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Ione Mar 31
They say go with the flow-
but I'm just a stagnant water.
Not a beauty, nor a worth-
all the fishes have left the water.
Take me to the black lake
Where every beauty, all seems fake.
Stunning yet vile,
You walk down the aisle.

A query arises from within
How and where did your genus begin?
Take me to the black lake,
Where water burns and rocks shake.

I made a game, while unfair, you'll play
And reap me, ofcourse, but in delay
Oh take me to the black lake
Where death begins, life is at stake.

Here my body shall lay,
In the heart of the windy bay.
Oh take me there,
To the lake of no light,
To the end of entire affair.
The black lake,
A contradiction,
An end, but a begining
Evening Lake
A moonbeam shimmies
Like A Jazz Ballerina
To Iris Caress
Of Loving Shores

Reynaldo Casison
Saanvi Feb 19
Her beauty is breathtaking,
As she lies strewn on the cursed ground
Raven hair touching and staining the azure lake.
She looks like a tragic romance novel personified.
Hands bent at odd angles,
Dress a bit torn.
It seems she simply got lost in this forest,
Her once pink lips are now disappearing as maggots crawl out of them.
Did she drown in this harmless pool?
There's no blood.
Perhaps she just let go..
Even in death, one can look so pretty..
I can imagine her youthful smile, now her skin is forever frozen.
Did someone come looking for her?
Or did she slowly disperse in the wind?
With nobody caring where she went away.
The sunlight casts a golden sheen on the lilies floating in the pond water.
The now dead woman was perhaps an angel crawling out of the water.
No, she is not a woman.
She is still an angel,
Sleeping peacefully.
What a pity, the cool ripples of the water that once seemed inviting, just suffocate
At the end of the day.
What can give you life and beauty
Can also **** you in the blink of an eye
And that too ruthlessly.
To float in the water,
Like an angel with clipped wings,
Suspended by the weight of waves..
May seem like the dream to live
Until the waves crush your lungs, stop your beating heart, make your skin pale and mark bruises on your hands.
What might appear beautiful,
Can also be hollow and empty.
Beauty consumes and claims its spot without any mercy.
To surrender to all passions of life without thought and logic, to become one with the blue of the sky and the ocean, even if it costs me my life...
I walk on the surface of the Lake of the Lost,
Aimless I wander, I'll find my way at any cost.
Within me emotions swirl, yet my soul is hollow;
Without you next to me, all I feel is sorrow.

Tears run down my face, onto the water they drip,
They hit the surface, one by one, stepping stones are lit.
They show me the path, I'll follow to the very end,
They lead to my destination, a tiny island.

The Tears of Today Pave the Way
To a Tomorrow Without Sorrow.
As such, I will revel in my pain,
Without it, everything is in vain
And I'll never get to you.
Kushal Jan 12
Beneath the willow that wept at the lake's edge,
I sat nestled between the soft 'V' of branches that rose only to fall.
The wind kept a soothing sway that ever so gently left ripples in the moon's reflection.
With a book and pen in hand, I wrote the next lines to a story.

Along came a woman.
Her hair as silver as a blade, and her skin as pale as porcelain.
She descended to her knees with the grace of a queen,
Cupping her hands to sip from the lake.

I glared in awe, as if seeing a spirit from a folk tale.
What beauty, what grace... and yet, here she was.
She leaned back, falling to the grass, with her eyes finally resting on me.

Not a flinch.

She gazed back at me...
The same wonder in her eyes
As I held for her.
Even the simplest things can be beautiful to the ones who find beauty in existence.
I blinked, but beheld it,
the marching of warships,
the broken caskets
at the feet where bishops
of Brixen worshipped,
and the agonizing steps to the castle
-- a spiritual climb --
gifts and prayers in each one's pocket,
(you've got yours, I've got mine).

And there it was opening in the sky:
a woman, in between cycles,
clothed with the sun;
her groom carries her up those steps,
they ring the bell,
and make a wish
for their love to flow against
the current like sea flowers
in the spring.

I blinked, but beheld it,
there was smoke,
there was wind,
there was nothing
but the warm scent of potica,
and pletna aplenty,
their upright oarsmen rowing
through the bloodstream.

They row for the stillborn
who never see the sun.

But there is freewill, and there is sin.

Our kingdom rise.
Our kingdom fall.

Forgive us first, Father,
(our blood shall feed the earth).
Moncrieff Dec 2024
I wish to leave this path,
    to view from water's edge,
this creek become my hearth,
    by lake to which I pledge.

to wade with Oceanids,
    my boots submerge in mud,
adopt which day forbids,
    silk flashed away in flood.
Nemusa Dec 2024
Sharp winter branches,
blue-black bruises pierce the lake,
stillness cuts the air.
Winter walk.
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