tread for days blood pours in a drowning diving into oceans. A murmur in the stillness of the sea absent in the lunula white, weeping in the dying of the eventide may you decide to leave as the crawfish float in unyielding waters, delusional, still seeking the innocence of the … Continue reading once a tree stood.
Wept in the death of Gods, darker still in the gathering ocean, with only tears that fall to them, in the red hyssop of the frost inclined to the penetralium of desire, as the ocean slips no fate by its sea song to kill empty, the abscission of leaf falls like glass we could not … Continue reading Planetary motion.
I am dream-bound to the weeping mother of an ocean shore, my shadow is darker than the prose tree of mind and desire a prospect of inner lunacy and death; the clam’s mouth is lighter between the sun, into the silence of blue willows to the inmost bones of creation … Continue reading of memory.
I remember the moon was about to shine at that time. Her parents were still at work and supposed to be home at 7 pm. During weekends, she’s back at her parents’ care while she was left with her witch grandmother on weekdays. A hell week as she called it. And to avoid getting a … Continue reading “I Wanna Go Home…” by Helena.
Death in the ocean only comes once upon the prose tree in my mind, there is a darkness in the lithe stillness of autumn oaks now gone, as olive flowers; a fantasy heartless in horizon by Rome hills, a sea of loss is what we lost before to the ebbing across the fight … Continue reading death in the ocean.
A wish, these solitudes in dark wept, midnight exits in a dream, torturing you; emerges in oceans, as if the face of the sea-light is in a trance of wander, a dark mind urges this end of game; the half-lit stretch devours death quietly in hyacinth winter as we left; … Continue reading out of reach.
Just like a normal relationship, we had happy and bad memories together, but both I won't bring to my next journey. I will leave them for you to have something to go back every time you miss me. I won't be back for a while, or maybe for good. But, if ever I'll come back … Continue reading “I’m Leaving Everything To You” by Helena.
The sea and mind in gelid movement acquiesces to the euphoria in the distant laughter of gradual woven lines of darkness; let it die a thought in the consciousness of bare winter after dark and dark a derangement in the cold falls inside glistening we’re hiding in the silence; … Continue reading no promises.
Sometimes I wonder who you were, what kind of person you were. You were my father’s father. You are dust now. You are in the death of an ocean well. This glow like an oil lamp through my window as I write on the anointed page, I thought of you tonight; a star-still night that … Continue reading Grandfather. (Prose)
It would always end this way. The onslaught of the cold bites in my face raking silence to the foreshore to the leave-taking of winter pleas with sorrow and penances alone That trace abandoned into neurological thoughts, into weaves of ice that coalesces the ambrosial sunset (in which that dies) in father’s sea. It transmits … Continue reading I moved in the effervesce of the sea. (Prose)
Hello everyone! How are you doing today? I had a little thought on my mind, and thoughts are pretty cheap, so here are my pennies worth of them: I was thinking how I could create more events or even opportunities on this blog. With the story collaboration I’m hosting (currently ongoing for the next few … Continue reading Question for you.
Hello all! I hope everyone is doing well. So, I am on Fiverr. You can find my profile here. I thought it would be a good idea to promote it here a little. You might have also seen the link before on some of my poems as I’m promoting it to gather a little interest. … Continue reading On Fiverr.
Turn away from the resuscitations there the dream warrants the saplings, she in the lithology of life, the posies leach in mother’s touch, stands retracted in the tears from the ocean, weeping in the enchant as I feel the shame of the eventide; the last breath to the inhabited throes of the shore if swallowed … Continue reading Let it die.
Letters from Her: A Collection Female infanticide. The deliberate killing of newborn female children is a serious problem in India… This is a letter in a form of poetry from a girl who was killed and thrown in a trashcan by her parents. A letter written from a girl who was thrown into a trashcan … Continue reading “Letters From Her” by Kate.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves: who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of … Continue reading “Fear, Light, and Liberation” by PatBunny.
It was fine Living with a peace of comfort Each and every day with time Running out to please everyone In a nice cosmic yet real display Passions took a backseat while Dreams were lost in a world of Artificial love to their dismay Then an unexpected chain of events Told me to change myself … Continue reading “A Clock without time” by Vinisha Panwar.
Cecilia paused. She could never remember their names. Perhaps she is never told; perhaps she is made to forget. Briefly wondering how many have come and gone, she then decides that names are ultimately inconsequential, before lamenting sotto voce, “What’s in a name…” They are only labels. She’d been given many labels by the therapists, … Continue reading “Ophilia” By a.d.matthias.
It is in the beige evening by the willows and a café restaurant with the golden leaves and their shards on the grounds, covered in a cleansed rain. It is in the illumination of shatters that broke beyond the pale sky that not only writhes among itself, but will be only among a frail sight … Continue reading Valhalla. (Prose)
For the present, memory is rattled by the sorrel sobs that do not quell from my bleeding lips And I, now enclosed, in the flowers and darkened furnaces that blemished on my pale skin, I do not know, nor do I remember, but it is through the ashes in my weary palms, On the ghoul … Continue reading In The Stars.
Primordial of the language havocs the ghost, havocs the charring wood, as it hushes the daylight by the opaque fog above a motionless hillock, and I feel the strangeness of the fire arose from the bejeweled brooks, and faded, golden rivers, strung by the heat, I wander as the ocean meets the shore and I … Continue reading Morning Snow. (Prose)