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Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2024
I promise you; I'm not depressed…
I'm more or less a mess – I guess.
At times, in my own mind, I feel like a guest;
Yet, at the helm – life puts me in charge,
Even as my social battery is often drained
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

I promise you; I'm not depressed…
These days, I don’t live anywhere close to
Lengthy dialogues, preferring to take social visits –
As each facet of my personality are merely masks,
Of this face's visages, as it constantly pivots
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

I promise you; I'm not depressed…
I don't trust most of my feelings – as
superior as they may seem, they fit the
narrative of playing the supervillain
Yearning to rekindle the wonder of my kid
self, though I often find myself kidding
I promise you; I'm not depressed…

It’s never good to admit that you’re depressed,
so, in a hidden depressive state – we don
the mask of joy, to fake its smile instead.

Valentin Eni Dec 2024
This sad poem was conceived and written in Burnley,
Where shadows linger, and the rain falls sternly.

An empty pub with an empty pint glass,
Black nights last long with its wild, bright eyes.

A one-eyed dog with lots of fleas
Sings the blues in seven different keys.

And time has flown since we met at sea,
A four-light-years-galactic-guilt is upon me.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2024
Life's about the suffering
Peace a destination
What is more important
Is what happens duration

Impossible to self-pardon sins
Plagued with doubt and fear
What if darkness creeping within
Sronger than the light inhabiting here?

Worrying is not worth the toll
I have to pay my dues
No one can walk path for me
Don't wear the same size shoes

Each break and bruise instruction
Finish line forever unknown
Happy endings fantasy
Majority synthetic like silicon

It has to shift before we surrender
To assimilation of society
In-between consciouslessness
And controlled compliancy

After Point A wandered astray
Point B hopeless cause
Meandering sheep in a deluded daze
Progression practically on pause

Creativity and cerebration rare
Killed in each as a child
Brainwashed being obedient
Different labeled 'wild'

Those in power yearn to program every step
Shaping image to fit their mold
Corrupt agenda is nothing new
Most don't realize they are trapped in their hold

I want to lead uprising
But I simply am too afraid
Remember when surroundings were calmer
Present for past I desperately long to trade

We had plenty of time to correct behavior
There is an existing disconnect
From planet earth and each other
Too immersed in screens for paths to intersect

A thousand unanswered questions
In silence reality is revealed
Up to us to find purpose in this dimension
Stumbling blindly through this battlefield

We are closer to cliff than we realize
Inching towards edge each day passing by
Shadows halting vision with uncertainty
Wings clipped so we are unable to fly
About the way society is in relation to our government and just how we have been regressing and it's exactly what those in power want. Wake the **** up people, especially Americans!
Anais Vionet Nov 2024
(a poem in Haiku and Senryu)

Draw a stick figure
future - sadly diminished
and chaos ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Add micro-plastic
and forever chemical
flavorings to taste.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
.
.
A song for this:
All Gone Away by The Style Council
Locks that require two keys are called ‘Dual Custody’ locks. They’re most common for bank deposit boxes.
Kian Nov 2024
In the quiet, slowly stirring,
Through the night, the dark alluring,
Came a breath, a soft recurring,
Like a sigh upon the air,

Through the woods, the shadows leaning,
Every thought within me gleaning,
Past regrets, now intervening,
Held me captive in despair,

In the stillness, something shifting,
Through the gloom, my fears were lifting,
As if fate, forever drifting,
Led me onward, unaware,

Neither sound nor sight deceiving,
But a sense, a deeper weaving,
Like a thread of truth, believing,
Guided me without a care,

Through the trees, a pathway glowing,
In the dark, a river flowing,
And my steps, now steady, showing,
That the night could not impair,

Yet the breeze, with whispers fleeting,
Told of days beyond our meeting,
Of a time when your heart's beating,
In a world that's bright and fair,

So I walked then, deeply grieving,
From the night, my doubts were leaving,
And the dawn, with light retrieving,
Showed me skies beyond compare,

In the east, the colors blending,
With the dawn, the night was ending,
And the sun, with rays ascending,
Promised hope within its glare,

Yet I knew, beneath this yearning,
As the light was slowly turning,
That the dark, forever churning,
Would return, its grip to share,

For the shadows, always creeping,
In the corners, ever sleeping,
Wait for moments, silent, keeping,
To reclaim what light can't bear,

So though morning breaks, still tender,
In my heart, I can't surrender,
For the night, in all its splendor,
Waits to catch me in its snare.
Valentin Eni Nov 2024
I feel
an angel’s touch, so soft, so near,
a mountain crumbles,
its roar I hear.

I see
the shadows carved by lightning’s glow,
the light of a seed
in the earth below.

I hear
the silence stretched across the years,
curses rising from the graves
through tears.

I believe
in the stain of a demon’s dark embrace,
in the power of words
to claim their space.

