Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  May 5 Kate
Blue Sapphire
Happy families, smiling,
enjoying time together,
atmosphere filled with their laughter.

And then -

in a moment of madness,
all silenced.

Bullets took over,
dead bodies lying all around.

Terror strikes the land
we call "Paradise on Earth."
Kate May 5
Life is an unthinkable impossibility.
It’s all hopes, and dreams, and wishes blended into one fantastical sentence.
Strung together with punctuation, and stutters, and hesitation.
Final exclamations and declarations of pure love and hatred—whispered through ravaged minds and crazed hearts.
This, I think, is how it was meant to be.
Kate Apr 29
I am that of a kicked puppy— bashed over the head many times,
before I come crawling back.
Back for that affection I seek, for that love I so desperately desire, only to see that they will never reciprocate.
But each time I hold that small, twitchy ember in my quivering hands, that little hope, that maybe,— just maybe, I’ll get something in return.
A crumb, or perhaps a pat on the head.
I starve for slop.
And hunt as the prey.
Kate Apr 28
Art is dying.
Intellectualism is dying.
They would rather have AI write hundreds of years of evolution into a single sentence.
A warped piece of ‘art’ with no soul behind it.
They would rather have AI create pictures, scenes, ideas— that it otherwise would never understand itself.
We are losing what it means to be human.
Turning into soulless, confused beings— stumbling toward a future that— this time, we cannot predict.
It is wholly unprecedented.
We can only hope upon the goodness in our hearts that we remain somewhat humane.
Just enough humanity to care for one another in these trying times.
Because being human, is art.
It is the one thing that we can say we’ve created with our own hands, our own souls— minds.
Seldom to ourself, and no one else.
Feels like more of a rant.
I’m completely engulfed in anger with the recent AI scraping on writing sites.
Never be afraid to write something down you’ve thought of yourself— because very soon most of us won’t have our own minds to formulate thoughts of our own.
Many will rely upon AI to do it for them.
Kate Apr 27
I wish we could all be on the same exact page.
The same number, letter, punctuation.
The same whisper of breath that ascertains we understand one another.
That we can smile, breathe out in relief to know that we’re not all on different pages.
That we’re reading the same passage, with the same words, convictions, hopes and beliefs; all strung into one, confident, binding.
Glued together by wisdom and hardship.
That this book of credence isn’t furiously burning, shrouded contemplation, that we acknowledge it— this life, in unity.
That we can all maintain the fact that this world should be brought together by peace— not inhumanity and decimation.
Kate Apr 26
Hope in this world drips out of the barrel of a gun.
Deafening our ears are the devastation of bullets— the screams of loss and hunger.
Our eyes, shielded from what we once imagined our innocence.
Seven shots, six dead.
One right through my heart.
Next page