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leeaaun Feb 2
In shadows deep, where sorrows bloom,
A heartache lingers, a soul's dark tomb.
He asked me why I don't love myself,
Said, "I am tired of life, everyday."

A melancholy melody in the night,
Echoing woes, wrapped in pale moonlight.
His eyes, windows to a desolate sea,
Lost in the abyss of his own decree.

The world, a weight upon his soul,
Every step, an agonizing toll.
He questioned why self-love would stay,
In life's relentless, bleak ballet.

I spoke of dreams, like shattered glass,
Of moments gone, too fleet to grasp.
In the tapestry of time, threads fray,
A tired soul, in shadows, does sway.

Yet, in the weariness of his plea,
A symphony of sorrow, hauntingly free.
For love, a mirage in the distant mist,
A fragile hope, by pain kissed.

I painted verses in never ending rhymes,
Of beauty lost in the passage of time.
In nature's embrace, a mournful song,
Where the echoes of joy had grown strong.

"Embrace the self," I whispered, so frail,
In the silence, where heartbeats pale.
Life's weariness, an unending maze,
A tragic ballet, through sorrow's haze.

The soul whispers, the night descends,
A requiem for love, as darkness transcends.
He asked why I don't love myself,
I answered, "Dear friend, in sadness, delve."
Hussein Dekmak Aug 2023
Listening to your silence, I heard:
Songs and prayers
Tranquility and music
Tears and smiles
Laughters and cries
Despair and hope
Sorrows and joys
Loathing and longing
Passion and peace
Whispers and loud voices

Hussein Dekmak
Simran Guwalani Jul 2023
The moon talks about you,
In a way I never could
You were something out of the blue,
True it came, I never imagined it would.
I was chaotic, I came with a storm,
And you, so simple
Never budging in any form
But that was not the norm,
I was used to people flying away when I came,
And there you stood, looking at me all the same.
I don’t know how to define you,
You don’t have a history,
I’ve been judged on my past, it’s true,
But you are such a mystery.
I don’t know why the moon talks about you,
And I don’t think I’ll ever have a clue.
ummily May 2023
a tug at the end of the line -
there's something here,
she squeaks,
as her skin turns
sea-foam green.
silence drowns her,
"do it afraid",
whispers the sea.
©
Savio Fonseca Jan 2023
Midnight encroaches like a Lion.
As Darkness swallows the Light.
Temperatures soar to new Heights,
on a Cold and Wintry Night.
She treated Me to Her Velvet Kisses,
and traced Her Lipstick on My Chest.
Her lofty Passions kept pouring.
On My Body, that was full of Zest.
I speared Her, with My Desires,
as She impaled Me, with Her Lust.
She Moaned away My Whispers,
at the end of every Golden ******.
We woke up at Dawn, next Morning.
As the Sun showed up it's Head.
The Sun, was a bit jealous of Me.
Coz at Night, I had the Moon in Bed.
Sorcier d'argent Jan 2023
You tread so, unfondly and almost—
too carefully after the echoes
of wintry whisperings, yet swerve—
and twirl in a grand vesture

of fireflies, of distant worries;
dream like a glowing summer
amongst dwindling youths
and enraptured stardust:

solemnly, and dearly too.

"I will be happy, if you were..."
insistent, you professed; yet deny me—

your caged heart.

Your silhouette casts over
the fiery meadow, over—
the vibrant ruins; finds harbour
only, in the eyes of the serpent

and prance wreathed in light.

Caress your clipped wings; embrace—
yourself and bear in mind, always:

I will sit with you in the dark.
Memories of a distant summer.
LC Apr 2022
the dark limb splits the moon
from the expansive, pitch-black sky.
at a distance, we paint it
as a glowing, surface level circle
that we place our wishes onto.
we never listen to it in return,
so the limb fiercely protects
the whispers of the moon.
Escapril Day 3! The prompt was "limbs." I used the astronomical definition of limb, which was "the edge of a celestial object." This poem took some twists and turns, and this is where it ended up.
Savio Fonseca Oct 2021
With Her Lipstick on My Collar,
and My Kisses on Her Soul.
A restless moving Body,
was eagerly shooting it's Goal.
My Desires were on Fire,
waiting to be Burnt.
I kept changing positions,
so all Her lessons.....She Learnt.
It was Our weekend Romance,
the Moon was no where in Sight.
All Our clothes were scattered,
in a room which had no Light.
With all Our Chocolate Fantasies
and a Butter Scotch full of Dreams.
The Night passed away silently
with Whispers, Moans and  Screams.
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