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The lights around me aren't as bright
As the light that I have inside
Yet I feel blind...
maybe it's myself I cant find.
Because everything around me is perfect in its flaws
Worn adhesive, I try to stick to life but I fall.
I wish could just disintigerate into ash and be everywhere
With everyone
Whilst simultaneously being nothing at all
SC Kelley Aug 2018
I write about the stars too much.

I blame you.

Eyes holding galaxies in sweet captivity.

That starstruck feeling when you look at me.

Lips that taste of constellations.

Ecstacy of cosmic proportions.

Words drawing me in like a black hole.

Your body, like a goddess swimming in stardust.

Accidental perfection parallel to the Milky Way.

Your laugh as bright as a thousand supernovas.

Heart made of stars, filling the space in my own.

I write about the stars too much.

But really, I just write about you, the best of them all.

~S.C. Kelley
For My Love
Skaidrum Oct 2015
I'm witnessing the night erupt in celestial warfare;
Galaxies upon the fleeting edge of collapse.
Constellations rise as warriors
Planets fall as if they were empires
Shooting stars committing suicide
Eclipses; full-fledged victims of ******
Toxic comets threaten disaster
Supernovas; spells of death
Starlight diminished by the savages;
Nebula messages slaughter hope.
This is a massacre of our milky way~
Our universe;
a brilliant display of
a civil war.

Sweet dreams.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Jen Snow Aug 2018



















For Matty
If you've ever had the pleasure of kissing a poet, you'd know just how adventurous they taste

The saltiness of the seven seas mixed with the sweetness of the stars

They taste like tsunamis and high tide

Like black holes and supernovas

Like flowers and forest fires

They taste like heaven with a dash of hell

Like a tall drink of inspiration and a shot of death

They taste like late nights and early mornings

Like old night-time and burnt toast

They taste like new experiences

Yes, if you've ever had the pleasure of kissing a poet , you'd know just how much you crave for more
PoserPersona Nov 2018
1 A halo of everything from the nothing.
2 Both seeds and grows space and cosmos.
3 Supernovas are but whimpers to the maker.
Dominique Oct 2018
The universe bursts and expands
I'm shaking but you grab my hands  
I know we've looked stars in the eye
Our galaxy minds never die
She smiles 'cause she loves all these words-
A romance story I've heard
I'll bet she sees sunsets just right;
The moon's invitation to dance with the night
The universe quickly expands
Like my trembling heart in your hands
There's warm supernovas that spring from your chest
You're vibrant and lovely-
I wish you the best.
An (old) rhyming poem for those who prefer it that way, about all those individuals who bring the milky way down to earth
Iz Dec 2018
I don’t think
I’ll ever love you again
The same way I did
When I saw fireworks in your eyes
And Supernovas in your soul
Ashley Chapman Mar 2018
Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:

A few automated steps, and:
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).



One more stop:

       New Bond Street.


Last stop:

       No-name, this one:




     WE ARE:
Dedicated to Steven Hawking, RIP, this poem is designed to be read to a live audience. To this effect, it was performed at the Hundred Year Gallery in Hoxton, London, and has been altered considerably ahead of being performed at The Mediterranean Cafe, Berwick Street, in Soho, London. All welcome, March 28th at 7pm.
Arianna Apr 15
"... ouroboros chokes on its essence, heaving darkness between retching supernovas. Thus the universe burst upon the Vastness, shattering into innumerable fragments of a rainbow, conjuring Eternity out of Chaos attempting to put itself back together again..."
Sonia Ettyang Sep 2018
Gazing up the infinite sky
I see stars dancing in brilliant light
I see faces in the moon
It's a magical phenomena
Exploding like supernovas
It's a celestial ecstasy we rise again and again
Our souls are filled with joy
Our hearts with love
For a wild cosmic ride with our hearts open
Feel the bliss as we illuminate across the universe
Shine on, it's a limitless splendour
©Sonia Ettyang
We are the universe expressing itself in a human form for a little while
Halo Nov 2018
When a nova happens,
A star shines bright.
And makes all the galaxy awe at it's light.
The star is born.

When a Supernova happens,
A star explodes,
Full of bright colors that nobody will ever know.
The star dies.

The most beautiful things on the outside
Are either just barely getting the chance to live,
Or are dying while people admire,
Not feeling their pain.

Supernovas might be marvelous,
But there is a always a story behind them you will never know.

Kaya Jun 22
I like to lay in the cosmos;
Stardust freckling my cheeks
and hanging from my lashes,
it’s residue on my finger tips.

I dangle from the stars,
Saturns rings around my waist,
Neptunes blues in my eyes,
Jupiter’s storms in my heart.

I dream and dream and dream,
among galaxies and supernovas,
perfectly at home
in the void of space.
alexa Nov 2018

my lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of ballet slippers.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when i'm trying not to laugh.
my lips are sealed lips.
they do not repeat secrets,
no, these lips are trustworthy lips.
they are still glued shut,
not letting me say the things i want to say, need to say...
there's a reason my poetry
is written down,
not spoken aloud.

his lips are soft lips.
buttery, smooth
the color of pink carnations.
they smirk
and they pucker
and they curve up on the sides
when he's trying not to laugh.
his lips are healing lips.
they heal mine, heal me
when my lips are too tired from telling the same lies i always do.
no, his lips are honest lips.
they are still always candor,
never afraid to tell me
what i need to hear,
whispered in my ear.

our lips are galaxy lips.
when they touch,
even the stars don't know what to do so they explode,
supernovas shattering the Earth,
as the Sun and Moon collide
in a cacophony of stardust.
our lips
are astronomical lips.
Maya Oct 2018
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.

Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.

Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.

Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish  avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.

Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
please correct me if my grammar is wrong, dramatic effect called for dramatic language, and modern tongue has lost the drama that is thine, thee, thou, etc.
AK93 May 11
Parking lots
Dead end signs
Endless texts and facebook messages
All to tell me that I'd never be one of your exes
Because you'd never give me an honest chance to show you what I know about romance
Even though you sometimes considered the part as soon as we started launching the spaceship fell apart
We never made it past the atmosphere
Held down by the gravity of fear
Maybe I should call elon musk
See if he has any idea what's up
With the lack of progress in our mission to space
And if we'll ever see the result we aimed to create
Because I still dream of galaxies and supernovas with you by my side
But if I'm being honest I believe the light from this star we wished on has long since died
Acina Joy Jun 23
The words are not the same anymore,
wrapped in meanings that are concepts far
beyond my eyes, that fall upon my lips,
empty and bitter and fading.

My poems are like foreign aspects of my life now,
disappearing under my finger tips without further
notice, kneaded into the paper under my palms
and leaving me slowly, dreadfully, painfully.

Who am I now, that my voice has waned?
That the moon on my tongue no longer revolves,
with the earth and the sun, left trap in a desolate darkness
filled with brighter supernovas, and wanton galaxies.

Who am I now?
That the thread of my being has frayed,
and slipped, and weaved, through the contours of the universe,
as I slip easily through the cracks without being chased;
without being noticed (and I regret and regret, and regret, because I wish that they had).

Who are we, now that I'm gone,
and that you've gone with another? That you've followed
in their footsteps, left me, with one foot entering my grave?
With a rough necklace dangling across my collar? With silver lining your eyes, and with an exuberance that comes with letting go?

What are we now, that my poems no longer hold the essence of me,
as it remains to long for you? What are we, that we no longer hold what was once dear for us? What are we now, that the physical form of who I am remains to fade alongside your death? What are we, when all that remains of our past selves are gone?

Who are you?
we have to move on once in awhile, but I can't help but think of you sometimes (or most of the time).

— The End —