I see you got your wits about you,
tell your thoughts to resign.
I reckon we are only passing through
Go and get yourself lost,
for a little while.
Category: poem
The Devil’s Bloom
“It begins like a seed. It ends in a carnival of colorful despair.”
A whisper here,
a thought there,
little things
everywhere.
Fear — sweet, sweet seduction.
The Devil’s Bloom, I call it.
Riding on a mighty high-horse,
dressed in glitters of your mediocrity.
A table for two,
the dinner of a lifetime,
a righteous feast.
Perfected just for you.
Oh, the details —
impeccable.
It’s beginning like a seed.
Its end, a carnival of colorful despair,
each thought tap-dancing
on your quivering heart.
But I reckon,
the bloom withers
if you don’t water it.
And only those who’ve knelt
in hell’s defiance
would dare,
point and say:
“Hades is that way.”
Even Now
“For the days that felt too loud to love, and the moments I chose to love anyway”
Not in yesterday,
Nor promise of tomorrow,
Not even in regret— what could have been.
Love exists
only, and always,
in the moment
it feels
most impossible.
It is not born of ease,
absent of struggle,
but in the quiet certainty
that it remains
despite it.
Luna
Connected the dots.
Fear is a kind of madness, I believe —
the devil’s bloom, I call it.
A communion of false insecurities,
where misery twirls ever so gracefully.
It twirls and dances,
until my mind takes it leave.
Their works are like anchors.
“You are responsible for your happiness,” they said.
Oh, but the chore of it.
I dinned with regret —
it was just a fling,
though its kisses were anything but.
Then happiness said, hi.
Ah — to flirt with perfection.
I like it here.
I might stay.
Below my feet
Out the Blue.
I squandered my resistance,
for what?
Fleeting pleasures, I suppose.
At the hands of strangers,
seeking acceptance from the ragged people,
Cause the fine ones come with fine prints I can’t see.
The harder I squint the blurrier it gets.
I can feel it, something is off.
I just wanna find peace.
It’s been too foreign to me,
buried below my feet.
But I will dig and sift the oddity
we will be whole again, eventually.
I promise.
To what end
Where will your pride take you?
Beware,
You’re riding on the waves of your ego.
Know this,
Even the waves had an end.
Short lived sporadic sprouts of force
Became,
Flat and deprived of life.
For a moment.
Quicksand
The ground on which you stand,
connects us all, you and me.
A tiny piece I caved, a strong hold
made by me, for us.
Perfectly curated and maintained,
held onto tightly,
even against the tides,
but the grips are burning.
Can’t hold on much longer,
Can you hold the reins for a while?
Dead eyes
Oh to have lived!
Can’t you see, we are nothing
Life is fleeting,
Right before your dead eyes.
Won’t you wake up?!
Spring has sprung, the flowers are pretty again.
Even harsh waves still makes an exquisite picture.
Speak to me
You are barely living
Tell me you want more
This too shall pass, I promise.
Hold on to what you believed, just like you told me.
Remember when we lived life
The feeling of youthful bliss, cascading.
This sadness is a chore, my friend
there are holes in all of us,
but we must carry on.
Thistles and burr
You are it!
I implore you—
say you are an artist.
Carve your name
into the surface of reality.
Find your small deaths,
die to them.
Seasons will shape you,
the wolfs will circle,
The thrill of becoming.
You will err,
this too is art.
your greatest masterpiece?
your heart.
See evil, Say no evil, Done evil
The name and pretense of virtue is as serviceable to self-interest as are real vices.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld
The forbidden, no one speaks of it.
Not you, him or them
and neither will I.
We perfected the art of pretense.
If not spoken, then there isn’t life to it
Hence, did it really happen?
Peace of mind so foreign,
can barely remember when you had the luxury of its presence.
Your soul on the cross,
seasons after seasons,
living for your mistakes.
Hey! the Celeste are calling,
if fettered with a troubled soul
come forth and be gifted tranquility.
I presented you this, time after time.
Walk away from your pride, I say.
Love your flaws.
Yet you cling on to the misery you call life.
I have to say, you are fading
from the inside out,
and its almost beautiful to watch if it wasn’t familiar, dead eye.
As we dwell at the teat of the forbidden you forbade.
Written for Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Forbidden – October 11, 2022
GallopingCrazy 