You are to me what stars are for the night.
You are to me what colors are for a painter.
You are to me what rain is for the clouds.
You are to me what tea is to biscuits.
You are to me what waiting is for a lover.
You are to me what words are for a writer.
You are to me what a cool breeze is for birds.
You are to me what flowers are for butterflies.
You are to me what love is for a heartbroken.
You are to me what the universe is for the soul.
@scribblersobia
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Mephistopheles Devouring His Son
Prompt by: @karneo
Topic: Cannibalsim as a form of love.
Form of poetry: not specified
On AO3
Did you think it would be construed as love
dangling your son over your mouth ready
to indulge in one last act of solemn
familial duty. Nobody is left
behind. Did you blink and wonder why your
followers fell silent, gawking up at
their leader, with their eyes and mouths open
a mirror of greed and want and service
rendered.
Did all those devils watching think
that in the end love did prevail over
rivalry etched in granite? Was the act
of taking back, of claiming flesh and blood
you helped create and raise in the only
way that you knew how, one of true love?
Can your heart envision what that means? Can
you feel emotions that are unlike hate
Rage, anger, and terror?-
Is it not to late
to align the inside world you carry
to soft and gentle paths? You hold your son.
His eye are dead, his limbs limp in your grasp.
Doesn't this display of complete surrender
soften the aspects of him that you know?
If his existence was so loath to you
that always you did scheme for his demise,
a word from the wise, he still holds your heart
in iron grasp.
And if you cannot call
it love, call it commitment, call it fate
the hair-thin thread by which you did create
his life. For that you can't deny. He is
yours truly. And you take him back into
yourself – your body, and your soul. Is that
not true love consummate? You claim, you hold
you merge what once was separate. You love
the only way you know how to maybe,
But you love.
In the eyes of all the world,
of those you have assembled in your hall.
Did you not know or hope that in their eyes
a truer devil ne'er but what is more
a father stands, and in his hands he holds
his son. And yes, although he may be gone
you claim him still.
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Talk
You see, thinking is the problem
I have no issue dealing with arguments
It’s the sensation
How can such be true?
I long for distraction
A disturbance in my thoughts
That way I don’t think
I write I talk
I speak so my thoughts shut up
Tumbling deeper than Amenti herself
That way I don’t think
I don’t want to think
I don’t want to be alone with my voices
The voices of a time past
The voice of a little child
asking if mommy is ever gonna love him
The voice of a teen
wondering if it is worth it
I don’t want to hear my voice
The voices I had killed years ago
And the voices that killed mine
A man I used to call father
A woman who I used to call mother
While to both I was called a mistake
I don’t want to think
So I talk
(poem is mine but this amazing artwork isn't)
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@sherrylephotography
May 19, 2022
Vancouver, BC Canada
Reflections all round me
Towering in my mind
Til the end of my time
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A broken home can never be a home
A new coat of paint
Nor a new set of parts can fix a worn down machine
A decaying park bench with only two half slabs of wood and paint barely holding on as the seasons change will always be a home to someone even on the coldest of nights
Sitting there, watching the leaves fall and the stars move in the night.
Full of love and warmth
In the feeling of knowing where you belong
Not buried in the sand
As the sun scorches your presence
Nor in a place full of others who seem nothing more like jubilant shadows. Dancing in the eminence of life, as to convince others that this is where they should be
In a place of isolation
And filled stagnation
Of hate and sorrow
With broken plates
And stripped floorboards
But here I stand, looking over a broken home;
When all I want is a decaying park bench in a mid-winter's night.
A broken home will never be a home…
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what a wonder that we live
billions of souls all glowing together
each experiencing every breath for the first time
and still we let a few reign supreme over the many
we are all just creatures,
flesh and bones with blood between and yet we surrender ourselves to society;
so willingly we sacrifice the essence to play a game in which only the creators are winning
what a wonder that we live and yet never feel alive
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Bones my
Insides squishy
Very warm
Many sounds of
Being alive
Such as
Mysterious gurgling
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I believe in nothing really,
I think when we die its just nothing at all.
Or at least, there are days I really hope its like that.
And some days, I hate the idea of reincarnation and having to live again.
I wish that I’ll close my eyes and be nothing.
I wont miss the people who lose me or that I’ve lost.
I wish that I’ll feel nothing, nothing bad or good.
Be like the end of a film,
just a character and only stories can be told about me now.
But I will not be there.
I wont think
Think so hard my wires burst and melt.
No more tears over passed seasons.
