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Man Jul 2023
Blood from a stone;
Vulcan, erupt.
In his Ares heart,
Of the Zeno soul.
The battle drags on
For a cause, I do not know.
Josephine Wild Jan 2023
If the soul is dyed by thoughts, I will rest in my reason.

By following my just nature, I will let my desire find its termination.

For I am made of the stars. I will let my spirit shine.

I am a rising star, not a falling one. I am divine.

Nothing outside changes the value of my shining nature.

Despite criticism or praise, nothing shall perturb me.

My loveliness terminates in itself. My beauty evolves with the seasons.

I will love my nature. I will rest in my reason.

My flesh desires sugar, but sugar rots the soul.

To nurture the character of my mind, I’ll feast on the fruits of wisdom.

I’ll feed my soul thoughts ripe in virtue and I’ll let my spirit shine.

For tranquility is nothing but a good ordering of the mind.

I will not be troubled in any season.

When my flesh desires treason, I will rest in my reason.
My reflections on the wisdom found in Meditations.
Good with, good without;
If not good with do without.


You be good with you
The title is the closing line to make it a haiku
Brett Jul 2021
The wick is fading, and I have no matches left
In this dark abyss where I sit depressed
My valiant heart has become a perch for crows
Smile shaped in stone
Each embrace stiff and cold from my marbled soul
My arms depict a grasping hand
Reaching for a world these etched eyes will never know
Trapped in the heart of a withered artist
His mad dealings mold and make me
A victim of his musings
Crafted in a candlelit madness
Delicate delusions and vague allusions
To courage in the many veiled faces of death
Carved and set at the base of the steps
Statuesque
Brett Jun 2021
What can I say? Another one dead and gone away.
Lost to ignorance, or
Possibly blind to addictions hooked grip.
One day your dangling a toe
Just over the edge. The next,
Your staring up wondering
How you lost your footing. I could say he’s a ******, but
Lord knows the elixirs I have invented
To dispel the dark heart of my depression.

Though I stand stoic, life has taught me
To never shame a smile. The sun rises for the living, and
Dead men fall short of tomorrow.
The amorphous soul slips through the seams
Of hands grasping to hold. So, when death discards its cloak and
Swirls its specters all around me
I’ll raise up life like a guiding lantern
And
Step through existence with my convictions.
Rest peacefully to all I have lost to the chase for a high. To all those running towards death to escape life, may you find some solemn quiet in the next life.
Jamesb Jan 2021
A person who can endure pain or hardship
Without showing their feelings or complaining,
Yep
That is me,
Stiff upper lip and a face of stone,
I will not betray the pain inside,
But what no one seems to remember,
Not even the stoics themselves,
Is that not showing and not feeling
Are not the same,
Not the same at all,
And although my face and tone
Deny the truth
The fact is I ****** HURT!
My heart and my soul
Are curled in a bleeding
Ball in an obscure corner,
Out of sight of the world,
If only they were out of my ****** mind!
Man Nov 2020
resolve to say much with little
to speak more with less
listing for silence

bend your words to air
and see them flow
bleeding forth
amid absent effort
the genuine stuff
As I walk towards the shrine of blood and gold,

Reeking of the fallen and of the old

Unbeknownst to what might lay beyond,

A ******* in what comes after, a ******* in what came before.

This sack of maimed flesh that you see

A conquered ***** of the soul

This skin worn by all but one

A temple broken down to the bone.

Where once was a mind delighted,

A crown of jewels, of dreams of flight and

Of merriment and of might

A child of the stars that I once was

Burnt embers of olden coal that I am now.

Hence here I lay, astray, with no greed

No rage, no radiance and no leads

A destitute of life, fed and dressed

A king of the barren, a pastor amongst the wicked and unblessed.

And as I stand now at the altar of the fallen ghouls,

From suitor to gatekeeper of my own poisoned muse

Guiding sheep to a slaughter frayed

A purgatorial monument, unraveled and unswayed.
Alicia Moore Sep 2020
I’m grateful for the
calm winds of stoicism
exhaling from you.
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