Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Umi Mar 2018
The start is empty and dark, a realm of shadows consumes your mind, your soul and your fragile eyes with no hope for light to unfold
Try leaving the rest, or better,leave it all up to your imagination,
So you may not get lost in this loitering darkness which everlasts!
As you progress it becomes clearer, the picture begins to form alike pieces of an distorted puzzle with discord in between each of them.
When you close the door and enter once more however you will never know what you find, the image truly has corrupted itself,
This place is a secret which holds no meaning; Absolutely Undefined
A shadow can change its shape, reconstruct itself and resize too,
What you get may be what you see, though is it really what you get if you aren't able to trust your eyes through this ominous tenebrosity
A labyrinth, unhinged, seemingly endless cast away in illusion awaits those who make it through without being blinded by their eyes,
But why make progress, I will send you back to the start, empty and dark so that the joy of exploring this world of change never ends.
All or nothing, what is the goal, in this undefined loitering darkness.

~ Umi
Waverly Feb 2012
She learned
how to fight
from me,
put her gloves
up
on her bed;
red training Everlasts
the foam lasting
forever
even as other
fists made their way
to her heart,
the repeated blows
just gave her a lover's
brow,
a permanent bruise
against
intrusion,
She
learned how to move her
feet
from how I walked away
from her, learned
how to rip
through defenses
just by watching someone's feet,
how they move,
how they react,
how flat-footed they are
all those Converses stacked in a corner
like scalps,
that's why she's always looking
down, away from the eyes
where the most damage is done,
away from the chest
where a good jab can **** you,
to the feet,
always watching against the next move,
preparing herself
to dance away.
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2017
The fountain of youth
The body is made of sand
The soul everlasts
© Poem by Lyn-Purcell
Jasmine Marie Sep 15
spiritual striation light my path
a focused array too hazy to grasp

my grip soft like putty
sand slips through the cracks

my hands unaccustomed
still grace everlasts

— The End —