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Knit Personality Oct 2018
Cthulhu wakes.
The mind of Man
His heart forsakes:
His psyche breaks.

With acid rain
The clouds are thick;
And Man, insane,
Regrets his brain.  

The dawning doom
Refractively splits
The heavy gloom.
All nightmares loom.

LexiSully Nov 2016
The robin wakes to magnificent streaks of color across the sky,
But was too busy hunting worms to notice what was up high

She flies through emerald trees dancing in the slight breeze,
But dismissed it as nothing different than what she normally sees

She tends to her vibrant blue eggs as they get ready to hatch,
But fails to notice the importance of the batch

She sinks into the nest in the moonlight, just shutting her eyes,
But wait, what is way up in the sky?

Why, it is a shooting star, glistening and shimmering high above,
She smiles and is suddenly overwhelmed with God's love

In that moment, she realized that life had a meaning,
It was so much more than the hunting, working and cleaning,

It was meant to teach slowly through every new opportunity,
Until one day she and God will have complete unity.
When the sleeper ‘sleeps’

He wakes, on the other side

Of Plato’s Cave

And sees time and time again

Often in fragmented consciousness

The world that truly is

“Bigger on the ‘inside’”

“Smaller on the ‘outside’”

It’s like forever standing

Within a mirrored cylinder ring

Keeping faith to its seeming


Even though only

Reflections are being seen

Reflections of the

Geometry of love


Unseen beings




These and more

Floats around the exterior

Of this thin fabric of reality

Bumping into us occasionally

Letting us feel its obscured shape

But never witness its true property

Only through momentary slumber

When we open our minds eye

And peeks at the other side

When we drift away-

Unguarded by our perspective-

Through all of spacetime

And drift closer to the veil

As if through a plastic foil

Can we see and softly touch

The ‘matters’ of truth in life

See the wrinkles

And ripples in time?

That’s where runaway dreams

And forgotten past hide

You will see yours

And even all of mine

That’s why I can live

Again and again your happiness

And joys of mine

With near absolute clarity

Manifested through twinges

And longing

With the help of the night

That’s why

When the sleeper ‘wakes’

He can no longer

Bear this world of bright shadows

And must rush back

To the brilliant world

Under the dark sunlight

That's why

I leave the lies for the morning

And truth for the night

When you're weary of

My dazzling praises

You can dream among

The starry sentiments

Of my moonless sky
When the Sleeper Wakes in Sleep

By: Yue Xing ****

Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the very edge the living earth
dared to replicate Queen Fathima
The Queen of Heaven’s footstep.
That way is the destination de jour
graced by thousands of prophets of God!

In the name of Allah she descended
on the Night of the Ascension.
From the Night of Measures unlike the rest
none can enumerate it yet an unnumbered zone
in the perfect geometrised transcended location.  

The earth steps in the gap making way for her:
The only asymmetric golden ratio.
Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock!
Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on
in the veil, reveals her unique divine relation,
the front burner for sure is ever closer to God!

So pretty she is the paragon work of art
the sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire.
She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo
the only one woman had no shadow!

The great women flocked and mirrored the earth.
Treading across every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode, on approaching the behemoth,
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!

The ocean billows up
feels life on the high
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew
hanging low on the rose.
Just to drop down on that hot spot
like a cool honey drop.

Even the Moon on the horizon
fancies to sip from this drop.
Ah, the lunar punter is rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes are on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night
the Moon is floating down.
The seven seas sing out in the dark
bubbling with exuberant fireflies
that would gleefully rock the moonlight boat
over to the cup of this pretty little drop.  

Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground
the same is known as the Moon in the sky!
The storylines jump ever more
on that way over the shady grove.
Painting the colour of the winds
the sky rains down on that spot
singing the sweetest title song.  

Never was a woman prophet of God
to the one primitive woman, the leading lady
'Sayeedatun Nessa' Queen Fathima
heaven is no secret, it is an open mirror!
For her heaven is made an open book
the first batch of houris came to be
tuning into the sounds of her toes.
The earth in its primitive water first moved on
bang, Big Bang, soon she drops in it her hair lock.
She's the hidden gem in the secret end of God!

For the planetary ebb and flow on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only stepping stone.
No matter how many times more it tries on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one woman, the original
the Queen Fathima steps on.

Her presence connects the dots
the nadir and zenith perfectly line up
intersect into one grand perfect circle.
She will close it with the pi once for all
without a gap spilling new decimal.
Putting it all on the map ‘as above, so below’,
all in all, like it's in pure scientia scenario.

