Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
annh Sep 20
Lend me your biography; your innermost-ness,
Your secret shame; your hidden struggles,
And I shall gift you words.

A language woven with silk,
Borrowed from my own unravellings,
Frayed edges, now mended.

Let me help you thread the needle,
So that you may quilt your scattered pieces together,
And, in time, find yourself whole again.

‘Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair. Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate and to humble.’
- Yehuda Berg
Bad Vibes Sep 7
The light touch of the silk on my breast brings me back to you.

It brings me back to that dance floor with my body pressed up against yours like the cover of a book and it's pages.

It brings me back to your fingertips - a stone skip across my skin.

It brings me back to your hands holding my face and your lips on mine.

It brings me back to that night in the snow where your body was the only source of heat I needed.

You are a chapter that I will never forget - the one that I will reread over and over again until the words come to life off the page.

bk Jul 1
It is amazing, the life of a wave.
It takes forever to build up
and then once it finds its way to the beach,
is alive for only a couple seconds.
As beautiful as this sounds,
the act of the surfer is even more.
The wave exists momentarily
but while it does,
the surfer carves smooth silky lines into it
creating a form of art seen only by few.
After that, that single wave is gone forever;
It is not coming back.
The surfer will never surf that same wave again.
The life of the wave now only exists in memory.

Personally, I find nothing more beautiful than that.

Ilonka Mar 26
Shadows play pirouettes in my soul
and they reveal unwritten secrets,
the taste of love is lost in a whisper.

I'd like to be your tough wool jacket
that you wear in all the seasons,
you hang me on the half-broken hanger
only when you go to sleep in the middle of the night,
then I smile at you in the morning
when you take me out of the darkness.
I'd like to wear you like my favorite shirt
made of mulberry silk with fine lace buttons,
to feel you at my chest and dance with you
the dance of the common days,

I'd like like you to be the nectar of the Manuka flowers
from which I could feed for the whole year
then I would fly in search of the sunset,

I'd like to be your footprint
on the wet sand of the hot sea
that would take me away in distant worlds,
I'd like to…
I dare you to stay here for a day
find me in-between white sheets with yesterdays hair
and your t-shirt hanging off my shoulder
find you with your silk skin tangled in mine
let's forget the difference between the two
call out of work
tell them you aren't feeling well
but tell them you're in the sweetest hands
we can watch the sun rise and fall from the same positions
we can be the only lovers left in the wicked world
find my hair caught in your mouth and my feet curled against the edge of the bed
call it working from home
Nicole Moran Feb 11
Budding, glowing bulbs. They
are shedding their stemmed leaves,
blown away and bound by nothing.
They are eating themselves alive
from the outside in. They are missing
the train by mere minutes.

Then October came along with its
spindle-like skin, weaving wool and
silk through the fibers of her
fragile life, being. She is nylon,
polyester, a poorly written trope.
She is not bound, not made by the
She had a love in her heart
And never let it go
Even when it led her astray
And every night, she lay alone and pondered
Asking questions to the midnight sky, and receiving moonbeams for answers.
Her nightgown fluttered in the dark room like the wings of a butterfly or moth
Her eyes gleamed in the night, like moonbeams of Heavenly design
Her hair is strands of silver silk woven by a goddesses loom
Her face as pale as the face of the moon
Her feet are bare and she treads with an airy float
And she dances
A magnificent flowing whirl
Entrancing all those who see her, a Heavenly girl,
The woman in the moon
The inquirer of the gods
And her wings flutter softly in the spotlight the moon's rays have created for her
And she flutters back home.

The people below watch the iridescent butterfly take flight, and they think to themselves "What a lovely night it is!"
nim Jan 28
soft cries
in your arms
silky layers
covering our secrets
murmuring words of
affection and love
let's be together,
your hand in mine
until the world is gone
Next page