"dimlit" poems - Hello Poetry

The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark. Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply. Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful. They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy. My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring. This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic. Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth. The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility. The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky. Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog. Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise. This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain, to quench the aching and consuming thirst. I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour. The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place. How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts? There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator. And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.

0

May 6, 2013

May 6, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC

ady

Symphony of Decadence

The curtain of night descend upon the sky. It is aphonic, psychotic and dark. Perpetually calling for daylight, but it is hours before the sun can, if, reply. Those remote, desolate hours are intolerable, hurtful. They bring the piercing screams of silence and poignancy. My wasteland is inhabited with moribund trees in the middle of spring. This world knows regrets and disingtegrating logic. Although the constant clouds conceal my world, no sign of rain befalls the thirsty earth. The trees curved to the scorched ground, seeking mercy, weary and restless of this static infertility. The throats of the passing birds have dried, no song can brighten the sky. Insipid and dimlit, not even the sun can filter through the clouds or the thickness of the fog. Somewhere in this world my body awaits demise. This decaying rationality bringing peril and incoherence, not a breeze or a murmur of rain, to quench the aching and consuming thirst. I beg in silence, but the words seem to hang confined in this inclemency, alone 'till my waking hour. The curtain has not risen, the night still falls in place. How long before I can succumb to oblivion and quiesce this raging, tormentig thoughts? There is no answer to follow the question because I am this world's, this hell's, this limbo, wretched creator. And so with cracked lips, with ragged breath and stinging chest I remain in the inside of this deserted, and cracked state of mind.

18

Take my hand - you've got to feel fun time's heading closer Futuristic daydreams are at hand -handy! microchipped wild boys and girls on rent - hardly paid off - dance! Roll the dice! Flicker eyes! Adrift on the dimlit flourescent effervescent reflector rays°°°°you're never lost or at loss; Coloured circles glide across the dancefloor______ bouncy boots swoon, high heels crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~ Enjoys momentary revelations! Latino lovers attracting honey dew magnetic more-s rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~ those cunning shenanigan freckles pressed redhair beauties against needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets electrified silhouettes stunning like elves un-fading beauty transforming tuxedos of a tight night; a jingle of Prague crystals into one dancing wave submerged by the vicinity of hissing tongues -been- beaten by fierce kissing in a stronghold ballroom frenzy - polarized beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a stroboscopic syncopation ecstatic hips, space shuttle trips

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Nov 22, 2015

Nov 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

Let us Boost "The Ballroom"

Take my hand - you've got to feel fun time's heading closer Futuristic daydreams are at hand -handy! microchipped wild boys and girls on rent - hardly paid off - dance! Roll the dice! Flicker eyes! Adrift on the dimlit flourescent effervescent reflector rays°°°°you're never lost or at loss; Coloured circles glide across the dancefloor______ bouncy boots swoon, high heels crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~ Enjoys momentary revelations! Latino lovers attracting honey dew magnetic more-s rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~ those cunning shenanigan freckles pressed redhair beauties against needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets electrified silhouettes stunning like elves un-fading beauty transforming tuxedos of a tight night; a jingle of Prague crystals into one dancing wave submerged by the vicinity of hissing tongues -been- beaten by fierce kissing in a stronghold ballroom frenzy - polarized beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a stroboscopic syncopation ecstatic hips, space shuttle trips

42

You were the dimlit star I am trying to reach. You've lost much of your glow how I wish my light would reach you, and teach you that in life you're ever so beautiful. How the harsh words of the world barricades you soft spoken heart into stones.

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Mar 31, 2018

Mar 31, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC

pax

dimlit star

You were the dimlit star I am trying to reach. You've lost much of your glow how I wish my light would reach you, and teach you that in life you're ever so beautiful. How the harsh words of the world barricades you soft spoken heart into stones.

