nuts
I think I’m about to lose my mind
Is it over?
Stefania S Jul 2016
in this room
noise level
rising
and my pen erupts
the hard truth
it's time to change, again
this frightens me
and i feel lost
transition tightens at my throat
and i start to gasp
i want more of that
terrifying realization
weak and simple
this me, the one that evolved from sand
quickly turned to glass
never setting entirely
permeable and translucent
yet sharp and cutting
she's scratching again
the bars have tightened
the dull and tranquil
merely stagnation
dressed up
bows and pleated skirts in place
Lora Lee Jul 2016
Under this canopy
of dark
gleaming stars
I now sit
allow my body
to take residence
in the aura
of my own
glowing
      let thoughts
             of reason
         slowly unravel
until they
become
one
     long
           thread
connecting my
mind but
releasing it
to the air
Molecules, like
the tiniest of crystals,
gently whir
energetically
             about me
in almost
invisible stirrings
letting the power
of energy centers
take over:
Red,
    for my root
            for I am
               tethered
          to this earth
       Orange, for
the passion
so strong
                and truly knowing
         my own worth
Yellow, for
            my gut,
                instincts open
              and a-light
       expanding into
universes, broadening
my sight
Then my heart
washed through and through
in shades of green
its own incandescence
filled with verdant,
                     fiery sheens
It beats a lantern
of vitality
in this ocean of pain
sending a beacon in
the darkness
helping to break old,
patterns
prompt them to
         snap like rusty chains
Here it pumps in growth of
leafy, budding  light
Guiding my spirit
      in ripeness full and bright

I rise up
into the
indigo-turquoise
of my throat
as words burst forth
                        in surges,
in the salty froth
of ocean spirals
             they float,
get pulled by
mysterious urges
Like waterfall mist
just kissing
the tips of eyelash
                 flickers
these words that
have the power
                 to calm
or make my blood
                 run quicker
And then:
the deep purple
of my crown
that tapers into
a shimmering white
          and I know
I can now
receive myself,
calm, in queenly
presence of mind
of spirit
in my highest
                  form of
                             light
I went out last evening and sat under the stars
centered myself
in a kind of meditation
and this poem was born

Yes, imagery of seven chakras, or energy centers, each represented by a color,  are present within it
Stefania S May 2016
in ink upon my spine
a space, long drained
there lies a soliloquy
which speaks
in whispers.
unknown sense
and
the universe laughs,
little girl it teases,
your instant gratification
pathos is showing.
let go
of that battle, the owl cries.
your tight grip on time
a ruse.
missy, cried the moon
this agenda you struggle
with...look at me
how i just show up,
breathe soft one, breathe.
laughing the sun shakes
her voice while throwing light
at the moon, i just show up
too, though i'm oft accused
of slipping away.
i understand your battle,
beautiful girl
because like you, they
assume i return unchanged
my fresh form a mere
oversight.
angrily, the daisies
shake their stalks,
ignored, walked upon,
most beings ignorant
to our stature. yet,
we rise from the soil
rich with the droppings of
the dead. new
made of the old.
unsure of their advice
and where to turn
i fold, inward.
the universe's forces, brilliant
and insightful
meant to empower
instead highlight my
inadequacy and lack
of rooting,
nothing more than unknowns
pouring from an
empty vial that whispers
silence and space.
Miliswa Zangwa Mar 2016
The silence echoes around me.
The darkness whispers to me,
*“Who are you in this dead of night?
Are you the same person you were in the day?
Or has that façade fallen away?”
Ellie Wolf Feb 2016
-
Isn’t it hilarious
how every single poem I write
that’s supposed to be
an inspiring statement about
how I don’t need you anymore
inherently denies
itself?

I am going to choke on the irony.
Sara B Dec 2015
I’m starting to believe that maybe love is an amalgamation of every other feeling but happiness. And that maybe happiness will always work like an anomaly. A sometimes, sporadic product of all those feelings blue and fierce.
Tick Tock goes the clock,
counting down the days.
To what some would call the future,
what I would call a terror.
The shock of nothing changing,
the pain staying the same.
How is it all to better,
if I'm so fond of hate?
I want it to end..
yet I want to go on.
I want a marathon,
but not a single rerun.
The bartoned TV a sign to go outside.
The barred up windows keeping me in.
Staring at blank pages,
smelling mold.
**** is the color of my bland inner eye,
"How blue of me to say!" - my joyful mind cries.
The darkness coming out
simply to lie.
Next page