Category: Poetry
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Instinct
The voices sing, the voices scream—soft whispers, crashing waves, the crack of thunder splitting the sky. The unseen aches for what should be, for balance found in two instead of one. In the silence, in the storm, in the knowing—Instinct guides, longing lingers, and the journey continues.
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Darkness
As darkness envelops, it stirs hidden feelings of longing for warmth and safety. The speaker reflects on the contrasting emotions of peace and despair, recalling a once-felt embrace that now seems distant. This interplay between comfort and the haunting nature of darkness creates a poignant exploration of inner turmoil.
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Buried in Quiet
silence echoesgrasps hardswirlinggrasping handspulling deeperhurtling toward nothing is it done?suffered enough?days the samewarmth leaching outice filling instead fightingeven thoughfallinglonged for no warmthto helpkeep ice away spirit wanesscreaming withinno longerjust weak whispers why botherthe darkness calls shouting into nothingwaiting—nothing answers footsteps fadenever reachingnever turning back breath shallowlungs tightfading—but slow,too slow weight pressingbones brittlecracked,waitingfor a sigh toshatter…
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Wide Eyes, No Escape
Spinning skies, burning air, memories creeping—chaos takes hold. Yet, in the storm, there’s a reboot, a chance to begin again. Wide eyes, no escape. Dive into my raw poem, where every fragment tells a story of intensity, overwhelm, and resilience. 🌌🔥📚✨
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The Edges of Absence
Again, same story just another poet’s form of writing. My story and my writing. Just having some fun with writing and sharing that fun with you. This is with Sylvia Plath as the source for the writing style. The feast lies still, a carcass of light,Forks polished to mirrors reflecting no one.Your voice, a dead…
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The Crimson Curse
Another poem, same story used. Crafted in Lord Byron’s style. My story, my work, just having some fun. The day of light—a fleeting gleam—A hollow lie, a cruel dream.The feast, the cheer, the sunlit air,All cloaked beneath despair’s cold snare. A rose—its crimson bloom concealed,A love destroyed, a wound revealed.Its petals drip, its silence cries,Each…
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The Hollow Feast
ok i am having fun trying to see what i can do with other poets styles. a good way to distract my mind and keep from spiraling. Again Edger Allen Poe here. All based on truth as all my poems are no matter what I am doing with them. You might see a few of…
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The Crimson Bloom
So i got bored tonight, my mind being evil so I took a poem and tried to write it in different styles. In this version I am trying to catch Edger Allen Poe. How did i do?yes this is my work just did my best to change format. The Crimson Bloom In fields of gold,…
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The Shadows of Promise
As a teenager, poetry became my refuge. Journals weren’t safe for me, so I learned to write in a style that masked my feelings beneath layers of beauty. This poem is a reflection of that time.
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The Shadows of Exile
In the abyss, light flickers faintly—too weak to pierce the shadows. Blades twist unseen, their silent agony claiming warmth now lost. A cold weight presses deeper, dragging all into the inky blankness. Only the faint howl of the broken remains, defiant, clutching at fragile hope in darkness’s relentless embrace.
Who am I? 