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Zywa 11h
Will it start soon? Or

has it already started?


Is it war right now?
Novella "Tralievader" (1991, "Nightfather", 1994, Carl Friedman), chapter 'Greuelmärchen' (Atrocity story)

Collection "Thinkles Lusionless"
Zywa Mar 28
The table top is

sticky, the handle too, I'll --


better wash my hands?
Poem "Het plakt" ("Sticky", 2019, Leander Vaes), included in the collection "Poëziejongens" ("Poetry Boys") by Mustafa Kör

Collection "Here &Now&"
I learned to spar with my stray thoughts,
Every ounce of fear or anxiety,
Becomes a battle of wit.

Though that may not work for everyone,
Some just build lanterns,
A way to see through the night.

Others learn to silence their worries,
Utilizing weapons to wipe away their nightmares,
Burning holes where there once was doubt.
Everyone has their own cure.
The truth is,
There's no elite thinker's society,
We're all elite in our own respect.
We evolved from bent over forms,
Working for raw survival.
But as we grew, some of us split away,
Faded from simple survival,
Growing a taste for art.
So were born the sculptors,
The painters, and the poets.
Clever as they were,
The old artists.
They formed a secret society,
For elite thinkers to survive.
Can we take that idea and use it to save those who've avoided the brainwashing?
Khoisan Mar 18
I
can feel the darkness
encrouch upon my loveness
toward
the
lightness
my mind wonders off
as
in a dream
I
speak to you as I think of us.
In
my reality
I
want to take you
there
simply turn on the light
if you think
this is
a
nightmare
.
Look upon light as overwhelming darkness
.
Deep in the Now,
there exists a kind of woman,
often attacked,
and sometimes rejected.

A warrior soul,
independent, rebellious,
the feminine in its purest state,
untamed and free.

She is the one
who left Eden,
forsaking the comfort of man
to carve her own path.

They say she was born
from Adam’s dust,
but made of pure energy
and empowerment.

She is where
the deepest passions
and the hidden faces emerge.

She is where life’s wounds,
fears, and shadows are faced,
where lost power is reclaimed.

A beautiful woman,
but I prefer her in the streets.

Because in my bed,
I want the one who surrenders,
the one who loves.

The one who cares for me,
and lets me care for her,
who speaks to me
through true communication.

And after long conversations,
time slips away unnoticed.

A beautiful woman,
in her fire and her calm,
Lilith in the streets, Eve at home.
Not because man commands it,
but because that is where she finds her balance.
Zywa Mar 7
Is thinking ahead

..a Pleasure Dome
..in which you know that
..he will take a shower and then
..you know by the smell of his musk
..what awaits you?

....the art of stumbling in such a way
....that a competitor comes to your aid
....and moving along with your apparent fall
....is crushed by an inconspicuous push
....after which you whine
....about his undeserved end?

......depleting the earth
......by colonizing mineral
......resources and that everyone
......puts together a survival kit
......for all conceivable disasters?

........the Dark Palace of the question
........of how you want to die, not now
........but later with you or rather
........alone with a black pill
........against unbearable suffering
........or a hopeless existence?

Or is it too tiring?
Topspot is a palindrome

Collection "Lilith's Powers" #19
Zywa Mar 7
Prometheus thinks ahead.
I too work according to plan.
I think:

I consider the possibilities.
I am critical of my own plans.
I have patience in executing a plan.
Collection "Lilith's Powers" #19
A dark thought
A dark cloud
These thoughts whisper, so loud
I'm not proud when they form
And invite their savage storms
But let my pen emanate rainbows
That you read while the rain flows
Sometimes, we walk around with our own storm cloud of negative thought patterns. As someone who has experienced this, my goal when I write is to project color and brightness even when I'm lost in the grey sky.
jewel Mar 3
there’s a clear distinction between getting what you want
and wanting more than what you can get, she says,
kneeling in front of a piping hot kettle and a small bowl
accompanied by a humorously small bamboo whisk.

Bug-Eye looks at me. the meaning of a sentence is lost in the hexes of her wings, her spindly thin abdomen, the way her fragile limbs twitch.

she tries to smile. she doesn’t. i turn to the murky pool in front of me, losing myself in the way the petals relax on such a delicate surface. the air is thick with heat. i collect more than enough sweat upon my forehead.

you need not ask for more than what you have. nor ask for less than what you deserve.
but why? my reply lingered between us like an afterthought.
why ask when you could have more? the clink of china, the unsteady stirring irritates me with her ungraceful, jerking movements. Bug-Eye relaxes. silence. the grove is clear.

she turns the cup in her hands, once, twice, thrice; her spindly fingers tracing the grooves of a world not yet explored. her eyes watch me closely. all five hundred of them. i turn away
to watch how the koi fish do not swim through the water, but
become stagnant in a place the water feels best.
we kneel on the grass, sipping the green tea as quietly as one can. that is all i am left with.

perhaps this is the reason why i do not ask for more;
nor deserve any less, because
we simply are given with all that we need.
copyrighted, poemsbyjewel (2025).
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