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SophiaRyle Mar 2021
Aries: Yes
Taurus: Yes
Gemini: Yes
Cancer: Yes
Leo: No
Virgo: Yes
Libra: Yes
Scorpio: Yes
Sagittarius: Yes
Capricorn: Yes
Aquarius: Yes
Pisces: Yes
Did you survive?
دema flutter Aug 2020
don't let
the ship sink,

and if
it happens,

leave me

drown me
in your love.
Gabriel Aug 2020
First-class lipstick,
like satin,
gently marking into history
sign-offs and signatures,
transcending boundaries
between land and ocean.

Nothing unwritten;
everything perfected
in the sweet subtlety
of marking names
and millions of ways
to say the same sentiment,
sealed up below the deck.

Traversing the sea,
unread letters wait
in the salt and the sediment,
that will soon wash over them;
the timelessness of tragedy –
of waters that lap
over delicate bodies on beachline shores.

These same elements,
clinging to life
within seawater-stained envelopes
find themselves
just a little too much,
almost a second out of time
with the world outside the ocean.

Now, timelessness has moved on,
and many ships have fallen since,
but there remains
a pocket of air,
huddled in the North Atlantic,
where love letters still muse
with writers’ delicate bones
and the sweet serenade of saltwater.
Something I wrote for a first year university creative writing class.
Gabriel Aug 2020
Ship’s tipping,
children crying,
water lapping
against my feet -
summer-side beach shores
flashing Polaroids
through clasped hands
in false prayer.

atop the bank
rough hands; calloused
grabbing the rail
as you hang onto the upper hand.

No longer horizontal,
ripped apart from the domestic bed,
your chants to God
beg Him to take my life,
and spare yours –

It’s easier to be the underdog
when everyone else is falling, too;
I am the water,
I wait to lap you up;
please, I ask,
fall onto me
and let me love you to death.

In short, sink.
In shorter, drown.
Something I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in first year of university. The formatting is supposed to make it look as if the poem is tipped up and falling down the page (like the Titanic!) but I'm not sure if that will translate well to this website.
Kmary Jul 2020
Last year I was reckless.
I catapulted into the deep-end

No waiting at the shore
No wading in the water
Only a sprint to the furthest end of the sea.

I soon began exchanging
pieces of me as currency
to buy more time afloat
my sleep;
my mind;
my sanity.

I thought I was resolute
but this was all too much
I was drowning.

Then there you were...
you and your raft
ready to take me home.  

It was then that I realized
that none have ever really loved me
before you <3
k e i May 2020
but then you’d be jack and i’d be rose,
setting sail in a cruise trading questions just to get to know the other
then you’d stare at me for a beat longer than normal
i’d take note of the different type of glint in your eyes
as you ask me “where to miss?’
to which i’d respond with “to the stars”
we got the ocean below us
and despite its vastness
and atlantis’ threat
from down down down below
its vast clear surface a reflection of a crystal ball
of us and the future
yet everyone knows how it all ends
and so the ship sinks
but this time it’s not just because of an iceberg;
they’re the iceberg
and they pull me away from you
and it all comes down in a slow gradual yet sped up type of sinking
as if it were a tragic accident; one that was staged
‘cause surrounded underneath by their iciness,
they keep dragging me away from you
and the plans we made once the cruise reaches the port
and the route to which we’d go to once the ship is docked-
the way they repeatedly tell me that you’re not for me
is enough for me to drown
and i remember when you told me that we’re in this together
and that you’d rather be with me
through hell and back
than to never have stopped me from jumping out as response to the song of the waves,
from never learning my name
but this, darling i’d rather not drag you into this
i don’t want this love to be the cause of your downfall, so i’m saving you
by doing this i’m shielding you from hypothermia that they, that this tragedy will cause you
i hope the warmth of my embrace will be enough to last possibly a lifetime-
even if it’s the last
let the headlines label this,
as an accident, casualties upon casualties
for we both know better than that;
meeting you was never a blip in destiny’s timeline or a regret
my only regret would be
that we didn’t stay longer in the staircase
neither did we stop the cruise from heading in the direction it did-
towards our doom we could’ve survived
you must know, darling
that if there is a day that i await,
it would be the one where we’re once again in that staircase
and you’re wearing that lazy smile i learned to love
and everything would be alright this time
and there would be no crash, no sinking, no drowning, no separation
the cruise just goes to its next stop and its next
and we’d be drinking from flutes of champagne
voyaging through the vastness of this body of water,
safe from its threats in each other’s arms
but for now let them think
that any possibility of us drowned deep under
as the ship gets ****** by the greedy tides, the greed they breathe with
Dear titanic, tell me of how you survived your last hurrah- tell me of how you didn’t see the iceberg, tell me of how it felt to lay down on the ocean floor, tell me of how empty you are, the skeletons of your passengers are all but hollow husks- skeletons from a time that is now gone.
“I am not empty,” the titanic says back to me, her voice muffled by bubbles and groans from rust coated pipes.
“But you are, I say. “You are empty but filled with ghosts- yours, the oceans, theirs. They party and laugh and drink and dance and run in your rooms, your hallways that go on forever.”
“You are the empty one,” titanic whispers, rusty railings creaking.
Dear titanic, how did you feel, sinking, ripping in two- unable to be put together again, how did it feel becoming a broken heart? Did you bleed? Did you do it to yourself?
“Was your sink an accident?”
“What do you think?” She growls- groans and moans echo all around.
“How did the music players continue on as you sank- their instruments and lungs filling up with seawater as their somber music filled the ears of your passengers?”
“They just played on, soothing my pain,” came the reply.
“Dear titanic-” I started.
“Let me ask you- why have you come?” She demands.
“To learn your secrets of course.”
“That’s not why.”
“Who hurt you for you to seek me out? Why have you come?”
“I've come to find out what you did to survive.” I reply.
“Then you know now” She whispers, pipes groaning as she shook with mirthless laughter
“Do I?” I questioned.
“Yes.” I imagined her smiling at me- broken glass as teeth and sharp lines for lips.
“How did you survive?” I whispered, my heartbeat echoing in the stillness- needing to hear the words I hoped she wouldn't say.
“I didn’t.”

— dear titanic, tell me of how you survived your sinking // a.
25 février 2020
09:54 am
Ayn Feb 2020
An opal glacier,
Raven in the night.
An unreceived message,
Screeching warnings so bright.
A steaming screaming ship,
Unwilling to lose the fight.
A hundred escapes too few,
Now they’re all packed tight.
A thousand and a half dead men,
Who on that night, last saw the moonlight.
A coincidence by all means,
Which gave humanity a great fright.
A tragedy yet to be repeated,
As we move into the era of flight.
It was, in fact, a big series of coincidences and cut corners that led to this tragedy. Horrible luck, I do say.
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