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mysterie 12m
soul; an archive of feelings, a vulnerable collection of eleven entries. an true archive of feelings. mysterie's first ever project.

these entries are very special and vulnerable, mysterie hopes to connect with fellow poets and poetry lovers with these entries.

the archives:
- i waited
- the way i used to
- the ocean knows me
- waiting
- i still care
- where the soul weeps
- tsunami
- begin again
- the book you left open
- dusk
- chosen
soul is my babyyy
date wrote: 9/7
You’re wrestling the devil, fighting to be “the man”
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can
It’s no holds barred, anything goes, a regular street fight
The world is watching the main event on Saturday night
It’s a death match; the winner takes it all
The match is scheduled for TV time, or one fall

The devil is tricky, he’s got friends outside the ring
Whips, chains, tables and chairs, that’s what they bring
Sorrows got you in the corner, headlock squeezing tight
Best do something quick, even if you have to bite
Pains have got you down, in the center of the mat
He’s got you trapped, like a big city rat
You need to break free, get out of his hold
If you don’t, you’ll be stuck, like the cheese and the mold
You’ve got to keep moving, you better have a plan
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can

The crowd is roaring; it’s time to bust out your moves
Careful now, watch him Jim, look out for those hooves
You got him on the ropes, with help from some fan
When you wrestle the devil, it’s catch-as-catch can

Now it’s time the show is over, they called it a draw
He would have had you, except for that one little flaw
He didn’t know you had faith and truth on your side
When he came up against that, all his threats died
You wrestled the devil, now he knows you’re “the man”
When you wrestle the devil, its catch-as-catch can
For all of us who fight demons, fight to win.
Sometimes my spirit feels so weary.
Or maybe my soul is just done with hollow people,
sitting behind church doors and pillars of justice,
armed with hate.

-Rhia Clay
Sometimes... I feel alone.

And sometimes it bothers me, but sometimes it doesn’t.
And sometimes it feels nice, but sometimes it doesn’t.
And I find myself asking if there’s something wrong—
Something wrong with me, something wrong with my soul.
But there are no answers... maybe because there are no real questions.
Because I know there’s something wrong.
I just don’t want to believe it.
So I just say:

Sometimes... I feel alone.
Wrote this little one on August 2021 and found it today looking through my notes
I hear the calls,I hear the cries
Of ghosts ,of spirits ,of the phantoms of night
They scream,they shout
They haunt they please
Admist the graves and hollow trees
They scare they roam
They wander free
One's my friend and other a foe
Or are you one of my family
Aren't you alone arent you afraid
I could breathe i could die
I am dead or i am alive
But you are something in between
Tell me just another thing
Would you laugh or would you morn
If its a grave or a throne
When i depart when i die
When i fly far so high
Would you bless me a pray
What words would you  say
I laughed ,I died but never came
To keep the promises we had made
I won't come I wont greet
I won't say I wont meet
But promise me one last thing
Come and talk to my grave once
We shall play we shall dance
My friends my foes dont be shy
Come and kiss me a goodbye.
                           _tsuki no ume
I know, i fear to try
Yet maybe eventually,
I can make the whole bit right.
Even after all of the hell that we both have been burned through
I know the spark that lights up the way to my soul
Has always just been you.
My body’s cold, frozen in the ache,
Tears fall slow like the silent snowflake.
I don’t breathe, but I’m not gone
My soul still speaks when the light is withdrawn.

You can’t touch me, but I’m near,
A voice in the dark you still might hear.
I’m not warm, but I’m not dead,
I’m the echo of words we never said.
Still talking to you.

Shadows move where I used to stand,
Your name still burns on the back of my hand.
No heartbeat, but a rhythm remains
Soft as the moonlight, lost in the rain.

If you feel chills in the quiet night
That’s not the wind
That’s me holding on tight.

You can't see me, but I glow,
Between the stars, I softly flow.
I'm not lost, just out of view
Still talking...
to you
My first published piece — a whisper from my soul.
For anyone who’s ever lost, but never let go.
Thank you for reading my heart.
She's a pure hearted girl
with the happiest soul
She talks to the moon
listens to the trees
speaks with the animals
and compliments the flowers

Yet, often she feels sad
because she loves too much
and thinks too deep
Her nights are sometimes dark
But every time
she pulls herself back together
and decides
that her personality
is too positive
to be so negative.

L.C.
Vitæ Jun 30
Morning light breathes
life into every flower,

reflecting odd geometries
that follow me hour to hour.

Between each step scattered
on the coniferous ground,

are my dreams, forgotten
inside a still, dark pond.

Searching noon for new eyes
is the easiest task, I feel,

when one forgets what isn’t real.

And as I kneel at dusk,
with pockets full of daylight,

uncertainty shields me
from the river trailing behind.

A devouring gush of blue moves
inside the chest of twilight,

and all that I hold dissolves
into a thousand new eyes;

and all that I fear becomes
what brings the night alive.

I am a fool to think
I ever walked alone,

for you are everywhere—
and you are here, too.

Only a certain eye lets me sleep;
and one remains open

to another rapturous beginning.
In these blue veins, a wild sea

courses with a stream of stars
from each wound widening.

Something more real than I lives
in the abyss that pulls on all things,

and yet my soul glows brighter
when it is darker still.
There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing.
– Albert Camus.
dee Jun 30
You are indeed art.
Something I can not add on to
due to you already wielding the energy
that is so deathly breathtaking.
My eyes stretch to see as far as your soul.
I’ll never get close enough to touch the colors that perfectly line into your being.
It’s more than awareness of your existence.
nothing is perfect
but what soothed me was your completeness.
You are whole.
He is art.
The only thing to depict you, for art is the only thing I can love from a distance and now so are you.
You are indeed art.
From possession to perception.
Commitment to acceptance.
Grasping to gazing.
Wholeness. Admiration. Art.
goodbye
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