Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zywa Dec 2022
Grandma is bored, she waits
for my wedding and perhaps
she fantasises that I'm getting pregnant

How would it have been
with grandfather and her in bed?
We don't talk about that

just about the afternoons
in the sun, gaining some
colour for the summer

She would have liked that, but
at that time people thought differently
Anyway, bikinis did not yet exist

So much has changed, she reads it
to me from the magazine
and I laugh at her astonishment

She is old, her hair as white
as the walls in this sun, lovely
Lu does not have to come yet
"Second Story Sunlight" (1960, Edward Hopper)

Collection "NightWatch"
Onyx Jun 2018
‘Nobody Cares’
the gravity of those words
send me reeling
into the abyss of despair

are the greatest loves
fables of a deluded woe-begone?

if compassion dissolves to materail nothingness,

if passion is the means of exhuasting unrealised fantasises and lusts,

if trusts are meant to be cruelly broken,

What Is Love?

A pack of lies?
A tantamount of deceit and devillery?
A sad parody of broken hearts and damaged souls?
Or leecherous devouring of enigmas till they’ve sapped to death?

I wish those words
wouldn’t have murdered such beautiful innocence
of a perfect love
theinsatiate Jul 2013
Never has her feet placed firmly on the ground;
always tip-toeing in her high heels,
thinking that she never belong to the ground -
nor to our earth.

She dreams of many things,
one shall never know the bounds of her reach.
been told off by realists many a time -
she continually reaches both hands up in the sky,
and tries to pull herself off the ground constantly.

She believes,
she fantasises,
she achieves.


She is the dreamer,
she lives inside each and every one of you.

Listen to her gentle whispers in the sound night,
for she will teach you how to fly.
Alas! if you fall,
the realists will be around to dust you off,
and help you stand back on the ground.
Saltnoon Jul 2016
She sees dragons in her sorrows as she hides herself under her pillows
She feels the rage of love burning at the back of her head when she fantasises his lips on hers
She carries the ocean of her hopes deep inside her and flow them all out through her fingers as she pour out her mind with the ink dancing on paper.
Where do broken hearts go?
    To that camp where lonely wind blows and the stretched green grasses bend to let it pass.
To there where lonely camp host men of shattered hearts of consumed passion.
To that land where tunes of solemn songs echo and hearts wither like dying roses.

Where do broken hearts go?
      To that land where tales of love legends are written on broken walls.
A land of cold wind and desolate Streets,
Where the standing trees of faded leaves bend to fall in deep sorrow.
To that land where chirping of birds make mockery to them of love victims.
To that land where feelings are locked behind doors and hearts bleed in aloneness.

Where do broken hearts go?
      To that Kingdom of forbidden desire and rejected feelings of hearts.
Hearts of awesome wonder beyond the values of gold.
To that Kingdom of treasures beyond the reach of men.
To that Kingdom of broken gates and shattered cities having ravaged by ruthless beings of no feelings hold.

To that land where I stand and bend and lie.
To that land where love fantasises and reality aches.

Into my very own broken heart
Where love in it is an endless cry.
Straight to my heart where passion and desire burn like flames of fire.
Am a prisoner
Prisoner of my own urges
Stuck in a grave
Dugged by my own cravings
Held in a maze of throbbing fantasises
Jaded
My mind in a haze running around in circles
There's no escape
Budding roses bud
Humming birds hum
The night's on a break of dawning darkness
My messiah cocked up in seven green bottles
About to hit rock bottom
The stars offer a hand of hope
But I'm beyond salvation
Deep down in the sea of dizziness
I smile diligently as I sip from the lips of seven
I'm a prisoner and there is no escaping tonight.

— The End —