I am not Atlas
I cannot bear
The weight
Of the skies
That I am

MC Hammered Mar 30

our celestial protector.
She cradles us in her branches and reaches
us towards the Sun. She fertilized us
as young seeds before the harvest. Feeding
us the fruits from her feet. We breathe in the oxygen
she filters through her brown barked body.
Suckle at her breasts for air.
Like our mother, we too are rooted
in soil, nourished, and nurtured by her
natural nutrition and her

disasters. She,
throws us from her
branches, her skies grow grey.
Grow angry and sad. She starts to
cry, growling, thrashing and thundering.
Her winds whip us, whirl us we weave back and forth,
trusting the roots she gave to hold us
down in our foundations.
But the ground beneath our soles start to
shake and rumble. Soaked soil from Mother’s cries, turn
to mud, and our world starts to wash us away.  
She drowns us. Mother Earth,
our terrestrial

the sky this very day
has a humdrum appearance
it's shaded in grey

Mysidian Bard Mar 5

Reaching out across the stars,
we've had to fight since birth,
so that our burning avatars
could unite our lights on earth.

Arms raised not to withdraw
beneath the crying horizon,
a closing coup de grâce
where a shattered moon is rising.

Towards one another we race
with no space left to divide
the endless dancing embrace
of two worlds that finally collide.

within a day, we'd forced the world to stop.
within a week, we'd broken what it meant to suffer.
in two months, we'd traveled eternity.
within a year
we'd left the gods.

but no matter how much we tried,
no matter how much time we burned to ash,
we could never destroy

riwa Jan 29

She is a spring day;
When she is sad, the sky cries with her,
but seconds after, the clouds open up and a rainbow shines through
each color representing a different tone of her laughter.

she does not realize that her presence is as powerful and illuminating as the sun itself,
she is like the sun itself.
It is a shame she does not understand how beautiful she is.

Her words are butterflies lingering in the air,
Her actions as clear as rushing rivers.

She is a spring day;
when she is sad, the sky cries with her,
but seconds after, the clouds open up and the birds chirp a melody that lets her know:
she will be okay.

Part of a series of poems I've written for my closest friends.
Sandoval Jan 23

He named a star after me not knowing I gave birth to them.


André Morrison Jan 17

There're Two Kinds Of People
Those Who Prefer Blue Skies
Those Who Prefer Grey Skies

jg Jan 14

You hold my hand
on this cold and starless night.
I can see it in your eyes;
you'll make everything alright.

You hold me close
and kiss me gently on my cheek;
move a strand of hair from my face
and to me you softly speak:

"You are the shooting star
that used to light my skies,
but then you fell down to the earth
And now you light our lives."

"A cold and starless night
to which only you bring meaning.
Your love is all I'll ever need
on some enchanted evening."

Co-written by my amazing and talented friend, Mysidían Bard :)

when i look to the skies
i'm reminded of her eyes
i see the same light
that illuminates the night
sky so bright
and brilliant

i look to the skies
to see where beauty lies
and all i can see
are her eyes staring back at me
so tenderly
with love

and as i look to the skies
above to watch the sun rise
and greet the brand new day
with a smile; i will pray
that she will say
“i still love you
i will always love you”

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