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Man Oct 2023
Eyes of anthracite, ignite-
Fuel for my waning spirit
Food for my hungry soul.

Her rays mirrored sunlight,
And I, a humble acolyte:

Happily dirtying myself to worship coal.

The decades of pressure
Stifling in leisure, tiny slivers of pleasure.
Harsh force of demand.

Idle gem, form of a diamond:
Unaware of her own worth.

How often, is ignorance our ruin
And ourselves, our own undoing.
To eat our own words:

How it hurts
JE Osun May 2019
The Shadow of
Scorpio,
Life's poison
Sting.

Shell of life
Stand on the edge
Of Apep; only
you can kiss
the devil and
not burn.

Flame that catches
Only its shadow;
Let the past RIP
Like swirls of
blue
flame from a
dragons rage.

All the dragons
have fallen to
Myth.

Only the Phoenix
Remains.
priya mistry Feb 2017
We are waves of people
We don't accept defeat
Carrying generations of their blood
Etched on the palms of our hands and the soles of our feet
We defy the laws of gravity, our cosmic bodies in orbit always revolving
We possess a transformative skin
Continuously moving, constantly evolving

Current crashing, ripping through the earth
Roaring tides behind us, our vicious flood fights
The foundation of millennial’s - conscious, violently beautiful beings
Our loud waters, impossible to ignore, amorously painting our rights

The right, the will, the intense appetite
Flavored by salty words with a sweet impulse for action
Drowning all numbness, consuming the calm which once was
Thinking like philosophers, walking like warriors, as they record our reaction

Thin, musty white air trying to cover the shifting blue hues
The water never stops moving
the ripples inconceivably vast,
Our wave leaves masterpieces of celestial proportions
Our space is here now,
our tomorrow will not echo the past

Ours roots are planted and grown in our cities
Perfectly immortalized in a valiant state of existence
We are waves of people, waves of voices
A digital age of collective resistance

- p.m
AJ Sep 2014
the most beautiful thing about poetry is
how the beauty of the words evolve
with you
the more you experience
the more you learn
the more you write

you recognize phases in life
that you didn't know existed
you read old poems but
still feel the same passion
as when you first put your emotions onto paper

you witness greatness becoming perfected
but never reached because
as a beautiful entity
you are forever growing, forever evolving

or maybe the most beautiful thing about poetry
is how you can translate intangible emotions
into relatable words without even fully knowing
what the final piece will be
sometimes you have a vision of the words
and other times the fingers move for you before your
mind can process what is going on
the more you write
the more you see
the more you understand

poetry dares you
to grapple with your emotions instead of hide them

poetry is transformative.
to put it simply

— The End —