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Ali Hassan May 17
A flame once thrived on outer heat,
In comfort’s arms, its life complete.
It danced on winds, so wild, so free,
Unknowing warmth could ever flee.

It never learned to guard its core,
Believed the warmth would ever pour
The world had fed its every spark,
And lit its path through every dark

But one still day, the skies turned gray,
The winds grew cold and pulled away
The warmth it knew slipped out of sight,
And left the flame to face the night

It gasped for warmth, for hands, for light,
But frost had chained its wings in flight
Its hues grew pale, its spark withdrew,
A golden heart turned cold and blue

It tried to shout, but none replied,
No flame to spark, no light to guide
It fought to burn but lost the fight,
Now flickered weak in ash and night

Deep in the dark, a whisper grew,
A hidden beat no one once knew
A memory kept, by heart it's known,
A spark that glows when all alone.

In that silence, a spark was born,
A brand-new blaze, untouched, untorn.
No sun, no wind could feed its flame,
It burned alone untamed, aflame.

It shed the wish for borrowed light,
And made its warmth against the night.
Not just to live, but to ignite,
And turn the freeze to glowing white

The cold around began to shift,
Its biting edge began to lift.
The flame, now still but burning deep,
Had taught the dark itself to weep.

And as the frost began to fade,
A dance of light and shadow played.
For even in the coldest night,
The smallest flame can birth the light.
Neil Coleman Mar 28
Some are my
angels
Halo'd and winged

Others my
demons
Horned and singed

These words I speak of,
these ill-fated feti,
doomed remnants on the yellowed page.
Lie lonely,
and shawled

      found in attics and cobwebbed mem'ries long gone
      in scrapbooks and photos of loved ones moved on

Wicked words can devour
the feeble and weak
as they bump into walls in the night.
Sightless,
and hushed

Yet there was once a vision
They once had a voice
And I am not God.
The weak make their own choice
There's words that make the page, and then there's the "feeble and weak"
James Ignotus Mar 17
The meek nestles into the dark,
where power hums like a distant storm,
where strength, sharp-edged and waiting,
does not strike, does not break.

It does not cower.
It does not beg.

Fragility leans into force,
where dominion is not destruction
but a burden, a silence, a choice.

The strong does not devour.
The strong does not yield.

Between them, an understanding—
not spoken, not sworn,
but written in breath,
in the weight of stillness,
in the knowledge that power alone
withers without something to shelter,
and meekness alone
shatters without something to bear it.

The world does not see the balance,
but they do,
and so, for now,
they remain—unchallenged,
unbroken.
Heavier than ever,
I lost my strength.
Such a difference— Never!
I wish to go any length.

This is no tale of mass,
For I would carry the world.
It's a burden, that would fail Atlas
Even his grip couldn't hold.

Yet, no tale of mass,
Mass by people.
Feelings, heart all clash
I succumbed to this whirlpool.

Alone, a name I harness,
While I didn't heed
For I never learnt of loneliness,
Until you were all I'd need.
All I'd need.
One never feels as lonely as when he isn't with his beloved.
unknown Mar 2
I'm in a constant reverie,
Morosely contemplating the glistening, vivid sky
that contrasts with the remnants of earth and vibrant, coloured flowers.

I turn my gaze to the sea,
Not far off, that seems to splash and crash
In sync with the swaying leaves.

I imagine if the body of water were a physical being,
It would be more powerful than I.
Every muscle, every cell, feels weak within me.
Although if I had to pick between the sea and the sky,
I would have to choose the sky.

I'd feel the wind forcibly blowing my face as I
fly with no responsibilities ahead of me.
I could finally be free from every thought,
Every 'checkpoint', individuals expect me to achieve.

Since it's not possible, I decide to feel the thrill at least
Instead, by jumping off this obscure building,
where Mother Nature is fighting to take over.

But as my feet leave the ground,
I realise, no fall will truly free me
Maybe freedom is found within.
Millee Feb 17
the flowers died on monday
the clouds cried on tuesday
the sky screamed on wednesday
the sun dimmed on thursday
the stars hid on friday
mother nature weeped on saturday
the earth spun on on sunday
Emery Feine Jan 7
I am not fragile like a flower
Though I’m sure you’d think so
I’m courageous enough to not cower
Though that’s not something you’d know

I’m completely and utterly explosive
If not that then I’m nothing
For I’m not fragile like an orchid
But isn’t that something?

I am counting down to the next hour
I am singing a forgotten song
I am not fragile like a flower
I am fragile like a bomb
.... --- -.-. / ..-. .-. .- --. .. .-.. . / -. --- -. / ... ..- -- / -. .- - ..- ... .-.-.-
morningdew Nov 2024
What is a life,
with no fail?
It is a ship
That cannot sail

What is a life,
with no pain?
It is a life
That has no gain

What is a life,
with no risk?
It is a body
That's frail and weak

What is a life,
where no one's ill?
It is a life
You cannot feel
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