A harsh reality,
Is what I fear.
One reality, where creativity...
And creative minds...
Are gone.
***
Swept away from this world,
Without a single trace,
And banished to depths of hell.
***
Where it's a sin to show or be creative,
And I'm the empress of this forsaken place.
Because I kept sinning,
So he put me here to rule.
As punishment for showing the world,
My creative,
Autistic mind.
***
Trying to keep me away,
From the boring reality I live in.
Though, I don't mind being here,
I can express myself freely in this dimension.
I don't have to pretend to be someone I am not,
I am free...
Free from this other more harsher reality,
When I am banished to this forsaken land.
I make the rules,
Whatever I say...
Goes my way.
About the Creator
Rika Lekay
Hi! I'm currently 20 years old and I love to write short stories, poems, novels, and writing prompts.
Keep reading
More stories from Rika Lekay and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli5 days ago in Poets
Standing Still
There are very few moments in life where time truly stands still. When your breath is taken from your chest and your body hangs weightless in that moment. Just long enough for it to stay with you from that day onwards. Deep in the red sands of the Australian Outback, I found that moment and clung to it forever.
By Kevin McLaughlin4 days ago in Wander
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.