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Soul Jun 25
Nestled in your bones,
Ravens cloaked in black;
Murmurs, whispers, cackles—
soaring into the good night
by the Grey mist.
Clothes all torn; Worn;
tightened with spider webs.
Holding my grip by
my wrinkled bare hands—
Your gnarled roots all wet!
Soaked; Below my slippers
in the midst of silence,
as my shadow trips
on to your solemn face.
Did you know?
Did you know that
I held you in my
soft, young palms
seventy years ago?
I thank you,
my precious dear ally,
for keeping my wilted
dead red rose warm,
as my heart broke apart.
Now it's time.
For you shall engulf
my stone dome grave
with your gentle heart.
For I shall close my eyes
with my final breath.
Before I ask you;
Entomb it for me,
will you?
Death cannot stop Love!
Arii Jun 22
It’s usually said
That your fingers go numb first.
That the cold gets to your hands even through layers upon layers of thick cloth that are meant to protect it.
That you can’t tightly grab onto a lifeline when you freeze to death,
Unlike how you would in any other near-death scenario.

Next is your toes,
Your feet follow your hands, losing the feeling in them.
It’s funny, in the way that one of the first things you learn in life is to crawl and walk,
And when you’re on your knees in front of death, you lose the ability to do so.

The next to go is your ears,
They go numb too, making the world sound muffled like it’s underwater.
No hearing people screaming your name as you succumb to the cold,
Only silence in the path to the end.

Your nose goes next,
Feeling like it’s turned to ice or stone,
Smells become distantly unknown,
Only a little into freezing over.

Next are your cheeks—the rest of your face.
Red from the chill as they would in the heat
Except the cold is much more merciful in killing off your nerves before it does you.
It’s a plausible question,
Whether it hurts to smile more because your face throbs or because you’re drowning in your demise.

And then goes your chin.
It’s hard to communicate when you’re dying,
Less so to call for help,
And more so to say goodbye to everything you know.
It’s going to happen eventually,
And when it happens, you can’t guarantee you’ll be able to say goodbye,
Or even want to in the first place.
another random write from yesterday
Calm yourself, dear soul;  
the difficult times do not last forever.  
Everything comes to an end,  
and sometimes an ending is simply the universe's way of giving you time to recognize that your path is shifting.  
The direction you take will ultimately lead you home.  
Embrace the shift and listen closely to its whispers.  
Just as you can hear the echo of wisdom within a seashell you’ve picked up from the shore,  
you too can hear this guidance if you quiet your mind and soul enough to listen.

-Rhia Clay
C Cavierre Jun 10
It wasn’t the two of us at the start.
Day turned to night,
and suddenly we couldn’t part.
From one of the many faces,
To one I could pick out from the crowd.
We weren’t sure of ourselves before,
But one thing’s for sure now.
We’re caught in the torrent —
We found ourselves headed to the deep end.
to those who’ve given it a chance
and the fruition of that given chance
A M Ryder Jun 6
I will not wish the time away
But when it's time to go
I hope I wake up on that day
And never get to know
I hope I leave a thousands lives
Improved and without strife
And so I hope the end arrives
Amidst the joy of life
Reece May 30
Summer starts soon,
Junior year is on the horizon.
Childhood dried up by the drought.
I believe things will turn out well,
Yet, I doubt.
Just stop thinking and enjoy,
The last summer before life starts for real.
There never seems to be enough time.
yıldız May 26
Inside my mind, a tree decays,
Its branches broken, lost in haze.
Dark shadows cling to every limb,
A silent scream, a fading hymn.

Roots once deep now barely hold,
A story of despair untold.
I feel myself slowly fade,
A shadow of the strength I made.

No light breaks through this endless night,
Just emptiness and fading sight.
The tree is dying, lost in gloom,
A silent witness to my doom.
Grey curl of smoke leaves my mouth,
Ashes scrape my throat.
I won´t play it wrong-
Trying to appear strong.

There´s no fire-
Just  the path to end this.
Gladly, I´d be your player,
Between us, fire burns.

Smoke would hiss.
It started-
With lit cigarette.
My first try at reverse poem
13/5/25
Zafar Shaikh May 5
I stand at the end, looking upon the new road ahead.
I step on to a new journey, with its map unread.
I am unaware of the destination; how do I advance?
"I am just a piece of paper here", said the map at a glance.
I carry along with me a treasure trove of experience and memories,
To which I still cling upon for an appease.
I find it tough to leave the treasure behind,
Together that I earned with my people in our grind.
I learn about the road on every turn as I proceed,
I reach the fork and validity of my decision makes me worried.
For the demand of each path, I pay a similar cost,
Not on the way, but in the pool of my thoughts, I am lost.
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