A Flowerwould I, I wouldA Flower by ~silvernium
walk in Hiroshima, a flower
cannot say much
underneath cypress trees
we can believe
pyramid builders used stars
to map something there
sand in my hand, sand
back to where I gathered it
the cypress branches at
night canvas us like a pyramid
as it should be, with light
coming down in shafts
I'd have a flower for every
thing we ever did that needs one
that is an uncountable amount
of flowers and we
cannot count the stars
in a universe we do not understand
365 vignettes project(1)365 vignettes project by ~silvernium
I have adopted two soul mantras. I can't tell you what they are. I guess keeping them secret has a secret in itself, one that belongs to the universe rather than to me, but the intentions are mine. If I don't say what they are directly though, then I don't think I am breaking the secret. I visualise a running river, moving clouds, falling petals, growing buds, observing sunrises and sunsets, ducks, cats, wind chimes. I hear in my thoughts rain hitting everything, what that sounds like against tree bark, concrete, a car roof, a wooden verandah.
We are as a fire. The smoke rises and becomes of little consequence. It colours the air, twists into shape like moments, and dissipates. We are not the smoke, we are the fire. The smoke should always fall away, it is no use in holding on to what has already burnt out. We are as the fire.
It is not then. It is not even now. The moment has already passed.
There is no moon out. I cut out a white paper moon and held it to the sky. I
My Living Water is FilteredMy Living Water is filtered.My Living Water is Filtered by ~ChemicalBlaze
Processed by "reverse osmosis".
Enhanced with "vitamins".
Wrapped in plastic.
And mass produced.
Stay at your seat, sit down, say hi to the person behind or next to you.
Give us your money so we can build unnecessary things.
I've looked up, loved, and talked.
In return I am loved and replies are heard.
I'm helped by the most familiar stranger beyond the sky.
In one ear, though, I was told not to talk like that.
In the other ear I was told not to ask questions.
What was said went in both ears and collided.
Suddenly a cynical girl with an unsettled heart was born.
The Bible says become like a child before the Lord.
What does a child do more than anything? Ask questions.
It is either annoying or thrilling to a parent's ear.
If it was annoying, the child might obey when told to be quiet, silent and blind.
If it was delightful, the child learned more.
This is when the uphill slope becomes a stairway.
You can either crown or criminalize curiosity--so are
A Long End to a Brief Life I didn't know it was illegal to move a person's ashes from the spot you said they'd be (my garage) to multiple others. I put Mom-in-ashes in the trunk of my car because I thought we'd find a place for her soon, but Mom and I went hither and yon while my sister looked for a real "resting place."A Long End to a Brief Life by *xlntwtch
I even forgot Mom was there, and we went shopping, to the movies, out to eat. Was it disrespectful? It didn't feel illegal.
When I thought about it, it seemed kind of cozy.
There came the day though, when my sister Jocelyn found a good mausoleum to put Mom at a full stop, the final resting place. I went with Jo, and that's how I found out it was illegal to move Mom beyond the shelf in the garage to the mausoleum -- it was supposed to be a direct line between the two places. Of course I didn't tell the man Mom had been all over town with me.
We had to pick out an urn to put at least part of Mom in (the whole of her was too big,
serotonin nebulaeif i could wish on any starserotonin nebulae by =drifter-dallyings
scattered through the midnight of
your mascara-gilded gaze--
a depthless milky way
with serotonin-starved electrodes
blasting supernovas of
across your nebulae of
my heart would be
to form a phrase
that fate would favor.
i fear that
stars could never tell me
love is the black hole
tearing suns' lights
from the universe.
but i've learned every
between your eyes
FlutteringThe soft flicker of the tiny flame caresses her face. She sits on the bed, eyes staring at the mirror across the room, body straight and stiff. Her lips pull up and fall back in an instant, the smile having been nothing but artificial right away. She knows he'll come again today. She just doesn't see any reason to keep up the act and try to seem happy.Fluttering by ~Selimeia
Her slender figure and her gentle face dictate her destiny. They're the reason he chose her, making her as fragile as the flame dancing in the rustling night winds, hoping that somehow, she'll survive the storm of what her life is about to be.
Intent, her gaze follows a drop of wax running along the thin body of the candle. She wants to stretch out her hand and catch it with her fingertips. But she knows she can't. Their proximity is nothing but an illusion of the mirror room. She'd have to get up to reach it, and nothing but him could make her do that. If she left the bed, she would have to take all the steps. It would make her
from the cradleThey blossomed together, growing and nurturing one another at a young age. Curls and bow ties bounced on bobbing heads. Whispers accompanied smiles and hugs and lots of tears. Playing with the dolls was their favorite pastime, until one decided to pop the heads off. Then they moved to pastels and gums filled with glue and broken color pencil flakes. That lasted for a few years, then the smallest of the four declared she was bored though really she was jealous of the group's creativity. Aside from a few meager arguments, the four were happy.from the cradle by *LitCritic
When sunlight framed their faces, the room glowed with giggles while the darkness brought salty tears and shadowy ghost stories. Scraped knees and black bruises were lined with delicate pink kisses. Curtains drew when eyelids lowered, eyelashes trailing gray shadows against porcelain faces. Bubbles and bath salts trailed lingering debris across the little house. Dolls scattered the floor, necks broken and skulls cracked underlyi
• written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical structure : a short story in prose | [as adj. ] a prose passage.
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valuesIn her worldvalues by ~Akai-karasu
her value is measured solely
by how far the tips of her hipbones
protude from her body
and maybe that's why
whenever she looks into a mirror
she feels worthless and simply like
there's too much of her
Not that she's fat or even
overweight by any means, but
this is just not what she wants,
so she can't help and look back
and feel regret for the time
more than two years ago
when she used to eat,
just to keep the loneliness at bay
little violoneThe earth for all its years could sing without me.little violone by ~Lychalis
Past the sky, the listening spheres sing without me.
