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uv Mar 25
"I have a hundred photos lined up to be posted.
I edit them, I think about them, and I let them be.
I let them be in my gallery for the right time.

And the right time never comes.

Days become months, and months at times turn into years.
But the right time never comes.

I don't know why!

But it is alright!

It is alright because I am not in a race, nor am I in a hurry to tell my story.
I don't mind waiting at the stop like this bus.
I don't mind being forgotten about
Or just not talked about for days.

But I, in my own way, after making those stops, I will carve my road ahead.
Uncover the true beauty of my story
In the most unusual way.
Just like how sunlight lights up a simple road and makes patterns with the help of shadows.

Shadows have their own ways.
Shadows glorify those pretty rays.
P.S: Thank you for following me through the years.
And sticking by even when I just disappear.
Dacotah Ashes Mar 16
Is healing good for me?
but I'm intricately attached to these scabs and scars
I hold them so dearly, I don't want to let them go.
Is healing my current foe?
but these roots are dead. What will grow instead?
Uncertainty is a fright to me
And maybe the light is too harsh
Cause I love my shadows, from the tip of their nose down to their toes
They've been my constant comfort
Healing light is too blinding
and my vulnerabilities are intricacies only I and my shadows are minding
ashw Feb 17
I can never do the one thing I want the most to do,
I can only - suddenly: fear,
Encroaching shadows.
Blindsided, I wish I could say. But no.
Not quite.
Doubt shrouds my intentions,
Like a cloud blocking out - no, an eclipse,
Predetermined intervals of near complete darkness,
A pattern of uncertainty, a seeming dichotomy-
But reliable nonetheless...
All the same.
Ordered chaos; predictable, unwelcome, regrettable.
Torturous, truly.
Light again, passing by, gone again-
I can never do the one thing I want the most to do.
I can only do the one thing I am wont the most to do.
And I am helpless to it all.
Lost to it all.
It is a cruel discrepancy.
Solaluna Jan 29
In the quiet spaces where my heart resides,
I craft a tale of endurance,  where emotion hides.
A facade of fine, a smile painted on,
Hiding the storms, where shadows are drawn.

Through the echoes of laughter, a silence persists, Enduring the ache, with clenched-fist twists.
I say I'm fine, a whispered refrain,
Yet in the depths, a tempest remains.

In the theater of tears, I play my part,
A master of pretending, a work of art.
The world sees strength, a resilient sheen,
But beneath the surface, a different scene.

I endure the weight, the burdens I bear,
A stoic facade, a delicate affair.
Yet, in this masquerade, emotions entwine,
For sometimes, saying "I'm fine" is a valiant design.

So let the verses of endurance unfold,
In the silent poetry of stories untold.
I wear a mask, a masterpiece divine,
Enduring, pretending, yet somehow,
I'm fine.
The poem explores the theme of enduring emotional challenges beneath a seemingly composed exterior.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 22
Are we all the same distance apart?
Are we nocturnal
because we buy into
rhythmic disturbance,
trying to find a memory
in a dark room?

In shadow of advancing myth,
there's evidence of hunters
in the glowlight,
with wings outstretched,
solitary and contrite,
we cut the night,
we cut the night.

From sticks to bitterness,
we cut the night,
we cut the night.

M Solav Dec 2023
It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gaps, heal their rifts — those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to grant shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm — through and through.

But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore. How tight its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?

These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.

For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal — and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel — as I carve these seats in shapes of departure. Those skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.

My past was but a dream — and I'm ready to slide like a crumbling leaf. My weariness is universal. My knowledge heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.

Let me feed those roots anew.
Through and through.
Written on July 19th, 2023.

This picture was written to accompany a picture by Matthew Fertel (@digprod4). See the result at:

— Copyright © M. Solav —

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
Isaace Dec 2023
The shadow of a shadow of a man,
As Time clasps its withering wrist,
Becomes the shadow of a shadow of a shadow's denizen hand,
Knocking on Death's door, between the separate strands.

Resurrection, Abundance,
Find us in the shadow lands,
Next to the writhing smokestacks and the vegetable sand.
Mrs Timetable Dec 2023
I wonder
How much ground
Would be covered
By the shadow
Of a man?
Depends on the man
I suppose.
And where
He stands
His ground
Multiple ways to see things. It's shadow season.
I love the stars
They remind me that
There’s enough space
for everyone to shine

I love the moon
It teaches me
patience and beauty

I love the sunset
Its fading colors
teach me that
every ending promises a new beginning

I love shadows
The way they play on walls
reminds me that even in darkness,
there’s artistry and mystery
to be found

I love chirping crickets,
bonfires, fireflies, darkness…

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