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a shimmering lightness
of white rolls playfully
across the tips of
slender bladed greenery
the delicate dancing of
that yet-to-be-mown grass
grown long beyond
what building aesthetics
          should permit
a gentle play of
low-lying sun
glanced upon frosted
and thawed alike
the cold breath of wind
ruminating between
a delicate breeze or
          those chilling gusts
harsh yet homely
while blanketed in
the warmth of
this merino wool
even the bitterest of
winter mornings will
feel nothing but
Haley Lana Feb 2023
You can hear the alarm bells,
See the red flags.
You know this will ruin you,
And you walk in with eyes wide open

You try to justify it to the world,
To yourself.
It's the end of the road;
a sense of belonging, finally,
of having a purpose,
and you're tired.
So tired of wandering, searching,
Choking on the salt in the air, the sea an endless barren desert with no land in sight.
So when you hear the siren's call,
And you know it spells doom,
You answer it anyway.
At least it will be over.

Except it's not death you're heading towards, but not a life either,
You'd be called crazy
If there were anyone around.

You're tired, and this feels safe,
To fall sleep in a dungeon,
To drop your heavy defenses.
It's hard work keeping them up,
And you're tired.

There's no room for mistakes in chains.
Your hands can't move to sin.
You're clean, and good;
Your mind is light, free from worry
And planning.

Your eyes fall shut.
You don't dream.
23. 02. 2023.
This poem can be interpreted in a few different ways, and I wrote it with more than one meaning in mind. Choose whichever you like best, the significance is always in the mind of the reader.
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.
Dolores May 2021
What You think of Seneca?
I could be Your Lucilius,
Since there are many things I don't know,
Feels and things I don't show.

And every time, You make me wonder,
You're a thief but You never plunder,
Living with a moral compass,
You don't care about what they told us.

Charismatic, magnetic,
Words not enough to describe You,
Time after time I try to,
Not to talk about You.

Not to talk about You,
Not to think about You,
Not to dream about You,
My life not to be about You.

'Cause: "I am not to speak to You, I am to think of You when I sit alone or wake at night alone"
And I have to accept that,
Even if I'm not there yet.
Rhys Hebbs Dec 2020
I spent twenty-three years
gathering my army of One.

So, on the eve of the dawn
when all inner-demons are born
and forlorn dreams all bleed at the seams,
the whip-snip of winters wind
will decimate the gold in the day
to proclaim the heir to my king...

and the sacrifice I must pay
for the essential exchange
of any ail-led aspirant
to annihilate any alinement
with the archetype of a tyrant?;

All unearned falsehood must never depart
from any sacred facade held in my heart
lest the lust for Pura Vida be the preacher
to my inner-creatures beseecher,

for adversity is the shunned sage
to those who prefer comfortable fables
and a prophet to those
who harken to heroes.


it matters not
any amount of pain that you gained
from playing the truest game
you could play,
with whole heart,
in the wretched world of man,
when now all that remains
are the paint strips flaking away
from the walls in your room
with old age greeting the faith
concealed in your doom

nor, if the portrait of your greatest fate
has forsaken its grace
for the sake of that gorgeous
echoing bellow
heard within the hole in your soul,
for it’s the price all must pay
in the pursuit of being whole.
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
At the feast for heathens,
I raised a toast to those
who raised themselves
in the fickle fallout
of human nature,
with pop-culture parents,
we chose our own fathers
and married our mothers.
For when the sacred lights of life
died out in the eyes of Apollo,
and Dionysus prowled the avenues
hunting out a new mirror for a mate,
the helping hands slipped away,
into the newly shadowed hollows
where all grace was laid to waste,
in the darkest depths
of the newborns day.

in this nuclear winter,
where all the Gods have died or been deserted,
I walk that razor ridge
of romanticism and ambition,
(where anchored dreams
are want to hide)
just to see how far I’ll fall
when my darkest demons
harken the call.
Humbled by the writings
on my skulls inner wall;
truthful hymns which
will mend the wings
of my inner poet and stoic
to see how tenaciously he’ll crawl,
to see his tendency for tender brawls,
to see him arise as the builder
within the razed rubble of Rome;
the only God I’ll ever need
for fashioning a home

if you too have been abused,
and sacred love has left you bruised,
when searching for your answer,
seek out the dancer within your soul,
for the collateral is substantial my dear,
when you walk on broken bones
Rhys Hebbs Nov 2020
When the world tries to tell you who you are,
but you feel in your gut who you REALLY are,
and all you can do is smile back at the world
and throw back your head
and howl in the face of adversity,

if you are liberated from deception
of all of which is inside your control
and outside your control
and readily accept the latter,
like a nonchalant savant

if you are a disciple to discipline
and know that backing down and submitting to the insidious insanity
of a day-to-day charade
is not even an option,
regardless of all the cool comforts it offers
in lieu of the heat of the coals you walk upon,

then and only then
will you become the master of your destiny
Douglas Chase Oct 2020
Don’t hang your hat on past triumphs
as if the battle is done.
Don’t hide behind them as the lazy would,
saying “I have no need to fight for good,
you see, I’ve already won!”

For past defeats, don’t hang your head.
You are not the man that lost.
He died that day in that clash,
and you were born from that ash
stronger and wiser for the cost.

Do not die full of regret
because you wasted every today.
Move now, and give yourself no slack.
Don’t waste your time looking back.
You aren’t going that way.
When autumn arrives without beauty
In some months, shall my love bring calm and serenity
Or prejudiced by the brilliant glint of the sun
The oceans hold back the breeze and current

As the leaves know their place
I find my forest in peace
With a zephyr in every corner
As fir, coniferous, pine stand tall

The vines have covered its heart and surrendered
Keeping my love in my palms and away
With a sudden rustle and rattle, He signifies the season change
But, it is the age of benediction and the trees are bare

The heart that was placid has become empty
The leaves have turned brown forgetting love and his Godly stare
No man steps in the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.
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