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Andy Chunn Jun 2023
In a whimsical world, where riddles take flight
I found myself in an enchanted light
A serpentine whisper, soft as the wind
To a coiled snake, it drew me in

In shadows deep, where secrets hide
An interview with a snake I tried
Coiled and poised, its eyes did gleam
A creature ancient, from a distant dream

“Good day”, said the snake, with a glint in his eye,
“An interview for you, I surely will try
I have a tale to tell, a curious quest
Of secrets untold, and you’re my honored guest.”

I inquired of its secrets, of life’s hidden art
And it began to unwind, ready to impart
“Listen closely,” it hissed with a whispering tone
“For truths lie in places where fear is unknown”

The snake spoke of cycles, of rebirth and change
How shedding old skin brings growth in its range
Its venomous words, a potent elixir
Unveiling the depths of existence’s mixture

I learned of balance, of yin and yang’s grace
Of how opposites merge, in an intricate embrace
With every question it slithered and curled
Revealing secrets that unraveled the world

The serpent’s wisdom flowed through my veins
As I understood, I was shedding old chains
From ancient myths to the stars up above
It showed me the connections, the tapestry of love

As the interview ended, I felt transformed
Enlightened and humbled, my mind reformed
For within the coiled snake, a universe I found
An interview divine, in wisdom profound
A very old and wise serpent....indeed!
Eloisa May 2023
And she dances to the gorgeous melodies of the wind.
Echoing strength  in her new found wings.
She gathers grace after an almost endless stupor.
With a courageous heart, she grows her pretty wings in darkness.
And as she enjoys her freedom in the air,
she scatters glitters to every flower.
A wonderful flight in cheers.
A celebration of hope and change.
A meaningful metamorphosis.
A colorful blossom that beautifully swirls.
Seeking love, bringing life.
A sweet journey to remember.
A brief yet lovely moment to soar.
Batool May 2023
living in a murky world
listening to their silt laden words
started taking a toll on her
as she started losing
the vision and the clarity
slowly turning blind like
an indus dolphin !!
Eyithen Apr 2023
I let it all run
Thickly and quickly
I want them to see the messy horror of it all.
But it’s not all blood,
Rather it is the medium for my art:
Pictures of roses, cardinals, apples
The rouge on a woman’s lips
An  umbrella on a rainy day
A wool sweater
A pocket square against a black suit
The traffic light on the corner of the street...
Or perhaps I'll dip my quill in it and write
Because that's what writers do.

They turn all that red into something beautiful...
I read a quote once that said, "Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red." (Kait Rokowski)
irinia Jan 2023
Transformation:
one into many &
many into one

the bird of paradise
half truth and half lie
it's not pure fiction
but pure singing
or intensity of the dark light

this vibration of your U(nconscios)
is a floating vessel
(sunk into mystery)
for my dreams
mine is for yours and for her
and for them
this is the way we meet
It's scary and wonderful
to recognize each other
some mirrors are crazy
light hides itself best in the dark
and darkness hides itself
best in the brightest of lights

there are too many layers
of liquid meanings in this
creature called life -
the same way
the ocean is carrying
different layers of
pressure and dark

the bird of paradise
dissolves itself
into singing cause
this is the only way
to meet its music
a bird constantly changing
the shape of its wings
to accomodate danger -
the danger of being alive
on your own
day after night
the bird of paradise exists only
in poetry which distills the irrationality of life
reality protects itself with boundaries
for poetry not to destroy its might
irinia Dec 2022
I am sitting everywhere like a stone
struck by lightning
my nerves spinning their electricity
in new revolves
this vibration is transformation

of of of of
something into anything else
syntax into the golden ratio
fingerprints into enlightened wax
lungs into vertical love
craving into silence
desire into root
immanence into
transcendence and
the other way round
projection into
introspection
nihilism into redeeemed
despair
music into a theorem
of sunrise
hatred into pain
pain into
violet mourning
bread into singing
oxes' thirst into the art
of the earth
secrets into tangible
translucent pictures
rivers into the dreams
of the sky

I into the other I
in you and him
and them
in the mycellium
of syntaxes, synapses
enchanted
ephiteliums
into a choir of selves
in love's eyes
Happy New Year to everyone!
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Valleys turn into hills, hills into mountains
Life into time, time into sands we from,
drifting oceans of waves—waters of before,
clouds at first.

Crush into love, first kiss into memories,
memories become experience.
Experiences into story—stories into legend,
and those new legends to be born.

Loneliness into depression, expression out
of hurt. Hurt into echoing words, words immortal.

Must life be like the butterfly;
birth, caterpillar that grows,
cocoon~ hidden in the dark.
And of course the beauty at the end.

                                Life is transformation
Alyssa Underwood May 2022
I place my empty vessels with the King.
Once filled with longing, sentiment and pride,
they sated no one’s thirst, though ego tried—
sin, disappointment, sorrow, hurt ’t would bring.
Knowing devilish poison these contained,
reminded old, dead dregs drained from each spout,
all sediment’ry visage I poured out
of Dionysian wine heartstrings had feigned.
Now in God’s presence, as He cleans smeared crocks
from motives, meanings, memories of words
and clears my mind from myths’ entangling cords,
a tale-abating door behind me locks.
I’m freed! The Gospel story’s what I’ll tell
and offer Living Water from Christ’s well!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was wrong.
She became the ocean
because she was torn.

Before she fell in love with the storm
She was enamoured by the trees
The nature surrounding her
And its delicate seeds
The lake was who she was
And she hoped that would be her all -

But the storm struck her.

It struck, ******, and stole
What was left of her whole
Her innocence, her soft soul
All ripped and discarded by the swirling ghoul
Needless to say, it left a deep hole
One that would never heal, one no-one could behold

She become the ocean so it was she who would control.
The storms in her palm, the monsters of her own
Monster she became, bold yet cold
The ocean’s depths let no mercy be shown.

But what still remained the same was her soul -
It was the same water, the same heart
The same desire, the same start
The same softness, in a hidden part
She did not want to see another torn apart.

She commanded the storms, an ocean of power
Protected the weak with the comfort she showered
Under her rule, the real monsters cowered.
In the world of the bad, it was she who towered.
continuation of my poem 'Changes', the first part of which is on my profile
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