#poemwriting

[pr-educates-students]

My Love

A poem

Oh my love, I've been onto this feeling forever Hoping that you'll be here beside me right now Imagining you singing here in front of me and just for me But reaching for this love just seem so far So I'll say a little prayer for you to be back here

A poem adapted from Westlife's My Love by Nisa, as a part of PR Educates' English Writing Class

[revolutionforreal22]

When the Roses Faded by C.C Tundra

When the roses faded, they grew anew, a breath of fresh earth, sprung up out of the ashes. We are the ashes. we breathe toxic waste, dragon's breath, no. human's breath will pollute, and corrupt mother earth's core!

Our breath is that of nuclear radiation. our breath reeks of death, of our own dead, of animal dead, of broken earth. She weeps, the earth, wanted us to grow like buds, sprung up fresh with life, opportunity to await.

But we like to stuff our face, with our dead, our ashes, the ashes of our planet, it only makes the hunger grow. Our hunger, equals destruction, including ours, our self-cannibalism, will not abate until everything is mutilated, until we peel the petals from a rose

Blood-red petals, yank off stem, red fingers, our fingers, grubby, greedy, bloody and thick with filth, Let our animal dead, our dead, our dead mother earth who has given us breath! let it all crumble into shadow, let us blend into black, never go back

I see the bud upon the hill, I wish I could reach it, pluck the stem from mother's embrace, and hold it in the palm of my hand. But that is why I don't. The stem is the answer, if anyone knows, it's what gives us breath, mercy, love

Knowledge is a sort of greed too, if you're willing to eliminate, the petals that branch off, the stem from which you came. Then you are nothing. greed, hunger, broken, wilted rose petal no more, no more. you'll always be hungry.

When the roses faded, the ashes melted into a crust. residue doesn't mean: no future, it just means no future for us! And if we cannot sustain our present, (the gift of life bloomed from the unknown), then what was it all for?

When the roses faded, the ashes, not of our past, but present, suffocates us! our insides smolder, and we come apart. We bleed out, we are no more, our stem, our petals, and why? It's because: When the Rose Fades, all we need is a mirror; but often blind-sided, we give up

We cave in, we like to destroy, remember? that's right, that's right; no more roses! For when the rose fades, that's the most sad thing. Our deprivation is all that's left now, our hunger directs inwards, and we can't help but answer its call.

[poetry-universes]

[poetry-universes]

[poetry-universes]

We're butterflies in disguise,

Bunking for a perfect sky.

The world has its own eyes,

But this one's for you and I.

We're fireflies in the night,

Glowing our hearts to sleep.

When the fires thence ignite,

This burn you and I will keep.

We're the sky you and I,

Wilding through the season.

And the wine that will dry,

Whence time is an addiction.

[poetry-universes]

We all have memories

Of another soul life,

For in the beginning

Unities of solace

Kept our love, to care~

And still we find our echoes

Shining breathless,

By the embrace of what we feel,

And the empathy...we share

[poetry-universes]

The Art of Creation

As I sit here, staring at the blank screen in front of me, my mind wanders to the endless possibilities that lie ahead. The page is a canvas, waiting to be painted with strokes of my imagination. Each word is a brushstroke, carefully chosen and delicately placed.

The keyboard clicks beneath my fingers as the words begin to flow. It's a dance - a dance between my thoughts and the page. As the rhythm intensifies, I lose myself in the music of my own creation.

With each sentence, the world around me fades away until all that's left is the story unfolding before my eyes. Characters come to life, their personalities forming and evolving with every passing moment. Scenes play out like a movie, vivid and captivating.

But it's not just a story. It's a piece of me, a glimpse into the depths of my soul. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is an extension of myself.

And yet, it's also a gift. A gift to share with others, to let them see the world through my eyes. It's a connection, a bridge that spans across time and space to bring us together.

As I reach the end, I can't help but smile. This is what it means to write. To take something from within and breathe it into existence. It's a magical, magical experience, and I am grateful and proud for every moment of it.

[poetry-universes]

What if the moon hides a little bit

and takes all the glee

that I hold in tenderness

behind the door underneath eyes

waving blue challenging murky black

whither I carry sighs

leaving no residue of agony,

Sunrise over my realm

tilts and bends and diverges

and reflects amusement over misery

and I look down in the pond

which reflects my insecurities

all over where the ripple reaches,

I have stayed so long in myself

that I forgot how it feels

when there is no blue overhead

and windy cloth to discard coated fear,

I sluggishly attempt to find myself to uncover my way

behind the glossy door of my eyes

whither I carry my insecurities

there is a little track

and I witness little soot over the membrane

which coats my way of dismay in red

and the sign of ambiguity hides the little grace of the moon,

I have a long battle within my membrane

with my flaws within the grace and scars

a long arduous adamant dispute

all it flows down my cheek and seeps into ground

I witnessed each brink with the bleeding red

and coated each one with the murky black!