12

I'm doin' it like I am left to write// I'm doin it left cause left is right// Ya lookin at me like I've lost my mind// can't see me cause you are too blind// This nation has the most// with the saddest of folks// dimlit they in status quo's// I beast-in when I bring-in the madness at least// Minds thinkin on their own u callin' em freaks// Your mind is just weak I come here to unleash// My demon in me fiendin' to feed on enemies// It's the World livin' in fear// preventin curl-n can't hear// ya should try to break ya mind// lose-in reality in fact's you'll find// my hope is open ya will-in time// dis-covered collectives of anti-collective singular symmetry// This you See the Light that LIT in darkness is the harmony// Mo-mentally perfection is a spiralling constant frequency// Do not be Were-King become royalty with-in not knowing//

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May 12, 2015

May 12, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC

joshua-vincens

LIT-Lyrical Insight Time

I'm doin' it like I am left to write// I'm doin it left cause left is right// Ya lookin at me like I've lost my mind// can't see me cause you are too blind// This nation has the most// with the saddest of folks// dimlit they in status quo's// I beast-in when I bring-in the madness at least// Minds thinkin on their own u callin' em freaks// Your mind is just weak I come here to unleash// My demon in me fiendin' to feed on enemies// It's the World livin' in fear// preventin curl-n can't hear// ya should try to break ya mind// lose-in reality in fact's you'll find// my hope is open ya will-in time// dis-covered collectives of anti-collective singular symmetry// This you See the Light that LIT in darkness is the harmony// Mo-mentally perfection is a spiralling constant frequency// Do not be Were-King become royalty with-in not knowing//

20

Saying goodbye to you is like getting hit by a train; Not because it hurts, but because it could mean the end. The mortality rate of being hit by a train is 90%, So I've decided that the likelihood of never seeing you again is like that. There's a chance that I may say goodbye, and that will be it, But there's also a chance that I may say goodbye and will leave only with battle wounds. My last kiss with you could be so painful that it will leave me with scars forever, Or it could stop my heart in its tracks. I could hear your voice whisper my name in the dimlit dorm room one last time, And feel all of the bones break in my body, Or my spinal cord could sever and leave me just like that. Either way, I think I still want to take my chances, Because scars fade And bones heal, So there's a 10% chance that saying goodbye to you, Will not be my last chance to say it.

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Jan 16, 2017

Jan 16, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC

rw97

I Hope Being Hit by a Train is Worth It

Saying goodbye to you is like getting hit by a train; Not because it hurts, but because it could mean the end. The mortality rate of being hit by a train is 90%, So I've decided that the likelihood of never seeing you again is like that. There's a chance that I may say goodbye, and that will be it, But there's also a chance that I may say goodbye and will leave only with battle wounds. My last kiss with you could be so painful that it will leave me with scars forever, Or it could stop my heart in its tracks. I could hear your voice whisper my name in the dimlit dorm room one last time, And feel all of the bones break in my body, Or my spinal cord could sever and leave me just like that. Either way, I think I still want to take my chances, Because scars fade And bones heal, So there's a 10% chance that saying goodbye to you, Will not be my last chance to say it.

17

The candle keeps flickering Every time we bicker It goes out The flame I keep having to relight the candle Then keep going about Its always the same • We fight • I relight the candle with the scarce light The room used to be so bright with the light When it would approach midnight It'll look like the sun is out and about But now, I can barely see a thing Not even the biggest thing Letting the shadows come out to play I try my best To fight back at the painful test After the arguments I look back at the room that's dimlit My gaze fixed on the candle The darkness around it is one I can't handle Blood is constantly covering the candle To simply relight the candle Yet the flame won't spark There's no point There's no point. The only thing I can do now is wait Wait and watch the shadows come closer To look at me like I'm prey While you relax and watch

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Jul 24, 2025

Jul 24, 2025 at 4:07 PM UTC

YourAsianH03

The Candle

The candle keeps flickering Every time we bicker It goes out The flame I keep having to relight the candle Then keep going about Its always the same • We fight • I relight the candle with the scarce light The room used to be so bright with the light When it would approach midnight It'll look like the sun is out and about But now, I can barely see a thing Not even the biggest thing Letting the shadows come out to play I try my best To fight back at the painful test After the arguments I look back at the room that's dimlit My gaze fixed on the candle The darkness around it is one I can't handle Blood is constantly covering the candle To simply relight the candle Yet the flame won't spark There's no point There's no point. The only thing I can do now is wait Wait and watch the shadows come closer To look at me like I'm prey While you relax and watch

30

The only way to get through everyday without incinerating your soul is by sending multitude of messenger pigeons to drop millenial post cards at fluctuating frequencies at the juncture of the mail box of your heart; as a wick to a flaming reminder. Soul reads the post card sonourous, sitting on a wooden stool with a gashed crack running through the middle beside the dimlit green forlorn bedside lamp. Heart ardently listens while laying silently beneath bereft layers of warmth. It read "You can't be the only moon that revolves around the Sun/You can't be important to someone all the time."