Heaven will open its grand door
where the queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on the last turned stone.
From the one great woman
paradise starts from here on
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018

She wakes to a morning
with no reason for living

cries in the mirror
to be forgiven.

Puts on her make-up
takes off her clothes

sits there & bleeds
until she can’t feel

the blood in her veins
...runs cold.

The razorblade

The cat cries
to be fed.

The batteries in her Walkman
go dead.

The Rachmaninov stops.

A letter she will never read
drops on the Welcome mat.

A mobile rings & rings &...stops.

A member of a minor political party
looking for her vote

rings the doorbell twice
slips on the ice    &   ruins his coat.


A man laughs at another man’s joke.
It’s a big laugh...he’s a big bloke.

Laughter invades the square.

There’s a chill in the air.

A friend calls for her
(to go on a blind date)  

...she doesn’t hear.

...snow falls.
lenore Apr 2017
Be kind to your own mind:
When it wakes you in the middle of the night,
(Your thoughts afraid of their own shadows;)
Hold it like you hold a child:
Softly, yet with all your might,
(Turn its terror into a fable;)
Don’t ever be ashamed to love yourself.
King Panda Mar 2016
I laid an anemone
on the mask of a crying girl
the young mother
the crouching woman
I am beautiful
says the sirens
says the ever-youthful vegetation
of God

I mixed my blood and nectar
on the mask of a dying man
the decay of kiss
the resurrection
I am beautiful
says the anemone
says Adonis in his grave

I burned their leaf-stems
on the mask of an artist
the eternal springtime
the life-death-rebirth deity
I am beautiful
says the martyr
says girl as she wakes
to the sirens

I am beautiful
says the head on the platter
I am beautiful

and the woman descends
the bronze invading
the bronze high-handed
the bronze opening
to the gates of hell
Onoma Oct 2018
it's such a slow peel,

then the prop up of

this emergent tower.

to height the winds of


under the weight of


aghast flowers drinking

down their color, with

a hand at their throat.

we're in it together....yet

i am what wakes to find.
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Pete is lying on a beanbag
underneath a cover white

hears a rumble from below him
wakes up with an awful fright

then a hand comes by and slaps him
grabs his head and holds on tight

poor Pete's always getting beat on
almost every single night!

©2012 Lyn
Blue Melancholy Mar 2018
I love you.
You heal me.
You are the sun that wakes me,
You are the voice that comforts me,
You are the best person ever!

I hate you.
You hurt me.
You are the hand that hit me,
You are the voice that frightens me,
You are the worst person ever!

I love you.
You are a shoulder to cry on,
You are the hug I need,
You're okay, I guess...

I hate you.
You are the reason I cry!
You are the one that hurts me,
I'm afraid to be around you.

I miss you.
I miss the person you used to be,
before the pain,
before the tears,
before you hurt me.
Okay, so- hurt ("you hurt me") is supposed to be past tense, but heal is supposed to be present tense.
I wrote the first stanza from the perspective of my younger self, and then it kind of alternates between younger me and present time me.
This was actually the poem I used to get onto this site... I love this poem, it was the second real poem I wrote and it is probably my favourite.
Pagan Paul Nov 2016
Her charms cannot be hidden,
laying languid in soft repose,
cloaked in dreams of night,
to her secret fantasies she goes.

Doe eyes closed in star sleep,
sweet gentle breath from parted lips.
A shift of woven mist she wears,
nestling flirtatious about slim hips.

A moment stirs her silent rest,
a sigh, rises, pours and escapes.
Anticipating beauty, the inner promise,
of doe eyes when she wakes.

© Pagan Paul (26/11/16)
Lord of Green series, poem  7
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
I wake up to my darling
My darling wakes with me

— Out, in and on white sheets we slip
For breakfast, lunch and tea
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
zebra Nov 2018
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty

blood and tears, a royal jelly
merciless kisses like blazing pyres
she cries through a night prayer

my push pin princess;
a crimson petal
nerves edge;
jutting ******* seeking cleavers kiss

to serve
to serve
to serve

smiling for a relish of wasps
she knows she is loved
a loved red faced surprise
**** mouth, red chirping sparrow
wax teeth melting
succubus, **** flower

gratefully crushed under foot
toes like musical notes
little pearl ruins  
grave stones
whipped cream butter cookie in chains
stipule corridor
**** plume
serrations gush, a singing Dahlia
ripped rose, thorned and curt
plush flames
her skull a throat

her liturgy
weeping, licking gods bulging ****
wakes her inside
giving her religion
sacrificed on a crucifix of *****
**** of heaven
a burning church possessed

drooling supplications
lustrous saliva web drapes trembling downward thighs
a glutinous chandler
melts like silk around ankles
crystal silt on scorched heels

to serve
to serve
to serve

her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
I love pervy pixie
William Eberlein Feb 2013
It is the shadow
that walks beside you.

