#transformative - Hello Poetry

I lost madness in a hell Chasing back which was once want

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Mar 8

Mar 8, 2026 at 2:53 PM UTC

kevin-8

Be No Further

I lost madness in a hell Chasing back which was once want

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I've held in the tortured cell, love Awaited the feral ministry, calming it's wild young I've torn the light of the mind, reupholstering the night Endless minute trapped, skittish and embracing me thickly Here all are pressed, circled and wrapped Yet the love kept the silence, none held back

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Feb 18

Feb 18, 2026 at 6:22 PM UTC

kevin-8

Refunded Walls

I've held in the tortured cell, love Awaited the feral ministry, calming it's wild young I've torn the light of the mind, reupholstering the night Endless minute trapped, skittish and embracing me thickly Here all are pressed, circled and wrapped Yet the love kept the silence, none held back

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Externally, an inane fascination tool fashions my result, Detached and functioning the projector stays Camera angle of my removed head confronts it's former mind Shapeless and drastic, the masses gather to measure Designing intricate detail, I am lost I choose now, seeing the adultery of the self, to continue swimming Awash at sea, in memory of buoyancy Crashing relief, the familiar destruction of momentum The intro of mechanisms alive rewinds and adjusts fabricated outcome I am part of a large origami bleeding for curvature Leaking is rhythmically sensible

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Feb 18

Feb 18, 2026 at 6:42 PM UTC

kevin-8

Permutation Residue

Externally, an inane fascination tool fashions my result, Detached and functioning the projector stays Camera angle of my removed head confronts it's former mind Shapeless and drastic, the masses gather to measure Designing intricate detail, I am lost I choose now, seeing the adultery of the self, to continue swimming Awash at sea, in memory of buoyancy Crashing relief, the familiar destruction of momentum The intro of mechanisms alive rewinds and adjusts fabricated outcome I am part of a large origami bleeding for curvature Leaking is rhythmically sensible

11

Eyes of anthracite, ignite- Fuel for my waning spirit Food for my hungry soul. Her rays mirrored sunlight, And I, a humble acolyte: Happily dirtying myself to worship coal. The decades of pressure Stifling in leisure, tiny slivers of pleasure. Harsh force of demand. Idle gem, form of a diamond: Unaware of her own worth. How often, is ignorance our ruin And ourselves, our own undoing. To eat our own words: How it hurts

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Oct 22, 2023

Oct 22, 2023 at 4:36 PM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Hair Of Black, Eyes Of Hazel

Eyes of anthracite, ignite- Fuel for my waning spirit Food for my hungry soul. Her rays mirrored sunlight, And I, a humble acolyte: Happily dirtying myself to worship coal. The decades of pressure Stifling in leisure, tiny slivers of pleasure. Harsh force of demand. Idle gem, form of a diamond: Unaware of her own worth. How often, is ignorance our ruin And ourselves, our own undoing. To eat our own words: How it hurts

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The Shadow of Scorpio, Life's poison Sting. Shell of life Stand on the edge Of Apep; only you can kiss the devil and not burn. Flame that catches Only its shadow; Let the past RIP Like swirls of blue flame from a dragons rage. All the dragons have fallen to Myth. Only the Phoenix Remains.

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May 24, 2019

May 24, 2019 at 10:45 AM UTC

je-osun

Scorpio

The Shadow of Scorpio, Life's poison Sting. Shell of life Stand on the edge Of Apep; only you can kiss the devil and not burn. Flame that catches Only its shadow; Let the past RIP Like swirls of blue flame from a dragons rage. All the dragons have fallen to Myth. Only the Phoenix Remains.

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We are waves of people We don't accept defeat Carrying generations of their blood Etched on the palms of our hands and the soles of our feet We defy the laws of gravity, our cosmic bodies in orbit always revolving We possess a transformative skin Continuously moving, constantly evolving Current crashing, ripping through the earth Roaring tides behind us, our vicious flood fights The foundation of millennial’s - conscious, violently beautiful beings Our loud waters, impossible to ignore, amorously painting our rights The right, the will, the intense appetite Flavored by salty words with a sweet impulse for action Drowning all numbness, consuming the calm which once was Thinking like philosophers, walking like warriors, as they record our reaction Thin, musty white air trying to cover the shifting blue hues The water never stops moving the ripples inconceivably vast, Our wave leaves masterpieces of celestial proportions Our space is here now, our tomorrow will not echo the past Ours roots are planted and grown in our cities Perfectly immortalized in a valiant state of existence We are waves of people, waves of voices A digital age of collective resistance - p.m

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Feb 9, 2017

Feb 9, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC

priya-mistry

We are waves of people

We are waves of people We don't accept defeat Carrying generations of their blood Etched on the palms of our hands and the soles of our feet We defy the laws of gravity, our cosmic bodies in orbit always revolving We possess a transformative skin Continuously moving, constantly evolving Current crashing, ripping through the earth Roaring tides behind us, our vicious flood fights The foundation of millennial’s - conscious, violently beautiful beings Our loud waters, impossible to ignore, amorously painting our rights The right, the will, the intense appetite Flavored by salty words with a sweet impulse for action Drowning all numbness, consuming the calm which once was Thinking like philosophers, walking like warriors, as they record our reaction Thin, musty white air trying to cover the shifting blue hues The water never stops moving the ripples inconceivably vast, Our wave leaves masterpieces of celestial proportions Our space is here now, our tomorrow will not echo the past Ours roots are planted and grown in our cities Perfectly immortalized in a valiant state of existence We are waves of people, waves of voices A digital age of collective resistance - p.m

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the most beautiful thing about poetry is how the beauty of the words evolve with you the more you experience the more you learn the more you write you recognize phases in life that you didn't know existed you read old poems but still feel the same passion as when you first put your emotions onto paper you witness greatness becoming perfected but never reached because as a beautiful entity you are forever growing, forever evolving or maybe the most beautiful thing about poetry is how you can translate intangible emotions into relatable words without even fully knowing what the final piece will be sometimes you have a vision of the words and other times the fingers move for you before your mind can process what is going on the more you write the more you see the more you understand poetry dares you to grapple with your emotions instead of hide them poetry is transformative.

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Sep 10, 2014

Sep 10, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC

ajw

Poetry

the most beautiful thing about poetry is how the beauty of the words evolve with you the more you experience the more you learn the more you write you recognize phases in life that you didn't know existed you read old poems but still feel the same passion as when you first put your emotions onto paper you witness greatness becoming perfected but never reached because as a beautiful entity you are forever growing, forever evolving or maybe the most beautiful thing about poetry is how you can translate intangible emotions into relatable words without even fully knowing what the final piece will be sometimes you have a vision of the words and other times the fingers move for you before your mind can process what is going on the more you write the more you see the more you understand poetry dares you to grapple with your emotions instead of hide them poetry is transformative.

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