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Maria Etre Sep 17
When a poet's heart skips a beat
it's only a comma before the
******

a space between the next
best adjective

a period before the
capital start ....


(takes a deep breath)
acacia Sep 3
It will roll along the waves with the rest of the men whose bodies sink to the floor whilst I stand on the shore with the shell I chose to keep in admiration, anticipating for when I will make it aware of itself as I have been made. Now, as I peel the skin of a banana, I dip into a reverie of the large ship whom I gave back to my tides.
Through the toughest sea-peaks he sailed sweetly, navigating as though he’s swam these blue bodies for aeons—I’m sure he has—yet, his wear from these waters was prominent, his ejection from these seas was eminent; his sail was now weaker than my second hand linens. I do not know if he knew—maybe—but I certainly did. I also remembered this was only a short journey. A short journey to the point of where I began. And where I began is the same place where I continue to begin. It is the same place where I breathe in new air through an old nose, where I see through the smoke, where I turn other persons lyres.
'How many more sentiments on this ship can I make?' I thought to myself as we neared the land. There was no more distinction between short and long; one, two, and three; night and day—no more. There was only the ship and I. And the ship consisted of his natal awakening and his natal sleeping; and I consisted of my start and end.

Once I’ve gotten towards sea firth, close enough to pink sand, I immediately climbed down the twine ladder zealous to bring vegetation to the rest of the land; bring a comma (never a period, it could never be a period, not materially or spiritually) to the question marks. I splashed and ran, rocks lifting from beneath my feet, droplets forming back into drops forming back into pools forming back into bodies.
I looked back to wave good-bye to the ship, then I noticed he remained a question mark. He kept his anchor close to the shores, wading in the pool, but I put a hyphen to this reverie. I put a hyphen to this reverie because he is still here. I am not getting back onto the ship. I must swim on my own, on our own, with the quests I embark with my shell, with the fragrant seeking I find when I lift the palm leaf. My shell has to see the journey I see, my shell needs to be in the drifting wings of the open conundrum. Use all senses. It is all I could need.
My reverie frees itself, my reality frees itself. My shell is harkened. The ship is harkened. I am harkened. You are watching our reflections sway in the water. I am reflecting in the water-sway.
I wear my shell on a chain. A yoga of my(Our)(I) one Soul. Marriage in the highest octave. I drift seemingly further from the ship, but I are not moving, the ship is not moving. 'Get closer to me,' Twinkles say. I are not moving.
aThe ship is separate, the only thing separate from me. I detach from him using pronouns, using things to emphasize the ships tear. I suggest everyone ride the ship, please. Once I learn to be accept the ship with my shell, with myself (and you all) then I think I will move towards the ship.

In this temporal realm I can only row one paddle at a time.
You can complaining life is ****. But if you looking very deep. You'll see the ship and can get out from own ****.
Aa Harvey Jul 29
When the ship goes down


The ship is sinking, flee with the rats.
The end is nearing, do not look back.
Memories change and soon they will fade.
The ship is sinking; move on, find a way.


The ship is sinking and I am drowning,
In total apathy for everything.
I am no longer singing; I stay out of misplaced loyalty.
I saw the truth and it destroyed me.


I know my time is temporary.
The ship is sinking…
Wait with me.


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Satvik gupta Jul 20
Beyond the treacherous sea,
Lies an unseemly vast horizon.
where lie may not lie any bounds,
and you can hear a silent sound.
the ghastly waves will threaten you,
but your conscience will surely guide you.

Soothing breeze,
And the gentle rain drops
when freeze
Can devastate the mighty bold rocks

Firm determination
Can protect  you from thunder
Quitting now, might be your biggest blunder.

These clumsy  nightmares,
And FEW whitish brown hairs,
Made you to feel low  
Smile once
And retain the glow.


Rise
Rise above the hates.
Breach asap
And earn some million dollar fares
At  30
Find someone,
Who really cares
Divide the pain
And equally share
ROW YOUR BOAT
TO THE VICTORY

Follow me on instagram : @the _junes_summer_
I'm living here.
It's live tommorow.
I am alive.
It is exist.
I'm silence.
It is empty noises.
I am a blue ocean.
It is fast river ship.
Scott Jun 21
She is the dream
Of an ocean,
I awake
Shipwrecked
And lost at sea
“As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.” -- Herman Melville
The fact of the matter is I'm lost. The dense infinite sea has all the power over me. I go where the wind takes me. There is life all around me, yet I'm all alone. I had people back home, but all of them stayed as I set sail into the mist. I'm cold. The only comfort I have is, that I will inevetably come across some sort of land, somewhere I can take refuge, somewhere I feel safe and warm. Warmth. It's all I need right now.
I write to let my mind express itself and to keep my sanity. Of which I have not a lot left. Had I any to begin with? Why must I suffer. Why must anyone? I don't know if suffering together with someone would ease the pain, or would it simply multiply it. Only time will tell. I hope, I think.
Not knowing is manditory.
That is all I have left.
Soon i might know.
If only because of some miracle, the promiseland finds me.
The bottle, the one I set out into the emptiness, hoping it will find the one I sent it to, and return her to me.
I might never know. Know that feeling.
I might never feel again. Im starting to lose it.
I never learned how to sail.
Thought it comes naturally. I could, but it is keeping me from it. This. This one, that is both a blessing and a curse. The one, who promised me the confession will reach it's goal. How will it know the goal, when even I don't? Empty promises. Just like they promised to help me.
What did I expect
The start of an 11 poem journey about unrequited love, solitude and finding myself
his broad chest shudders
at night, holding in hot tears;
he sees ships sinking.
Ash May 30
he has a brave soul
his obstinacy survived the shipwreck
the enthralled cabin boys on the deck
they tell him he is a hero
but only he remembers the weight of the anchor
some paladin he was when he hit ground zero
he can feel the salty smack of the sea on his lips
as he tried acutely to revive his ship
the intensity of water will haunt him
until someone convinces him that he is loved
and he will be loved
even without his Poseidon persona
right now, his amour propre is cuffed.
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