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  Jan 11 thyreez-thy
hsn
there will the path
towards better things .

yes, there will be moment
where you feel at the
lowest point of your nadir

or feel humiliated about
your own flaws,

but remember
just remember ,

there is light even in the dark
you just have look carefully  .
"towards better things"
  Jan 11 thyreez-thy
Azarel
Hush, little rose, the night has been long,
Petals bruised and battered, yet still, you grow strong.
The care you seek will one day arrive,
But for now, your stem stands poised, alive.

Hush, little rose, though your storm feels unending,
Allow me to offer you solace and shelter, unbending.
Your thorns don’t scare me; I’ve bled before,
For scars tell a story that resilience bore.
So let me hold you, even if just tonight,
For in your tempest, kindred spirits unite.

Hush, little rose, forsaken and astray,
By gods who turned their backs and looked away.
Together, we can carve a new way,
No longer lost, we’ve found our light,
A quaint ember burning through the endless night.

Lean on me, and I’ll never let go,
For in your pain, a part of me continues to grow.

Hush, little rose, there’s no need to stand so tall,
Release yourself from the scars that shackle all.
Remove the mask you wear, let your weary soul rest,
If only for tonight, let me bear the weight in your chest.
Crumble in my arms; I’ll keep you whole,
You can break apart knowing I’ll guard your soul.

Hush, little rose, let the darkness seep,
I’ll hold you close when the shadows creep.
For you are not your storms, nor your fears—
You are the quiet strength behind your tears.

Let love be gentle, let it unfold,
Not the fire that consumes, but the warmth that holds.
There’s no need to burn for love to be true,
Let it be a love that softly cradles you.

Hush, little rose, the night has been long,
But in our shared silence, we’ve found a song.
No longer alone, no longer astray,
Together, we’ve forged the dawn of a new day.
This was a poem written for someone special. Someone who has had struggles understanding what love could be. Along with going through an incredibly difficult healing journey. To really show support towards them.
  Jan 11 thyreez-thy
Daria Gos
I look... empty, gray
and before that, crowds were peeked in

Everyone laughs, smiles
and my empty painting presses me against the wall without a moment's thought

I see someone painting my picture frames
With a different brush than the grave, the altar

He paints with words, good deeds
The image becomes something different from the gray and half-world reverie

He is a painter, a painter of my life's painting.
When everything seems the same and you think that you don't deserve anyone, suddenly something can change, you don't know when, where, but loneliness will change. Sometimes you need the right place or time, but the most important thing is your faith and willingness to open up to someone, because even if you think it's stupid. It can change a lot
  Jan 11 thyreez-thy
Chloe
I used to write songs to god
back when I did not know a lot
or think much about what I want
It was all a lie I told myself
to believe

The amazing grace
missed it’s mark
No one saved my soul,
often gone
It was all a lie
that everyone seemed to believe

I think it requires a type of hope
and an overwhelming need to cope,
which I never could
I believe in ghosts
and electricity;
unwinding and rewiring
Nothing good ever came from the shock

I used to pray for everyone -
anxiously and, often, overdone
The weight never softened,  
always buckling under the worry
Some never need to learn,
they just know its true
I’m walking by the dimming remains
of a building of future past:
its once stylish streetlight, now decayed,
points at the Moon that’s rising fast.

The old streetlight was made of globes of glass
that circle its core of steel bars.
It looks like a starship, sleek and fast,
but now its globes are dusty and scarred.

The globes, a circle of eight bright moons,
orbit the streetlight’s tall spire
that points up to the glowing sky jewel,
to the place to which it aspires.

Up there, on brightly lit lunar plains,
our spacefarers once walked in awe
and dreamt of Zarathustra’s booming strains
in two thousand and one proud hurrahs.

And so this spacecraft of glass globes
was made to look up to the stars,
to urge us on to launch further probes
and take wing from this blue globe of ours.

Years later, this dream has faded
to fleeting stars of reality shows,
who leave the people fixated —
not by the Moon’s, but by screens’ dim glow.

The streetlight was fixed firmly to earth,
iron bolted to grey crumbling concrete.
But it still points up to the heavenly berth:
Moon rises, a dream left on repeat.
Inspired by a streetlight at the now decaying 1970s futuristic International Congress Center in Berlin.
toxicity is just a human thing; cause of all the fumes we
all love to breathe – do our young men have much chose,
we can all live like men, but need to be trained like boys
if the roof over our troubled fires fell down, would the
smoke clear, or would we be forced to breath it all in?

but that’s how we live because we’re troubled, have dreams
inspired by the ideas of others, treat women less, as men
with no father’s, live in our own shadows because we all
hate our true colours –
                                  we just all want to breath.
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