Stream of Consciousness
It was not love, it was a disease
Maybe she recognized him, but pretended that she was no longer there, that all those memories and experiences had turned her into someone he would never know again. The last flame of love, lit a year ago, full of hope, continued to toss her life left and right, straight ahead, until suddenly it fell inexorably to the ground and said, “Enough, this will never happen again.” Your chosen one will never happen. It is a walking illusion of hatred towards yourself and others. The fire went out forever, the flames died down, and she never spoke to her again.
By Antea Lumina Kala Matylda 10 months ago in Poets
Public Notice
I will lead you down a path you don't want to take in search of the signs of hope you desire . Because I can . I am no prophet Le disruptor . Taking liberties With poetic formula . Like a prick at a sorority party Profane meeting with virginal pristineness Taking beauty and warping grinding it down . Where for art thou . The poem That poem The one that will be remembered For hundreds of years . I am many things but not Ozymandias . A cultural heathen with literary smarts I abuse at every turn . No easy rhymes Never the most elegant . Filidh makar Bard to some Leader and visionary to others . I think therefore I burden you with whatever comes forth when I think— more than greater than, always more than equal to. . (it) Being the subject brings me back to you. . You— being the recipient.Start writing...
By Paul Stewart10 months ago in Poets
