performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
The Enchanted Awakening: When Old Fairy Tales Come to Life
The Enchanted Awakening: When Old Fairy Tales Come to Life --- Poetry Once upon a time, we whispered in dreams, Where magic stirred in moonlit beams. Old fairy tales danced, a forgotten song, Sung by the stars all night long. A slumber deep in ancient trees, Where secrets hide with the passing breeze. But now, the tales rise, fierce and bold, Awakening legends of love untold. From the thorns, a rose unfolds, A kingdom waits, its story told. In the whisper of wings, a spell is cast, A forgotten world has woken at last. A tale of hearts, of shadowed night, Of wolves that howl in the silver light, Of princes lost and maidens fair, Their destinies woven in the air. And so they wake, these dreams of old, In the enchanted night, their stories unfold. With every step, a magic pure, The fairy tales call, the hearts endure. --- Fiction The forest was dark, the kind of darkness that seemed to stretch on forever, swallowing the path ahead. Elena stood at the edge, her breath shallow, the weight of something heavy settling in her chest. The stories her grandmother used to tell her—tales of talking wolves, cursed roses, and kingdoms trapped in eternal sleep—felt like nothing more than childhood fancies. But here, in the silence of the woods, she could feel it. The stories weren’t just stories anymore. Her fingers brushed against the rough bark of a tree, and the air shifted. A sudden coldness wrapped around her, and her feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying her deeper into the heart of the forest. The trees whispered in a language she couldn’t understand, but it was enough to make her heart race. Elena had heard the legends. She had laughed at them when she was younger. Now, as the night pressed close, it all felt too real. A low growl broke the silence, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned sharply, her breath caught in her throat. From the shadows emerged a wolf—no, not just any wolf. This one was larger than life, its eyes glowing with an eerie light, its fur a silvery blue that shimmered under the moonlight. “You shouldn’t be here,” the wolf said, its voice as smooth as silk yet laced with danger. Elena staggered back. The words seemed to echo in the silence, and the world around her seemed to freeze. How could the legends be true? How could fairy tales come to life right before her eyes? “Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The wolf tilted its head, eyes never leaving hers. “I am the keeper of the forest’s forgotten dreams, the guardian of its slumbering magic. And you, Elena, have been chosen.” Her mind spun. Chosen? For what? She barely understood the question before the ground beneath her feet shifted, the earth breaking open as though it had been waiting for this very moment. Beneath the ground, a soft glow began to pulse, as if a heartbeat, long hidden, was now awakening. --- Poetry The earth cracks, the heavens hum, A time for awakening has come. From ancient depths, a light will rise, Unveiling truth before our eyes. A curse undone, a heart set free, A tale that bends to destiny. The legends live, they still ignite, A spark to guide us through the night. --- Fiction The ground split wide, revealing an ornate doorway covered in ivy and thorns. Elena’s heart raced. This was no ordinary forest; this was a place where dreams and nightmares tangled, where the past and future collided. She reached out instinctively, brushing the thorns aside, her fingers grazing a stone that pulsed with energy. As soon as her skin touched it, the air around her seemed to change—more vibrant, more alive. A voice echoed from behind her, low and commanding. “It is time.” Elena turned to find the wolf had shifted, no longer in its primal form but standing tall as a man—his features were sharp, timeless, his eyes still glowing with that otherworldly light. He held out his hand to her. “You have awakened the forgotten magic,” he said softly. “Now, the tale must unfold.” Elena hesitated, her mind racing with questions. Was she ready to step into the stories that had once been told as a child? To be part of a world that seemed so far removed from the life she knew? But as her fingers brushed his hand, a spark ignited in her chest. Something deep inside her stirred—an ancient knowing, a connection to the world she had once thought was a mere figment of imagination. She was a part of it now. The enchantment had woven itself around her, and she could no longer turn back. With a deep breath, Elena stepped through the door, into a world of magic, danger, and destiny—where the fairy tales were real, and the future was waiting to be written. --- Poetry And so the tales return once more, Their voices echoing on the shore. The magic lives, the myths arise, A world reborn before our eyes. For the enchanted awakening has begun, When old fairy tales meet the rising sun. In every heart, the magic stirs, The stories live, the journey blurs. The world, a canvas, fresh and new, As legends rise from skies once blue. And Elena steps, her path now clear, The fairy tales are real—forever near. --- Conclusion The enchanted awakening has begun. In the heart of every story, in the very fabric of our dreams, lies the magic of old fairy tales, waiting to be rediscovered. Elena’s journey has only just begun, but it’s a reminder to us all: the fairy tales we once thought were only for children are alive, breathing, and waiting for us to awaken them. For the stories are never truly over—they are simply waiting for the right moment to come to life again.
By Samson E. Gifted2 years ago in Poets
Echoes of Departure. AI-Generated.
Echoes of Departure: A Performance Poetry The winds of change whisper soft, Carrying echoes of a world aloft, Footsteps fade upon the ground, Yet in the silence, they resound. A shadow slips, a door creaks wide, We leave behind, with nowhere to hide, But in the air, the memories stir, A distant hum, a fleeting blur. The heart beats faster with each step, A journey started, a promise kept, Yet behind us, what do we leave? The spaces we loved, the lives we grieve. Echoes of departure call through the night, A soft reminder of what once felt right, But as the past slips into the haze, We turn away, and face the maze. We pack our bags with hopes and dreams, As reality bursts at the seams, The comfort of knowing fades to fear, For the unknown is now drawing near. But listen close to the quiet sound, The echoes still circle, spinning around, A past that clings, a truth we know— We never really leave, we only grow. The roads may stretch far, the skies may bend, But echoes remind us—this is not the end. In every goodbye, in every tear, The echoes whisper, "You were here." For departure is not a loss to mourn, It’s the space where new lives are born. The path we leave may feel unkind, But the echoes stay, etched in our mind. So step forward, though the echoes call, They remind us that we’ve lived through it all, And as we leave, with courage to start, The echoes of departure live in the heart.
By Samson E. Gifted2 years ago in Poets
The Tapestry of the Moral Mind
The Tapestry of the Moral Mind: A Performance Poetry We weave the threads, One by one, Strands of light, And shadows spun. A tapestry so intricate, The fabric of our soul, Woven with decisions, That make us whole. Each choice a stitch, Each thought a thread, Knots of guilt, And hope instead. In the loom of life, We find our place, Every action, every word, Leaves a trace. The mind— A canvas stretched so wide, Where right and wrong In silence collide. A whisper calls, "Choose what's true," But where do we go, When truth eludes? We journey deep, Through paths unknown, Guided by the morals We’ve always known. But does the path we tread Always lead to light? Or does darkness hide In the brightest sight? For in the threads, We bind our fears, And from the looms, We spin our tears. But also, there is love, And kindness bold, In every stitch, A story told. What is the mind, If not a guide, Telling us where we stand, And where we hide? So let us weave, With careful hand, The tapestry that shows Where we stand. In every stitch, In every line, We are the architects Of our design. A moral mind, So full of grace, That in its fabric, We find our place. Let us weave, Let us choose, The threads that lead To love, and not to lose. For in the tapestry, We find our soul, Woven with wisdom, That makes us whole.
By Samson E. Gifted2 years ago in Poets