And I will breath nothing
See nothing
Be no one
Be nobody
No body to starve and tailor
This flesh will be wilting into soft earth
It will all at once stop, like sleeping without dreaming, the tape halting at its end.
Still, sometimes I hope I’ll see you again and again
I just don’t wanna do this anymore
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lo lo loveeeeeeeeeeeeeee
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We look at stars and see gas giants with wars at it’s core, they looked at stars and saw gods, lovers, enemies
They saw stories
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Is it?
Is it too much to ask for a break?
God knows I need one, just one
A momentary silence
A fleeting moment of peace
Briefer than a willow feeding off her mother
Mother. That’s a word I haven’t said in years.
A creature that slithered away from my life
A child no more, forced to try.
As I was forced out the snake’s womb, I am forced to live.
To lay my roots deep within the ground
Never to be felled
Unmoving, always there waiting for her
The snake needed to satisfy her thirst
Kin was poison in my veins
All I needed was a break.
I will break..
I was 16 when I ran
I ran far far away
I didn’t have a destination
Lost in a sea of people
Drowning on air
I had long been the adult
Forced to grow and learn
I found my destination
A place far far away
Where the light doesn’t reach
Where my mind lies still
Where the flower beds paint the skies
Free of the weeds of my brain
I reached the place
Where my journey ends
Is this the break?
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𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞
˚ · • . ° .⋆ ★
but, her trust is earned,
not given freely
it lurks in the darkest of
shadows, only to linger
for one hopeful
moment,
before disappearing
safe and secure is
a fantasy that runs wild in her
dark mind
like a horse that
cannot
be tamed
a desire so strong
because
in reality,
her reality,
that’s all it is
and all it ever will
be;
a fantasy
her trust is
something to be handled
with care
it is
only to
be given in small doses
the thought is
dangerous but beautiful
deadly but necessary
even so, rarely does she
share,
because not one
of them
ever deserved her
unconditional love;
her kindness
her trust
the few who got a
glimpse inside have
barley
touched the surface
and everything is so cold
and far away
but then,
suddenly,
a dim
light glows softly
in the distance
brighter and brighter,
just out of reach
she has come close
a few times
before,
and
maybe, just maybe, this time
she thinks
the light begins to
expand;
the feeling is so close
she can taste it,
and it feels so
good
she could revel in
it forever
gently brushing at the tips of
her fingers, is the ghost of the sensation
she wishes she could capture,
like a firefly on a warm summer’s
evening
to touch
to hold
to give
she inches closer,
and the foreign
feeling of hopefullness
warms her belly like soup;
the light radiates like a
fiery star
almost there
she thinks
but slowly, the light begins to dim,
until there is nothing
but grey
and, again, she is back in the
darkness, cold and
alone
the ghost of the
trust that
she could
almost
give
lingers momentarily
before
being carried away into
nothingness, like it has
so
many
times
before
maybe next time
she whispers,
and her
fantasy disappears
into the darkest
corner of her head,
safely
tucked away
until next time comes
again.
-cozyinmycornerr
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Patrizia Valduga - Poesie erotiche #patriziavalduga #salliand . . . . #poesiaitaliana #poesiedamore #francanuti #poerty #frasitumblr #citazioni #frasiitaliane #poesiacontemporanea #librichepassione #libridaleggere #lettura #letturatime #mariangelagualtieri #instalike #italia #followme #francoarminio #libreria #followforfollowback #internopoesia #citazioni #letterario #chandraliviacandiani #movimentoperlemancipazionedellapoesia #charlesbukowski #eugeniomontale https://www.instagram.com/p/CqTCkJsow2P/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Fıtrat
Her canlının bir fıtratı vardır. Yılanın fıtratında da sokma eğilimi mevcuttur kendisine tehlike olarak algıladığı varlıkları bünyesindeki zehri nakşederek, etkisiz hale getirmek ya da öldürmek bazen de karnını doyurmak amacıyla beslenme silsilesindeki canlıyı avlamak için kullanır zehrini. Zehir bünyesindedir ve onu kullanmaktan çekinmeyecektir.
Çevrenizdeki yılan fıtratlı insanlar da, siz…
View On WordPress
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Hello, in honor of world poetry day( I am a few hours to late but nevermind that) here is one of my many shitty poems
I wish I could belive in a power so great
I wish there was someone out there
In the endless void of stars and darkness
I could look up to for guidance
I could blame
I could talk to
At any time I crave ideas
Other than the Angel's in my mind
Or the empty, steel buckets once filled to the brim
With true, raw human emotion
Now drained by expectation
I wish I could belive in an almighty spirit of hope
But I'm afraid that this time
I cant extend my disbelief
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