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The old man
looks upon
his grandchild
and thinks to
himself, "How
wondrous was
the fleeting days
of innocence",
the child looks
to her elder with
a passing thought
as well, "even when I
am old, my youth
shall stay forever", she
holds his hand while
they walk together
under a rising sun
as the waking in a
dream, the pages
of time are in tide,
opening in light
and dark for
forever and a
day.
Hadrian Veska Feb 13
The red orange sky
Turns to purple glass
The sun recedes
And the light does pass

Far away and beyond
The curve of the Earth
Conceding to the stars
Their nightly worth

Yet the moon is absent
Unseen on high
Missing from orbit
In the great night sky

And it has been for ages
On this long since strange world
Where once it was near
Now to the void has been hurled

Where it drifts unaware
In thoughtless still dreams
Biding infinite time  
While it happily beams

For a few or great many
In distant aeons to come
Will bask in the light
That it stole from all suns
Steve Page Feb 9
He walked on into his shadow
ploughing into the dust
bearing the full weight of the sun
climbing deeper, further
from the warmth, closer
to the damp where light
is a mere rumour,
a seed's blind hope.
Sometimes we can't see the sun for the shadow
James Rives Feb 4
she sometimes views herself a burden
but in reality she is part of my ever-evolving serenity.

imagery of the sun invokes heat, brightness,
positivity-- the moon is cast aside.
but in her blue-green eyes, I see the tides pulled by sincerity and pride in tandem.
bella luna pequeña.

coffee mugs, chocolate milk, Bob's Burgers, black cat, canned soup, Civilization, peace.
her rhythm matches mine and blesses me.
we aren't perfect, but who gives a ****?
i will be the sun.
Keara Marie Feb 1
I think I’m going to do it this time. I’m going to cut it out of me. Why?
I can’t deal with this anymore. It’s as simple as that. The world is an ocean that washes over me. The sound of the water is deafening. It drowns my heart. My panic becomes as large as the sun and my mind as little as the moon appears. I need release. I need to hurt me before the world can again. Then I can comfort myself. I’m going to make myself a river worth drowning in.
And I did
Malia Jan 30
“Come on!”

The stepping stones
Warm your feet
When you land.
Clear, tinted blue
Flows past beneath them
Like a crystal sky.
Mischievous wind
Tickles my neck,
Blowing the hairs away.
Sweet rays settle
Like a blanket
Over my skin.

“Do you hear it now?”
I was trying to find ways to describe music, but I ended up with something that seems totally unrelated to music lol. But words like “crescendo”, “note”, and even “symphony” seem too impersonal.
Isaace Jan 26
The sky— filled with separate suns—
Became the name of God.
The ground— on trembling scales— unfolding—
Raised our arms unconsciously!
You hit me like a wave. I drifted away, coming into the shore, and lied there with nothing but my naked eyes; the sun covered my cold, barren body. Radiating sunshine and weakness as the sea called over me, you traipsed and towered over my sight, blinding me with your ivory skin lit as the match fired the sky.
 
The waves in the sea squished me in like a soft linen blanket, wrapping me all over like the comfort of a mother. My hands were trembling as you stood there unmoving, and the melodies and blasphemous beats almost dug me out of my ears; I couldn’t even do anything. You were there like an angel lost in his epiphany. It was as if a goddess were in front of you; your eyes spoke as you became a slave to your own wrath, worshipping what was in front of you. You laid your eyes on me like I was some kind of song you could not decipher.
 
You stood there, solving the creeps and mysteries and finishing the last verse of a poem you will never read again. You hit me like a wave, and I drifted away, hoarding memories left astray. You were there, godlike and lost, and even the sun loathed your fire. You burn like a match, your skin a stain of crimson—of sunshine and weakness. You called me, but I did not answer.
 
It was cold, and I loathed it. Perhaps it was the month of October where the enigmas of night lay open, and achingly, my flesh was found in humiliation. I continued to bleed, on and on.
What is love, if not impeccable grief?
What is love, if not that one dreary night of October?
What is love, if not broken bones and bruises?

Grief is sweet and heavy. Abundant and empty. I remember grieving and feeling everything all at once. Without shedding tears, my heart continued to know the heaviness of my silent pleas. I remember writing pieces that do not make sense, and by the end of the day, somehow, they do. I’m glad it's over.

Song: Where’s My Love - SYML
SANA Jan 25
is it only me or everyone think:
" Sun die every night for moon.
and the moon brings him back to life every morning."
Put me in the shade in the middle of the day
Because I don't like the way the light hits my face
But in a light breeze when things aren't so hot
And there are clouds overhead in little white spots
Thats when I feel like I'm living the most
Because life is mostly sunny with a hint of the cold
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