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Mar 4, 2016

Mar 4, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC

raymond-dias

Precipice.

The only way to get through everyday without incinerating your soul is by sending multitude of messenger pigeons to drop millenial post cards at fluctuating frequencies at the juncture of the mail box of your heart; as a wick to a flaming reminder. Soul reads the post card sonourous, sitting on a wooden stool with a gashed crack running through the middle beside the dimlit green forlorn bedside lamp. Heart ardently listens while laying silently beneath bereft layers of warmth. It read "You can't be the only moon that revolves around the Sun/You can't be important to someone all the time."

14

A poet is a wind child who can only play with that favorite toy, a crystal bead of sweat that springs forth from the mind. To accept another plaything would be slumberous, shadowy surrender, so poet: don't stray far from the shade of an old Oak Tree. For some sparrow hands which are washed with clarity can unpen with a key, A shy horse with a black coat And a star upon his brow. His muscles strong against the dark night and pulsing roads and travelers not known, his hooves will kick 'gainst the earth for the reigns o' your own sweat. It'll be a while now until The day comes and with it your eyesight, still wander on forth with a candlestick as you do in infant fatigues. There is family watching you over the dimlit alleys of abandoned streets, who await you willingly- and for the ringing of horse bells.

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Jul 4, 2014

Jul 4, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC

sean-fitzpatrick

Travel by Night

A poet is a wind child who can only play with that favorite toy, a crystal bead of sweat that springs forth from the mind. To accept another plaything would be slumberous, shadowy surrender, so poet: don't stray far from the shade of an old Oak Tree. For some sparrow hands which are washed with clarity can unpen with a key, A shy horse with a black coat And a star upon his brow. His muscles strong against the dark night and pulsing roads and travelers not known, his hooves will kick 'gainst the earth for the reigns o' your own sweat. It'll be a while now until The day comes and with it your eyesight, still wander on forth with a candlestick as you do in infant fatigues. There is family watching you over the dimlit alleys of abandoned streets, who await you willingly- and for the ringing of horse bells.

24

Exhaustion drip the night away, bleeding the clock of every second. Drifting on a raft of dimlit dreams, down a river of wayward thoughts. Stopping and starting. A blurry room fades to backlit black. Float, sink down with every breath

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May 5, 2019

May 5, 2019 at 7:41 PM UTC

ByAmber

Raft of Dimlit Dreams

Exhaustion drip the night away, bleeding the clock of every second. Drifting on a raft of dimlit dreams, down a river of wayward thoughts. Stopping and starting. A blurry room fades to backlit black. Float, sink down with every breath

9

What if something is speaking to me ? Something that cannot die , and all I have to do is listen , then function as a scribe . ☆ In spaces between my thoughts or in corners of my mind , or memories of dimlit past , now lately redefined . ☆ What is it then she force convey , while pushing me aside , bending my will to her own design , my starry moonlit bride . ☆ What of myself and all these dreams , Now frozen out of time ? A traveller from the depths of space , with nothing that is mine .

0

Sep 23, 2024

Sep 23, 2024 at 8:19 PM UTC

matthew-bright

My Starry Moonlit Bride

What if something is speaking to me ? Something that cannot die , and all I have to do is listen , then function as a scribe . ☆ In spaces between my thoughts or in corners of my mind , or memories of dimlit past , now lately redefined . ☆ What is it then she force convey , while pushing me aside , bending my will to her own design , my starry moonlit bride . ☆ What of myself and all these dreams , Now frozen out of time ? A traveller from the depths of space , with nothing that is mine .

20