#captivation - Hello Poetry

I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars. Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky. Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar; Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally. Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational. Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too. We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed. Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered. "I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened. Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie. Modest. Humble. We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.

0

Aug 14, 2022

Aug 14, 2022 at 9:26 AM UTC

anggita

Mt. Reverie

I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars. Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky. Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar; Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally. Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational. Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too. We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed. Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered. "I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened. Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie. Modest. Humble. We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.

12

With this pen, I paint an image of you. Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you. The ink flows into words that dance across your hair. The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear. A painting would be suitable for some. With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above. But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile. With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while. My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow. They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows. The image of you that I create can be vivid and great. But with this pen, my words can also design your fate. You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth. They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof. In the readers eyes, my words are you… With this pen, I can create you… With this pen, I can finish you... - Brandon K. Stephenson

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC

brandon-k-stephenson

"With This Pen..."

With this pen, I paint an image of you. Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you. The ink flows into words that dance across your hair. The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear. A painting would be suitable for some. With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above. But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile. With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while. My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow. They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows. The image of you that I create can be vivid and great. But with this pen, my words can also design your fate. You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth. They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof. In the readers eyes, my words are you… With this pen, I can create you… With this pen, I can finish you... - Brandon K. Stephenson

18

Your eyes captivate me And draw me in more and more I used to hesitate on telling you things But I don't anymore You always know what to say Though I may not like it. My day gets better When I see those hazel eyes

0

Nov 10, 2017

Nov 10, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC

OliviaChristine

Hazel Eyed Boy

Your eyes captivate me And draw me in more and more I used to hesitate on telling you things But I don't anymore You always know what to say Though I may not like it. My day gets better When I see those hazel eyes

8

Beneath the mask quivers and shivers weak and fragile flesh Frigid and frozen with chills of fear. I am crippling in-security secured, where they countlessly hide and whisper at the endings of each breath Riddles veiled with gleams of chemicals disposed and recomposed between night and day, Until the light hits it and the wind gusts it and incessant defections rise from the deepest depths of my horrific broken authenticity. And they are all staring at me. But this time not into the toxicity of my rusty razor eyes. Beneath the mask is where my falling tears secrete Pouring vacancy as a smile that feels more like a cracking cut that screams, "I do not belong here" , forms and quietly disarrays. Buried, piercing eternal reminders that what is shrouded is and never will be clean. Dig far enough and you'll unravel my roaring encrypted codes. I want to feel the inner me. I want to let go. So please let me go. I'm sick, surveying perplexed eyebrows and transient smug slugs that pass through me like a hundred and five venomous knives. Beneath the mask rests squashed hope branded in the never seen. Examine the clothed truth that's mounting me into a false entity If only this was an illusion derived from my bitter history. But the lights begin to flicker as endless passing heads and lifeless expressions come and go. Stop requested. The laughing fluorescence continues. Beneath the mask, recycled empty, plasticity. Carried with titanium, Styrofoam delirium, impalpable veined elasticity. And if you come close enough you may just see, From the scabs and scrapes of doom that are bombarded by and masqueraded with false decadence. Clipping the wings of individuation, Don't label me innocent. Beneath the mask are humorous symbols, layered with obscurity and decay residue. Of shattered dreams and scattered stars drenched in solitude. Guide me to the darkness so I can feel blended in, meaning comfortable in my own crumbling skin, and once again soak into my unsuccessful fantasies. Cause I am stifled from a thousand suffocating bandages weighing me down, I am the under-works of the ground, sleeping in the soil. Like meds morphed into led, showered with alcohol. Beneath the mask it is hard for me to breathe It is hard for me to belong and it's hard for me to believe Seek and create your deciphers and you will find deception draped in reverie. But I've been inflicted with a mistaken realism. Destined for something that will seemingly never ever be. I am captivated behind nauseating smirks and painful smiles So today please let me astray so I can remove this mask for just a little while?

