#phantasms - Hello Poetry

I had too much to dream last night and as the sun brings morning light my eyes are still closed tight I had too much to dream last night I had too much to dream last night but waking just doesn't feel right as you flutter in and out of sight I had too much to dream last night I had too much to dream last night I saw you there but not quite a phantasm in a gown of white I had too much to dream last night I had too much to dream last night Don't know if I'm going to be alright powerless against your vampire bite I had too much to dream last night I had too much to dream last night unable to resist your seductive invite I hear your surreal songs and write I had too much to dream last night Too much, too much, too much, too much, I had too much to dream last night Too much, too much, too much, too much, I had too much to dream last night

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Mar 6

Mar 6, 2026 at 8:17 AM UTC

My mind turns in perpetuity with no destination as the phantasms are competing for the grand prize; my last stray of sanity. They fracture the darkness with their taunting iridescence never failing to catch my eye when they’re throwing their very own pageant held in honour of me. They dance with one another clashing from time to time spitting their chastised replies the only reprieve is found when I open my eyes after listening to the echoes of all those beneath me and at 5’ 3” there shouldn’t be many.

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Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC

AmeliaVPoetry

Plagued Pageant

My mind turns in perpetuity with no destination as the phantasms are competing for the grand prize; my last stray of sanity. They fracture the darkness with their taunting iridescence never failing to catch my eye when they’re throwing their very own pageant held in honour of me. They dance with one another clashing from time to time spitting their chastised replies the only reprieve is found when I open my eyes after listening to the echoes of all those beneath me and at 5’ 3” there shouldn’t be many.

18

I’d imagined her in the fields of Tea; one, “she,” with hair born ink, Perfectly-lined pearls, A soon to be smile, Wells for eyes, lost, So very starved to be saved And a'tic-tac-toe Scarred the earth upon back, So mimicked the sun. So clucked the tribulation. We, and after, “we,” ****** We trust And two necks rocked backward Under an unrelenting moon, Could become, “we,” With an already, “she,” and now the “He,” a'wander before stars - A wish and the only she’d wanted, By name of, “touch;” So one, the sun scorched rice, And second, red stained the field, And so on, the son missed home, And once more, one son stood ground And another sun held his hand, So built, this newer home Come allowed and growing old; Together.

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Jul 8, 2016

Jul 8, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC

liam-c-calhoun

Our Only Arithmetic

I’d imagined her in the fields of Tea; one, “she,” with hair born ink, Perfectly-lined pearls, A soon to be smile, Wells for eyes, lost, So very starved to be saved And a'tic-tac-toe Scarred the earth upon back, So mimicked the sun. So clucked the tribulation. We, and after, “we,” ****** We trust And two necks rocked backward Under an unrelenting moon, Could become, “we,” With an already, “she,” and now the “He,” a'wander before stars - A wish and the only she’d wanted, By name of, “touch;” So one, the sun scorched rice, And second, red stained the field, And so on, the son missed home, And once more, one son stood ground And another sun held his hand, So built, this newer home Come allowed and growing old; Together.

27