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Roesavlon

Literature

Summer is Ending

The days are ticking by the summer's end is approaching racing towards me college looms ahead of me. Afraid I am that I must admit for this year have brought changes we all wish to forget. No one even knows if this school year will remain open doors for the threat hasn't gone away. So how do any of us even have a clue what to expect as the school bells begin to sound?

Literature

Burnout

The taste of burnout is bitter and old refusing to write even a single word no stories to be told.

Literature

Age is not an Excuse

Why does age allow so many mistakes for when one is old and they tear down others by mindsets of ancient times or by harmful words besides they get excused for they will never change their long established ways. As is often restated by ones meant to help hence telling us to grin and play along still we can move along. But what about those who cannot for they're too young or is still on the verge of dependency and independency are we doomed to watch as we forget who we are. Being carefully molded to fit their image a puppet on strings playing their tune memorizing the notes still we know nothing more. Too afraid to deviate for even a moment knowing they could take away everything from us without a care. I've had enough its time for a change for why should I respect those who hurt and maim. It's time we realize that no one should get just a pat on the wrist for hurting someone no matter if it's physical or not.

MetshaCollective

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poems inspiring me to write my own

Literature

Without You

last night without you the world did not end, although every building shook. i'm still picking up loose bricks and bits, cleaning house, mending the yard. even now without you. i feel guilty not inviting you. keeping you in the dark. lying-- or at least omitting truths (joyful truths, to be sure)-- to the face of my old friend. still somehow there was fallout. even the absence of you does some damage. even your shadow shakes tables knocks down a drink or two. and this morning it all felt like a dream. like some quaint, sober nightmare. not completely despairing-- rather nice, to be honest-- but still awful like a knife being removed (at last!) from a wound: you can breathe again, for a minute or so, you think, but now there is a new raw, red horror-- the hot sensation of drowning in your own living blood, suffocating, almost, in your own nourishment, breathless, speechless, as the oxygen betrays you, abandons you suddenly. it's almost enough to ask the nurses to put

Literature

leaves know the weight

I sense a leak, something vast and nameless passing too quickly to track. I always pretend to grow darker and more intricate, to become more like conversations that only happen at night in careful whispers, as they plummet into their beds. I've watched countless rooms undress, spidering out of their skins through zippers and seams, faces in the walls with anguished shrieks, yet to become the ache of a chair, the skin of a finger whose voice swells in my head. this time, all of the time, whose voice unwraps my secrets when I'm able to remember the weathered ice of this lake. what I dream, hold and keep, what rasps in the wind, what lingers and touches me through the cracks.

Literature

Prayer of the Grey

Lord God I pray Allow my soul to know peace If I died today, I’d only have regrets about my life My whole existence is scarred Charred with the reality thereof So I pray to the skies above Can I get a pardon? I feel like a mortar Set to fall as others live What about my time, Lord Do my tears not scream will I feel like I’m done That I’ve given all I can I’m so tired God Can I have a pillow? Even though I still breathe I feel like I’m on death row My pain being recorded Just to give others energy flow I have scars all over my souls body Tormented and abused Praying to you to cut me loose Reveal to me the truth Praying to you Lord Please Tell me What am I to do? What am I? 10/24/23

Poetry

Literature

Here

I witness arrivals arriving, as departures take their leave, here too brief to celebrate, gone too soon to grieve, traveling to ancient Egypt, of scorching golden sand, so that 'thorns come with roses', is a quote I understand, journeying to tropical jungles, where wild greens thrive, Inspiring to live this life, Truly acting alive, voyaging to arctic icebergs, that only show their shore, much alike a body, with a soul of so much more, jet leg is slightly skeptical, of a clocks display of time, is it AM or is it PM, when it points to number nine? nevertheless- of all these places, some far and some near, somehow I don't want anywhere, more than I want here.

Literature

This Is For Elderly Or Matured Couples

This is for those older couples whom haters call "old queers": lovers, who had been boyfriends first, and had endured the bad weather, or storms, of prejudices, hatreds, snide remarks and brutal jeers; but since their first love in barefoot adolescence, they have stayed together.

Literature

Made-Up Transgressions

Eaten churches Soul-altering fetishism Human meat filling clear pipes Artistic cultists corrupting the prime species False and catastrophic accusations You press the splinters of the suffering and creative deeper into Their flesh to use their screams for music and Their blood for shitty tattoos So, take those empty urns out of the closet and donate them to The minorities you want to fucking slaughter Pluck the hypocrisy from dicks and pussies The world you want is boring as hell Get used to living near rainbows, gothic nightclubs, And film festivals that feature directors from other countries Embracing diversity will make life so much more enjoyable Those stories are cutting your kids But if that happens, that means you Have a project to work on Great for you, but terrible for them

Poetry

Literature

Conversations

From time to time, you haunt me without announcing, unexpectedly. You cling to me, smother me to make me stay with you, shielded from the world. I sit with you and listen, 'cause you might want to tell me what I neglected. If I don't force you, you will ecentually retrieve until you return for the next chapter.

Literature

Zephyrus

You coax, slowly. Said it's like a bear in hibernation: When my love lies buried under 15 feet of ice. You take the form of spring, And gently warm my frozen limbs. I melt in his arms, crying— "You deserve more summers than this." "But all I want is you," he says. And then my seasons shift.

Literature

Homebody

I let you in: Smiled as you smashed windows; Broke open doors; tore down walls. The echo through the corridors Grew scared, and flew away— But I stayed. And I chose to paint the facing white.

Little Baby Smile 7- asleep for his portraits

enigmaticsmile

Published: Sep 22, 2015

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baby infant enigmaticsmile

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karbock

Sep 30, 2016

Melting picture!
I wish all the best to your family.

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