0

Dec 7, 2016

Dec 7, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC

hannah-mariotti

Beneath The Mask

Beneath the mask quivers and shivers weak and fragile flesh Frigid and frozen with chills of fear. I am crippling in-security secured, where they countlessly hide and whisper at the endings of each breath Riddles veiled with gleams of chemicals disposed and recomposed between night and day, Until the light hits it and the wind gusts it and incessant defections rise from the deepest depths of my horrific broken authenticity. And they are all staring at me. But this time not into the toxicity of my rusty razor eyes. Beneath the mask is where my falling tears secrete Pouring vacancy as a smile that feels more like a cracking cut that screams, "I do not belong here" , forms and quietly disarrays. Buried, piercing eternal reminders that what is shrouded is and never will be clean. Dig far enough and you'll unravel my roaring encrypted codes. I want to feel the inner me. I want to let go. So please let me go. I'm sick, surveying perplexed eyebrows and transient smug slugs that pass through me like a hundred and five venomous knives. Beneath the mask rests squashed hope branded in the never seen. Examine the clothed truth that's mounting me into a false entity If only this was an illusion derived from my bitter history. But the lights begin to flicker as endless passing heads and lifeless expressions come and go. Stop requested. The laughing fluorescence continues. Beneath the mask, recycled empty, plasticity. Carried with titanium, Styrofoam delirium, impalpable veined elasticity. And if you come close enough you may just see, From the scabs and scrapes of doom that are bombarded by and masqueraded with false decadence. Clipping the wings of individuation, Don't label me innocent. Beneath the mask are humorous symbols, layered with obscurity and decay residue. Of shattered dreams and scattered stars drenched in solitude. Guide me to the darkness so I can feel blended in, meaning comfortable in my own crumbling skin, and once again soak into my unsuccessful fantasies. Cause I am stifled from a thousand suffocating bandages weighing me down, I am the under-works of the ground, sleeping in the soil. Like meds morphed into led, showered with alcohol. Beneath the mask it is hard for me to breathe It is hard for me to belong and it's hard for me to believe Seek and create your deciphers and you will find deception draped in reverie. But I've been inflicted with a mistaken realism. Destined for something that will seemingly never ever be. I am captivated behind nauseating smirks and painful smiles So today please let me astray so I can remove this mask for just a little while?

37

The moment Your mind touches mine, Implosion. Explosion. Captivation. Complete and utter Devastation from Singular existence.

0

May 20, 2016

May 20, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC

Proxii

Words Written on Napkins- Mind

The moment Your mind touches mine, Implosion. Explosion. Captivation. Complete and utter Devastation from Singular existence.

5

Is it ever going to go away It starts on the inside the one that no one asks to stay the slide I fight but still contrive Start at zero, rise then fall the ground keeps rising so I'll stand tall Compulsion built by the ego's indulgence divulging wilt's the universe's repulsion Subconscious whims to recognize the prime elect to analyze Creature's time spent on watching themselves while truth like an old toy sits upon the shelf Define dignity by humanity's degradation the willingness of every nation Nuclear unanimity, will never start from the surface or the boundaries beyond It comes from the origin within a navel energetic pond The mind collects, stores in the belly, transforms in the heart, then comes glandular manifestation The armistice of enmity and the achievement of a fool's paradise through all generations What kind of light will you freeze? What temple will you create? Or will it all be your temple Will you bring the stagnation of light or keep our existence in flux?

0

Nov 18, 2015

Nov 18, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC

shane-bruter-engisch

Inner peace

Is it ever going to go away It starts on the inside the one that no one asks to stay the slide I fight but still contrive Start at zero, rise then fall the ground keeps rising so I'll stand tall Compulsion built by the ego's indulgence divulging wilt's the universe's repulsion Subconscious whims to recognize the prime elect to analyze Creature's time spent on watching themselves while truth like an old toy sits upon the shelf Define dignity by humanity's degradation the willingness of every nation Nuclear unanimity, will never start from the surface or the boundaries beyond It comes from the origin within a navel energetic pond The mind collects, stores in the belly, transforms in the heart, then comes glandular manifestation The armistice of enmity and the achievement of a fool's paradise through all generations What kind of light will you freeze? What temple will you create? Or will it all be your temple Will you bring the stagnation of light or keep our existence in flux?

22

He was, Taboo. His whole existence was, Wrong, Ominous, Obscene. Oh so Taboo in his walk, speech, each and every step was Meticulous it was ridiculous He was, EVERYTHING

0

Jun 8, 2015

Jun 8, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC

nameless-poet

Taboo was Admired

He was, Taboo. His whole existence was, Wrong, Ominous, Obscene. Oh so Taboo in his walk, speech, each and every step was Meticulous it was ridiculous He was, EVERYTHING

12

I gaze upon its splendor weeping A masterpiece beyond fathomability stealing my breathe away as time stills and the emotions bloom... This is love! This is magnificence! This is existence! But only for a moment... Only for eternity.

0

Mar 6, 2015

Mar 6, 2015 at 5:38 AM UTC

dia95

Forgive me/ Herald to the End

I gaze upon its splendor weeping A masterpiece beyond fathomability stealing my breathe away as time stills and the emotions bloom... This is love! This is magnificence! This is existence! But only for a moment... Only for eternity.

7