I know
who will bear the weight my cross demands,
why the world bleeds
through trembling hands.

I feel
the steps that lead me closer to my breath’s last bend,
the touch of an angel
before the end.

*

I Feel
(Alternative translation I)

I feel
an angel's touch upon my skin
I feel once more
a mountain crashing, tumbling in

I see
the shadows lightning leaves behind
I see anew
the light within a seed confined

I hear
the silences an age has kept
I hear again
the curses rising from the crypt

I trust
the foulness that a demon breeds
I trust still more
the power that resides in deeds

I know
who'll bear the cross that's meant for me
I know as well
why bleeds the heart of all we see

I feel
how many steps till death I tread
I feel once more
an angel's touch upon my head
(Originally written in Romanian.) The poem engages all the senses to convey a feeling of transcendence and existential struggle. The contrast between life and death, light and darkness, is a central motif.
This poem presents a journey of awareness, moving between sensory experiences and spiritual reflections. The angel at the beginning and end bookends the work with a spiritual framework, suggesting a reliance on faith amidst the chaotic contrasts of existence. The use of sensory verbs ("feel," "see," "hear") is immersive, pulling the reader into the speaker's evolving realization of mortality and existence.
Coleen Mzarriz Nov 2024
I woke up to my neighbors belting out an off-key tune. I tried to cover my aching ears with my pillow, but their discordant voices echoed in my head, so I finally got out of bed.

I stared at the unfinished painting I had worked on the night before. In just a few seconds, my stomach dropped. Even in its incomplete state, there was a sense of impending doom looming outside my door—hideous, and that was my first thought this morning.

Shadows ran through the waves of my curls—spiraling endlessly—as my fingers gently brushed away the exhaustion from last night. For the second time, I turned to look at the unfinished painting restlessly sitting at the end of my bed. If it had eyes, it would definitely not meet my somber, dark brown gaze. It would fear me, for I would cut it into pieces. I would let it bleed until it was no longer breathing.

It would forever be cherished as a beast—unfinished, freshly cut like a lemon. When poured into a deep wound, its acidity would seize the skin, leaving nothing but unfortunate agony.

I drank two liters of fresh lemonade, but nothing happened. It didn’t cut me into pieces. I was still unfinished.

And so I avoided its beastly eyes. Even an unfinished canvas resented my sorrowful presence. I sliced another lemon and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping today would be different.
why is october always the heaviest month of the year? even if it’s already november, I can still taste the unfortunate bitterness of it.

song:
disenchanted - my chemical romance
Kacie Nov 2024
No evil shall enter in sacred space
Powers move, one thread in chase

Hands of creation, electric flow
Held captivated with eternal glow

Luminescent band, another dimension

Binding words weave within
Secrets of past woven in pen

In the shadows, in the light,
Forever hidden in plain sight


RepeatedNap
Kayden Oct 2024
In the quiet green of a sunlit vine,  
Where dewdrops rest and shadows twine,  
Lies a melon round, with a heavy sigh,  
In fields where days drift idly by.  

Soft and sweet, its flesh inside,  
A tender heart it tries to hide,  
Yet weighed with seeds of fleeting cheer,  
Its sweetness tinged with hints of fear.  

It’s summer’s child with autumn’s gaze,  
Golden light in shorter days,  
Both ripe and raw, it knows too well  
The taste of joy on the edge of farewell.  

And as the fields turn bare and cold,  
The melon dreams of days of old,  
Of laughter, warmth, and skies so high—  
A sweetness meant to say goodbye.
Theme and Tone:
"Meloncoly" explores the bittersweet nature of endings, using the metaphor of a melon to evoke themes of nostalgia, ripeness, and the passage of time. The poem's title, a play on "melancholy," suggests a feeling of gentle sadness associated with change and loss, reflecting the subtle beauty of natural cycles.

Imagery and Symbolism:
The melon represents fleeting happiness and the inevitable approach of loss. Its “tender heart” and “heavy sigh” imply an emotional weight hidden within its sweet surface, much like how joy often conceals sadness. The contrasting images of “golden light” and “bare and cold” fields symbolize the shift from abundance to emptiness, from summer to autumn, emphasizing the idea that all things pass.

Structure and Language:
The four quatrains are simple yet rhythmic, much like traditional pastoral poetry. This steady form mirrors the natural, predictable changes of seasons. Phrases like “fleeting cheer,” “tender heart,” and “sunlit vine” evoke softness and gentleness, while lines like “both ripe and raw” hint at the complexity of emotions that ripen with time.

Tone of Farewell:
The poem ends with a sense of departure and reflection, suggesting that sweetness and joy are always, in a sense, fleeting. It leaves the reader with a contemplative, somewhat wistful feeling, as the melon “dreams of days of old,” encapsulating the essence of "meloncoly."
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