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Dark skies spill on me like black ink
To much to speak
To much to keep
There is no swim
Only sink
Stuck in the undertow of shiit creek
Can't plug the leak
No avoiding the brink
That comes in a blink
Don't peak
If the will is weak
Or the soul is meek
No hope left
For what I seek

©2025
sage Jun 24
In moments like these
i feel every weight of every planet
Rest on my shoulders

i see the heavens form against me,
Hell tries to side with me…

Every star in existence
Watching my fate crash right in front of me

i stand on the moon watching,
Watching from a far away distance the earth,
Where I watch you live your every day life.

You’re my entire world and don’t even know it…
Maybe it’s a hyper fixation
Because you show me true kindness

i find my self turning red,
Something i never did before…
i find myself waiting for a reply
Something i used to never care for…

It’s the unfortunate truth
But is something i must explain to you,

I’m torn between reality and spirituality

What’s real and what’s fantasy
How i live my life, i am on a separate plane of existence
Forced to answer to a being…

A being the size of 300 skyscrapers
All stacked in one…
A being that’s devoured everything i’ve ever cared for…

A being with a never ending devour for lust…
It feeds off the love i ever gave to any planet…

You’re my earth...

i don’t want you to become a victim of this destruction

So i run away from you…
When reality i am changing my course,
So you wouldn’t be hurt…

As i ride the cosmos
Passing by other planets in the distance,
None could ever compare to you…

The lonely silver surfer…
Writes a Lonely Soul’s Poem
Viktoriia Jun 22
there are no greetings,
no farewells,
they cross the line
and leave unnoticed.
a solemn choir of silenced voices
repeating an outdated prayer.
there is no god to hear them out,
their hope is but an empty promise.
they find their rest
in nameless graves
and die the way they lived,
unnoticed.
Jeremy Betts Jun 8
Life is the tragedy
That balances the more accepted comedy

©2025
Driven by red
riding hood,
wheels of eternity run
hot and cold
along the tracks
in her arm.

Around the bend
there are jigsaw
pieces of a puzzle,
scattered as destinations
once towns and villages,
now fodder for
the migrant beginner.

According to fable,
there's a wolf at the door,
home is no longer
a worthwhile rendezvous,
but a trap of origin.

Misery is a train ride,
a stray fantasy,
lingering in the wilderness
of her fractured mind.

She sells her gold bracelets,
for she needs
the dark coal,
she seeks
its deep freeze.

She can then
be many things
along the journey,
just never
a connection,
never a permanent signal.
Your movements are slowed, your spirit’s withdrawn
Is it right to miss you before you’re gone?
I know I’ve heard that to grieve is to be brave
But it feels too early to plot your grave.
There’s still life in your eyes, I see you trying
But I think we both know that you're dying...
I know with a fortune maybe it’d be delayed
But without a fight, you’ll simply fade.
I’m scared to look back on those happier days
Instead of meeting your pitiful gaze.
I want to cherish all that you have left
Instead of dreading when I’ll be bereft
Of hope of ever seeing you again...
Will anyone ever replace who you’ve been?
I’m sure they could never... No one could.
Even if heal is something I should,
I hope that if ever I do forget,
You promise that you won’t be upset.
Please forgive me if anyone takes your place
I hope it’s okay to ask for some grace.
Poem for Lily.
diamond star May 6
In a distant land, a city bright,
Where olive trees bathed in golden light.
Fields of oranges, ripe and sweet,
Where children’s laughter filled the streets.

The markets buzzed with joy and song,
With bread and sweets the day stretched long.
And in the air, so soft and near,
The call to prayer, both calm and clear.

A boy named Adil, young and free,
Kicked a ball beside the sea.
His laughter rang through ocean’s roar,
His joy, untouched, his spirit pure.

The sky, once bright, shattered apart,
A deafening BOOM that shook the tide.
The earth exploded, a deafening roar,
Shaking the heavens, tearing the floor.

Adil, still laughing, thought it was a game,
Chasing his cousin, calling his name.
But with each step, the world shook more,
And childhood crumbled to the floor.

His cousin’s grip was all he knew,
They ran, though neither understood.
“What game is this?” young Adil cried,
As they fled with nowhere to hide.

They ran through streets of bloodied cries,
Each corner echoing with broken skies.
Adil, with innocence in his chest,
Held his cousin’s hand, still thinking this was a test.

Where once stood a shop full of sweets,
Now rubble, fire, and twisted streets.
The joy he knew had turned to dust,
The city crumbled—lost to rust.

Still, Adil ran, his mind confused,
This had to be a game, he mused.
“Mama,” he whispered, wild with dread,
But this was not a game he had been led.

Through empty streets, they ran in vain,
Until cold metal came like rain.
A machine, massive, towering high,
Once seen in movies—now his sky.

Adil stood, still thinking it’s a race,
The terror too real, too much to face.
“Is this the game?” he thought in fear,
But the nightmare pressed far too near.
This poem reflects the innocence of childhood, and how quickly that innocence can be shattered by the horrors of war. It was inspired by the ongoing conflict in Gaza and the devastating impact on children caught in the crossfire. I wanted to show the heartbreaking reality that innocent souls, full of hope and joy, are forced to endure such unimaginable pain
Asher Graves Apr 28
And at last he prayed,
Prayed since all hope had perished,
All virtues faded and all sentiments gone.
Down the river he now floats, cursed with angst and pain.
He mourns his loss but his grief won't go away, for this is the consequence —
The consequence of action he so inadvertently did without a second of thought.
Oh, the lives he ruined, the chaos he brought.
Denial is the river, and denial is what he sought.

In denial he drowned,
And in denial he remained.

-Asher Graves
Saw an Instagram prompt asking young poets to write something based on an image — so I did. Here's what came out of it. Wrote it just five minutes ago, so there might be mistakes, but hey — it's about the rawness, not the polish, right? Let me know if it resonates.
There once lived a beautiful princess named Savarati
Her sweet strong charm was the hit at every party
She was enchanting like an angel with wings on her shoulders
But this borne a complex becoming uglier as she grew older
And very soon Savarati would learn her lesson but not nicely

The beauty of Savarati was true for everyone she met
People were dumbfounded in her appeal they would not forget
Her splendor spawned their devotion to her to always be dear
This made Savarati’s arrogance develop through the years
Even though she was stunning, she felt she was humanity’s present

One day, the daughter of the noble family went to a genie
She said to him, “I wish to live forever so my beauty won’t leave me”
As her wish was granted, she thought this was what she wanted
However as time went on, this would leave her very disappointed
The things around her as she knew them would change quite greatly

It began with her deeply beloved son who passed away
He was no more, as were all the trees and flowers that started to decay
Soon everyone she cared for were gone and things became of no value to her
Now that she had such durability, what was the point in doing the things she preferred?
Savarati wondered this to herself as she cried for another day

She then went back to the spirit and demanded him to fix this
Savarati’s mortality came back but not happy with her still deceased family, she let out a hiss
But the genie told her that there was nothing he could do to revert her loved ones
Knowing this would be the end of it, the princess understood only darkness would come
She laid that night with her photo of her family haunting her hopes giving it one last kiss

That night with no one by her side, Savarati died of heartache
But she realized one important thing before she did not wake
That is the truth of having an enjoyable life is not how long you live
Instead, it is how you display yourself to others and what you give
Because living is not about how many breaths you take, but what of it you make
I wrote this poem when I was 14 years old. If you brought my second book, “In The Eye of The Family,” then this poem will look familiar to you. Those who know, will know. Just a reminder that I’m a self-published author as well.
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