Deep in the woods, the nymphs and spirits flit
through the old trees. They hear, but sing without me.
Within my heartstrings hums the flesh of beasts,
threads with no bloody veneer - sing without me.
Now the crawling creatures are left alone;
coiled metal seals the nuclear - sing without me.
Carvings and curves of a feminine feel,
like ink into her back seared - sing without me.
Artists work my tongue with pen and horsehair -
groups of musicians here won't sing without me.
With ease, I can mimic the human voice;
to great peaks I dive and rear, so sing without me.
I don't need your voice. I am in command
of sonorous solos. Dear, sing without me,
or try. My fairy, phantom garbed in white,
you couldn't bear, puppeteer, sing without me.
Stop Staring at My TeethDearest Marie, I have returned.Stop Staring at My Teeth by *Leonca
No more the poor man whom you spurned,
Though poorer looking, your love I earned.
Please stop staring at my teeth.
Lovely woman with gentle hands,
Think not of savage New World lands.
No one in this village understands.
And please stop staring at my teeth.
The cold leaves me distressed
And yet I labor without rest.
How could you be further blessed?
So stop staring at my teeth.
They are different, as am I,
But do not bother asking why.
Just go make me a pie,
And stop staring at my teeth!
Greedy woman, do not take
The choicest morsels that you bake
For this Hunger makes me shake.
Oh please, stop staring at my teeth.
My sweet, I urge you to dismiss
The copper tang left by my kiss.
It was no one you would miss,
So why keep staring at my teeth?
ode to youif you ever asked meode to you by ~escap-ing
to describe it,
i would tell you how
you spin my thoughts into poetry,
compose my heartbeats into music,
how your lighthouse presence
beckons me to a home
within your smile.
if you ever asked me
to write it,
i would write my fingers bloody
with all the words
that could have come between us,
all the conversations
that skirted past unspoken,
all the poems
that i should have surrendered.
if you ever asked me
to show it,
i would love your heart till it's raw,
your joints till they no longer creak,
your tears till they dry,
your bruises till they fade,
the whites of your eyes
till the bloodshot veins
fade into milky bliss,
your irises till they lose all dreary grayness,
and your pupils till they tire no more of the sunlight,
till they tire no more of me.
if you ever asked me
to prove it,
i would recite the thought-poems
that you spun
and play the heartbeat sonatas
that you composed.
i would paint you an ocea
...perhaps i'm just imagining things.sit with me, crosslegged and toe-to-toe...perhaps i'm just imagining things. by =bubblemoth
while the sun sleeps deep below the mountains,
sit with me among my mahogany four-posts
draped in nets and fairy lights that cast
pink and green and orange
over our tired eyes and tied-up tongues.
let the glow of your cigarette reflect in my irises,
let the netting protect & shield us
from anything and everything out there.
hold my hand when I get scared,
over thunder crashes and lightning flickers
and can you feel my blood
pulsing through my skin and into yours?
can you feel the gentle dips of the quilt
dotted with free-flying swallows in a myriad of pastel tones
as they rub against your shifting thighs?
my paper lips that split and bleed for you.
my cardboard vocal cords that rasp out love for you,
my eyes that lost their twinkle to put the stars in the sky for you?
my nervous palms with deep love lines and a desperation to be held.
your gentle inhalations curl love around your throat
and lungs, and my exhalations help to keep me sane.
poetry |ˈpōətrē; ˈpōitrē|
• literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a genre of literature : he is chiefly famous for his love poetry.
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Knocked from the top..My coveted mantle is no more, I have been replaced. Being knocked from the top has been my fate, as itKnocked from the top.. by *cyimang
always has seems to be.
The spotlight was once mine so long ago, now all of that is just a distant memory. My accomplishments have
been lost to the ages of time, unseen by the masses.
At one point, I mattered, I was hailed as being something great. But now I have been knocked from the top,
as it will always be my fate.
Temporis MendaciumThe Nighttime Wanderer dawns a raven longcoat outlined with gold trimmings walks through the night, fog serving as his abiding companion. As the Nighttime Wander proceeds on his stroll through the the lonesome road, he debates to himself, as is his custom, on matters mostly ignored by his fellow man; subjects that often force one who reads their covers to search deep within their very soul for them to attempt to answer, all laid bare before all to see and analyze.Temporis Mendacium by *TheNighttimeWanderer
The nightly fog continues to grow dense, a rather pleasing aspect for the Wanderer, as night and fog both serve to offer him sanctuary and security, something the sun could never hope to achieve, illuminating the world below forcing shadows to withdraw to their deepest reaches; no shadow cast on the surface save for the shadows the sun allows to survive.
As the Wanderer continues his walk upon night's tide, he speaks to himself as if there is another present,
"Time is an artificial construct, designed by mortals as a means of
5: Fire Angers Water As a man walked by Taluna laughed and dove into the bay's waters. She stuck most of her head into the air; water lapped just below her bottom lip. The man crouched to splash water on his face, eyes following her every move. Smiling, she flicked water at him with her sea green tail. The scales reflected a rainbow sheen under the sun.5: Fire Angers Water by =Amriah
"What a beauty you are." He walked along the shoreline.
She swam in time with his movements. Each stroke brought her scaled body into the light, exposing their natural trails onto her cheeks, over the gills on her neck and spiny, fin-tipped ears. The color of her eyes actually shifted from deep blue to radiant green.
"Why are you so far from open sea?"
"Do you always ask magic's kin so many questions?" Her accent was almost Hispanic. She came to a group
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