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Ghostverses Feb 21
heaven on earth.
a strange phrase for such a dreadful place.
i always ask myself, "what makes earth so.. peaceful?"
I have yet to get answer.
sitting here, hearing the rain drip down buildings and houses.
Maybe I can count to a thousand reasons why.
maybe I'm just delusional.
heaven.
that word.
makes very many people happy.
but why not me?
am i afraid?
or am i just dull.
earth.
a planet we humans call home.
but are we really home?
questions like these keep me up at night.
heaven on earth.
why is it so cold?
honestly, I thought about this while my boyfriend is peacefully sleeping. I don't know.. maybe i think better when my partner is a ease. :)
Zywa Feb 15
Princes, princesses,

like everyone, each of us --


is an honoured guest.
Gedicht "Hij is een prins, hij wil geen onderdanen" "He is a prince, he wants no subjects", 1982, Ed Leeflang)

Community for young people with an intellectual disability

Collection  "On the fly"
Robert Ronnow Feb 13
There are 12 types of joy:
simple joy
almost joy
systemic joy
Saturday joy
expressing joy
knowing joy
all joy
max joy
constant inputs of joy
single greatest joy
sacrifice or joy
the face of joy
at the periapsis of earth’s orbit.
Isaace Feb 8
What we learnt from the Masks:
What we did with our freedom:
What we saw when we took up the pen.

Shall we learn what we had learnt once again?
I don't think I could stand another night
Locked inside the shadows of Earth-den.

Subsequently, the Masks coiled around us,
And we set down our penmanship in the shade.
They beckoned us to sing, once again.
The camera is rolling, incessantly capturing every moment of our lives, leaving us with a world that never stops recording, where privacy becomes a luxury unbeknownst to us. In these private matters, we find ourselves stripped of any semblance of secrecy, exposed to the prying eyes of an ever-watchful audience.

As we gaze upon Mother Earth, we see her through an unsettling lens, viewing her as a captivating entity, akin to a seductive **** who has birthed and nurtured countless lives. Yet, contrasting our admiration, there persists an underlying desire to possess and consume her in a primal, carnal manner. It is as if we hold a fetishistic fascination with her, using fiery words to address her before we even think to disrobe ourselves from the layers of convenience and comfort, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

This portrayal begs the question of how mankind perceives themselves amidst this intimate performance. Are we mere objects to be stripped down and devoured for the amusement of an unfeeling audience? Stripped of our dignity and possessions, we are left bare, vulnerable, and at the mercy of those who derive pleasure from exploiting our vulnerability. It is akin to a mesmerizing striptease, a tantalizing display that leaves us yearning for something greater.

In the face of such exposure, we find ourselves humbled and powerless, compelled to seek solace and redemption from a higher power. Constantly begging to be bathed in the love and mercy of a divine entity, we yearn for a respite from the unyielding gaze of the world. It appears that the world derives pleasure from witnessing us in a state of vulnerability, reducing us to our weakest form, our knees bent in submission.

In this revelatory expansion of the original sentence, we delve deeper into the implications of a world that ceaselessly records our actions. We explore the complex dynamics between humanity and the environment, finding parallels in our treatment of Mother Earth and our own susceptibility to exploitation. The expanded content retains the core meaning and context, while elaborating on the themes of vulnerability, power dynamics, and the search for solace and redemption.
skaldspiller Jan 5
You are a slow lava flow
hard rock over a
flowing magma heart.

The catch of your breath
feels like a mountain shaking.
You are a calm surface,
a gentle heat,
and every mineral I need.

you may never explode,
but any good geologist would agree
a volcano is the best way to go.

let me die
still studying
the very heart of you,
in 50 years or so.
Coleen Mzarriz Dec 2023
Soft saccharine kisses and the way you held my hand—the gleam of the sun were clenched by the wistful glamour of your lips; and I stare at you, my dawn in the midnight sky.
 
Your countless palaver I can hear, forever lost in the starry eyes of yours—a nest of novice thoughts—I smile at you, my rather gauche. You were a dreamy night, and I was an afternoon tea—flat-out boring and tasteless. But I am also a poet, and you were my muse.
 
I was a copper, and you were jet black with charming brown eyes—and so I thought, “He’s so pretty, I could cry. He’s so dreamy, I could call him mine.”
 
If only I could give you these angelic kisses and let you feel these unearthly lips, lulling you with reverie and the dizzying glow of mid-December. The moon looks over us, and all he can sense is my longing, longing, longing.
I wish I could give you anything you want, the life you prefer, even the dying stars and the bright moon.

I wish you kind and beautiful days, my dear friend. My orange cat.

Song inspired me to write this: Midnight Sky - Unique Salonga
Chelsea Quigley Nov 2023
If I could
Be one with the mountain,
Or one with the sun,
I would.

If I could
Send love
To flowers,
Bloom them for hours,
I would.

If I could
Cherish the waters,
Clean them with my bare hands.
Count every grain
Of undying sands,
I would.

For nature,
Is given.
A present
Tied gently with a ribbon.

As the beauty of living,
Is seeing Earth's vision.
This poem is a personal one for me, as I have connected greatly with nature and wish to appreciate every aspect of it. I hope you all enjoy it!
Isaace Nov 2023
In melancholy, our thoughts reside.
In dreams, our thoughts preside.
With the most deft of touches
Our thoughts subside,
And ride the most noble of crests.

In time we shall exhume
Those withered bodies in their sunken tombs.
Why Lord? O Los!— the weary pang of time-forgot—
Birth me from your cosmic egg,
I wish to sit amidst the hawks.

Cluck, cluck. Peck, peck.
Chicken!— thou peck at mine brain!
I was not placed amidst the hawks,
I am spread across the pen—
I sit amongst the grain.
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