It is the boogeyman
that waits under your bed.

It is the monster in the closet
that watches silently as you sleep.

It is the shiver down your spine
that leaves the air around you cold.

It is the "tick" of the clock
that wakes you up in the middle of the night.

It is the lonely howl of the wolf in a frozen winter,
that echos through the dark dead forest.

It is the silence of the tall mountain
that blocks all light from the world.

It is the lasting quiet of the room at night
that makes you pull the covers over your head.

It is your ultimate fear.
And it never leaves your side.

It is your harbinger
that will deliver you
into a cold
KiraLili Jun 2015
4 AM in the city , still dark
Going from one end to the other
Traffic has no jam or snarl at this hour
You can hit fifth gear quickly

The towers are dimly lit sentinels now
Orange hued street lights cast short shadows
Haven't heard one horn or siren at all
So still is the city before she wakes

Coffee and a plane wait at the other end
Traffic lights even turn green quicker
If only all crosstown commutes could take ten minutes
The big city isn't so big at Zero dark thirty
Flashing lights from the window
How they blanket on my face!
A calling back to reality
That leaves without a trace

of dreams and of fantasies
and of bright morning stars
as memories and fragments
lead us back to the start

ringing bells, closing doors
and two-hour dates
long walks, without a tire
no, we don't to race

in and out the halls we go
as i try to tell you something
chasing tails - back and forth
to ropes we still keep clinging

Ah, tethered souls! Yes, you and i
Search deep in each other's eyes
as the mourning wakes my soul again
reality becomes my prize
see the fire in my eyes
see my heart without disguise
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
The candlelight
flicks soft and low
you live too fast
give in to slow

cold hands hold tight
the fight would go
released her grasp
gave in to slow

he wakes at night
bad dreams in tow
still blames the past
gave in too slow

a weary sight
the tired soul
time couldn't last
gave in to slow

God made it right
with one soft blow
an endless task
gives in to slow

©2012 Lyn
Kai Aug 1
liquid gold splashes down
bitter drink made warm and sweet
wakes me up smiling
Ellie Aug 2015
All is well in the light of day
but as she sleeps...

screams of terror
as she relives the force of his naked body against hers

tears of sadness
as she relives the first cut she made to her smooth wrist

cries of help
as she relives the night she held a bottle of pills in her hand

She wakes
and all is well in the light of day
Knit Personality Jan 2015
Look on her now: no streak
    Of rosy hue
Blushes across her cheek,
    Now icy blue.

A frigid, wintry bed
    Was made for her
Who seemeth fully dead,
    And dead for sure,—

For her whose rested breath
    Will beat a pulse
Again before with Death
    She spins a valse.  

And doth she lie as fair
    As when her throat
Gave to her stately air
    A breathy note.

Look on her now!  She stirs,
    But frozenly!
And wakes with awful "brrrrr"s!
    Get her some tea!

Traveler Sep 2013
Taunted by unseen forces
I am powerless to extremes
Why shall I be forsaken
In my lucid lover’s dream?

In cognitive slumber
I live a life of grief
I play the easy plunder
And await my special thief...

I see our world
Through enlightened eyes
I know my heart is not divine
The paths of love
Tear through the mind...

Chasing her, I dread the voice
That wakes me when I tire
Beckoning me to pace myself
And seek unknown desires...

The trespasses of one’s heart
Are far beyond the soul
Thus ‘tis the larger part
That I may never know
I believe that there's something to believe in...
R Po TT 07 2019
Knit Personality Sep 2015
My love's a grim disease that has no cure.
It freezes me and burns me up in fever.
It pains me with a pain I can't endure.
It gaunts my cheeks and grays my whole demeanor.
It leads me through dark dreams of fear and torment.
It wakes me up with tremors and in fits.
It ceases never, sleeps not, nor lies dormant:
It's with me ever, crumble-ing my wits.
It saps my strength, my will to persevere.
It's pointless hoping I will ever mend.
It's best that I'm without you, for it's clear
That you would only hasten my sad end.
Your presence wouldn't fight my ill or tame it.
No, having you around would just inflame it.
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