Ode
The Connect
Connect four Sounds like funk music With the headphones. Don't take off like a Spaceship this day in age, Keep 'em on. Where was the journey, My ear bud. Bud stone Never stay the same Get gone... funk. Hear the fame, Heard the change, Connect four... Wore it down. Thank you for reading! Which part of the poem resonates with you? Share your thoughts. Please leave a comment. Copyright 2025 K.A. Smith
By K.A. Smith2 years ago in Poets
The False Energy
The False Energy A Tale of Power, Deception, and the Hollow Light --- I. The Power That Wasn’t Kain had always been ordinary. A boy of dust-covered streets and empty hands, living in the shadow of those with true power. He was nothing—until the day the sky split open, and the light chose him. It entered his body like fire and filled his veins with something beyond strength. His feet no longer stumbled; his fists no longer trembled. He was faster, stronger, untouchable. The weak boy of yesterday was gone. The city of Obsidian watched in awe as Kain rose, lifting boulders with ease, bending steel with a flick of his wrist. He was chosen, they said. A gift from the gods, they claimed. But deep inside, beneath the rush of energy, Kain felt it—hollow. This power wasn’t his. --- II. A Throne Built on Lies The world bent before him. Men kneeled. Armies obeyed. The High Order, once untouchable, now listened when he spoke. Kain was their savior, their champion. But in the quiet hours, when no one watched, he stared at his hands, searching for the source of what coursed through him. The energy came when he called, but it had no root, no weight—only an illusion of strength. "Where did it come from?" he asked the Oracle. She studied him, her silver eyes unblinking. "Not all power is yours to keep. Some is borrowed. Some is a debt yet unpaid." But Kain didn’t care. He had climbed too high to turn back now. --- III. The Unraveling The first sign was small—an instant of hesitation in battle. He swung his sword, but the speed wasn’t there. The power flickered like a candle in the wind. Then came the second. He tried to lift a fallen statue, something he had done effortlessly before. This time, it wouldn’t budge. The whispers began. His warriors noticed. His people watched, waiting for the miracles that no longer came. "The gods are testing him," the priests said. "Perhaps he was never chosen at all," others murmured. Kain fought harder, clawed deeper into the well of power. But it was slipping, draining from him like water through cracked hands. Then, one night, it was gone. --- IV. The Debt Called Due Panic set in. He returned to the Oracle, demanding answers. "It is time," she said, her voice cold. "Power given is power borrowed. And power borrowed must always return." "Then take me back to the source," Kain pleaded. "Tell me who gave it to me. Let me make another deal." The Oracle only shook her head. "There was no deal. There was only the lie." And in that moment, Kain understood. It had never been his. Not truly. He was never strong, never chosen. He had been a vessel for something temporary, a conduit for a force that moved from one body to the next. He was never the owner—only the user. And now, it had found another. In the streets, a new name was whispered. A new warrior, blessed with power, stronger than any before. Kain watched from the shadows as a young girl stood where he once stood, lifting boulders, bending steel. She believed, just as he had believed. The cycle had begun again. And Kain, forgotten, faded into the crowd—just another man, stripped of his false energy, knowing the fall was inevitable for those who rose with borrowed strength.
By Samson E. Gifted2 years ago in Poets
"A RED ROSE FOR MY LATE POPPA VIC". Top Story - February 2025. Content Warning.
Today I 'reflected back' to September 1996. The story is written by me, a 75-year-old woman. However, the video reflects views of an older woman and as a young girl who was always their daddy’s little girl. February 14, 2025, is a day of reflection. My conclusion is now and always was, “My Poppa was my dearest and most caring Valentine a girl could wish for. Happy Valentine’s Day!
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 years ago in Poets
