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SL 12h
The sun unfolds, precisely peeking through
the light of stars, dominating ink-spilled nights.
Its rays graze softly on blooming wounds
as sirens set off warnings of incoming dunes.

O vulnerable soul! I pray you stay quiet,
hold dearly onto the kaleidoscopic life
slowly flowing out of your diluted sight.
O transient time! I pray you stay still for a while,
and let the sediments settle—
as the river carries away what's old and vile.

There will be another dawn.
When the sun unfolds again,
its light grazes softly on wounds withered with time.
As sirens hail warnings of unknown threats,

O powerful mind! I pray (and know) you'll never fret.
Ryan Jan 30
Thought cried expectantly
wishing for an other Chance
in sundering limelight
On the effects of digital technology
I'm drowning in an ocean of you,
and only you.

There is no concept of time anymore.
A minute feels like hours,
but a year is just a moment.

I am sinking.
Whether fast and diving to the bottom,
or slow and drifting softly into the depths.

Sometimes the tide is harsh,
and throws me around.
Other times the sea rocks me softly
into an endless sleep.

At first I thrashed,
gasping for air but being empty of it.
I screamed and begged,
for I did not want to become the water.

Over time I accepted the calm blue warmth,
I embraced it.
I grew gills to adapt to the lack of oxygen,
and fins to swim through every thought of you.

I no longer am drowning;
I am choosing to stay.
I am navigating the crystal waters,
as if I've lived in them my whole life.

So if I am drowning:
I will tie large stones to my feet,
and embrace the darkness that is to come.
Give me a name.
Give me a title that I will only hear,
when it drifts from your soft lips.

Don't call me by the simple name I have now.
A name I never wanted,
nor asked for.

I long for the name
that makes you think of sweeter things.
Like sugar.
Like the sun.

I want the name that comes to mind
when I am held in your sight,
or in the back of your thoughts.

Would it be nicer?
Would it be longer or shorter?
Would my new name be simple,
or a mouthful?

Or maybe I don't want a new name at all.
Maybe I just want you to look into my eyes,
and claim me by the name I have now.

I want you to call me by the name you love most.
I pray it's my name.
I've thought a lot about it
enough time to pass
the melodramatic fits of passion
I house regularly in this skin of mine

That maybe the end of the world isn't at my door step
and that maybe I can live without your mahonany eyes, yet
I feel a yearnful pull to the softly spoken words
you renounce

Maybe it really wasn't meant to be
And I wasn't meant to be devinely yours
your one and only love for all of my life
I was only 14 when I loved you and
I coersed my own mind to belive that I would only have one love
like that in my life

This realization has felt like
Maybe I have grown
Maybe my girlish teenage mind has began to see reality
Like Messieurs les enfants
born yesterday but grown the next
overnight I lost the child version of myself
to the evermoving trail of time

or maybe I can just feel my prefrontal cortex developing
Missieurs les enfants is a french film in which  3 children are transformed overnight in to adults and their parents were transformed to infants, it covers the trope of rapid aging and basic ideas of human nature.
Amon Apr 28
By Amon (2025.2.5)

Nature endows man with a clay-carved frame,  
Yet man relies on God—  
That inconceivable Beyond—  
Who breathes into nostrils a wisp of life, tearing through chaos.  
The eternal confinement, meant to be,  
Screams a piercing wail in an instant.  
A life is born, a spark of inspiration blooms—  
Chaos suffers the pangs of birth,  
Yet nurtures the seed of independent thought.  

A man awakens, still unaware,  
Already bound by notions of good, evil, and blurred lines—  
Ideas, rules, and measures draw circles around him.  
Whatever judgment or appraisal  
Spoken through another’s lips  
Acts like the hand of God,  
Shaping him (her),  
Unbeknownst,  
Ignorant of prejudice, sin, fairness, or justice.  

From nothingness to existence—  
From one cage into another,  
Yet man never ceases to resist.  
Even when the conscious stifles the subconscious,  
Even when the illusion before him  
Grows so vivid it becomes the accepted truth,  
The discontent etched in his genes, the unwillingness,  
The restless urge to seek the real,  
Never stops urging—  
Compelling him to act, now, immediately—  
To step out of the cave, to halt the meaningless churn within,  
To know, to grasp the sun.  

Ah, yes,  
Once the still lake breaks its silence,  
The flowing water cannot be held back—  
It will surely swell into a river.  
From then on, man refuses stagnation,  
Thought knows no bounds,  
Consciousness surges forth,  
Upward, ever upward.
Sudzedrebel Apr 24
I forgot to remember,
I remembered to have forgot.

You know the crazy thing about clocks?
Well, eventually,
They all stop ticking.
Like a sun dial,
The gnomon stops
Without light to make shadows.
But the funny thing is,
Time goes on.
Time is a constant.

I remember to forget,
I forget in remembrance.

Is Time despondent?
Is Time ebullient?

Memory. What's it mean to me?
Thoughts. What's it mean to be?

Is Time periodic?
Is Time cyclical?

What I remember
Is all; that I haven't forgetten.

If Time had a name,
They were called Kronos.
If Time has a title,
It is the Ouroboros.

What I forget
Is nothing; that I haven't remembered.

I remember in forgettance.
I forget to have forgot.
Has someone written it differently?
Even me?
Don't worry!
Time is change.
Times change.
Sean Crewson Apr 24
The Wonder
I Forage,
Nurtures Me,
Holds Me,
Tempts Me,
Seeks for Me.

The Truth
I Bare,
Weighs Me,
Calls Me,
Tempts Me,
Seeks for Me.

The Poison
I Indulge,
Wares Me,
Needs Me,
Tempts Me,
Seeks for Me.

The Council
I Keep,
Guides Me,
Lifts Me,
Tempts Me,
Seeks for Me.

Woven Lines
Bound Tight,
Overlapping,
Contemplating
Rank and Satus;
Seeking Order.

The Highest
Of Highs, an
Upward Gaze.
A Brilliant Light,
Tempts Me,
Seeks for Me.
Sits with Me.
Sits with You.
Sits with US.
Sudzedrebel Apr 24
Words!
They're something we nearly
All can say,
They're something we share!

Thoughts!
They're something we can all say,
At least nearly;
Every living thing has them!

I think?

I think.
The living mind!
The mind living,
A muscle by electric impulses,
As electric personified!
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