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Labhrás Jul 13
I find myself at the top of a mountain
Looking out at the peaks
Below and above
Some I’ve climbed, others I never knew existed.

In the blink of an eye

I find myself in the open sky
Winds roaring around me
Rushing past
Am I falling or flying or even moving at all.
Old notebook fragment from a period of upheaval
Gugzang Jul 2
Fate always finds ways to leave you scarred,
But please stick with it.
Because somewhere you can't see,
Someone crosses the sea of time just to embrace your sensitive heart.

Just to have a single glimpse of you,
To strike a normal meet w you.
Or
Maybe it's not just them,
It's you
Waiting endlessly
Someone to search,
To reach out.

'One to look back upon the sand castles that
're left w noone in them.
As if,
Even the castles are longing for someone to remember them.

But eventually,
They would end up scattering,
Since most bury their euphoric remembrances just to remember the melancholy.

Albeit,
the sand castles' span depends upon the
native's mind;
Alas, the latter always tends to remember the tornados...
Completing defying the 'work for which he preserved so hard,
For the one who destroyed his castle?

But
Once
The native realises that it's not the tornado, it's the sand
From which the castle can be made
A thousand times
Only If he remembers to cherish
The things meant for him to cherish,
He will be truly liberated.

BUT
What if,
he wants to be stuck in his melancholic waves of tornado?
Then,
He will eventually become a slave
Of those melancholic waves,
Would be scared to defy Mob,
be anxious of past decisions,
frightened to Even live.
Or
Maybe he would suffocate in those giant waves ultimately leading his last moments
Just for him to remember-
The sand that once his hands' contained
Was now fleeting from his hands
Forever-
Or maybe that was the sand's fate.
        
                                -d'chu.
As if even the castles are longing for someone to remember them:/
Carlo C Gomez Jun 29
A quiet
young woman
in a library
reading books
with diagrams
of bomb shelters
and *** positions

She's thinking
of her future
tilly Jun 19
it’s not much
i mean. it is

i want it to be done already.
i guess that’s just my boredom talking,

it’s just my dissatisfaction
with anything presented to me.

blankly, i thought it all year
next day next day next day next

oh it’s done and
i guess i can’t savor the moment.

is she crying?
okay

what the **** do i want?
where do i want to be but this?

directionless, i can’t quite seem to notice
there are no signs left.

i guess i will pave my own dirt path
like big girls do.

here leads to the rest of
your life, okay
thoughts when i graduated from high school today
Ricardo Diaz Jun 9
Once apon a time so gentle,
Watched sunrises as the birds sang good morning

Then broken in disillusionment,
became a dangerous weapon

Nothing can be gained without loss,
Even the celestial gates demand the reapers sickle.

He who seeks peace
Must face chaos

I know not what scares me more.
To see you once more,
Or never again.

I tremble at the choice unseen
To embrace the risk of once more
Or brace for impact on never again.
Azaria Jun 9
this year, another,
time grows, yet she remains,
hopes for a harvest,
yet dead crops
in unmoved soil.

the wind carries,
and unwillfully
takes her along.

this year,
intended as the great,
somehow feels like
a bird who's lost melody.

fearfully, blindly,
walks into those doors,
not wanting to go beyond,
yet still wants to leave
those timeless tears.
capricious: (adjective) an outcome driven by sudden, unpredictable change

your head gets heavy
a feeling of doom springs about
it lingers
enveloping you in fumes of doubt
it sets in, a cloud above your head.

it takes control
a silent, grey dread

colours fade out,
light grows dim
the heaviness spreads,
filling your eyes to the brim
shades of grey is all you can see

you search for colour,
desperately
to bring you back to reality

for the world you knew
sinks beneath the tide
into the dark abyss
of your mind
where shadows hide.

the abyss becomes all you know.
a strange, cold, yet familiar feeling it is, is it not?
alex Jun 4
I am scared
of what waits for me
over the horizon.

I stand on the edge,
looking tentatively
into the black abyss
that will soon engulf me.

‘Please.’
I whisper, ‘tell me,
will I find someone
to have and to hold,
to grow old with.

Tell me,
Beyond the blur of tomorrow
will I succumb to the
pressures of the people,
letting my dreams wither and die.
Or will I raise anarchy,
so that my dreams may fly.

I know,
I will lose many,
friends, foes and family
and I grieve
for the loses to come,
for I fear the day
I will have none.
supposedly a mature
well-put-together
functioning adult
who has travelled
both up and
down escalators
     of all sizes
countless times
throughout his life
there will always be
a fleeting moment
a child-like panic
as he shuffles onto
the grinning maw
of those toothy steps
still experiencing
that lingering
sense of unease
he would get
while younger
climbing or descending
dragged along
by driven parents
or rushing onwards
to keep pace with
assured friends

in that split second
before sole
and metal conjoin
overwhelmed by
the constant shifting
of this unwelcoming
corrugated tread
with calculations of
when and where
to place his feet
in time with
the ever-moving
conveyor of steps
frozen momentarily
with the thought
that he might
miss his footing
trip and fall
even though
deep down he knows
he has managed this
innumerable
times before
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