surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Untidy Weavings
“I dream of you, more often than I’d like to admit. Every night if I could put a number to it. Under the cloth of darkness, within my cocoon of blankets that once cradled your skin; I lay awake thinking of everything under the sun. Praying, hoping for one night of untidy weavings. A semblance of idiocy that can be laughed about in the morning. Yet every night I dream of you. The longing that lingers on my lips, hunger upon my finger tips. A stampede of a thousand sparrows beating my chest. An eternity of honey sweetening my ears.
By Jake Trammell3 years ago in Poets
Drifting
Many of us do not know what we want in the moment until it passes Drowned in life’s vastness So take all of your chances Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Poets
Pluto
We are in a dream within a dream. The illumination led us astray. Our revolution, our civil war. Our tyrants, our fallen. Their names are lost in the wind. Save our ships! Save our insignificant souls! It's just us now. You and I are the only ones left. We followed the signals while our fleet dwindled. We followed the enigma. You prophesied doom. Your secrets stayed with you. I thought we had more time. My hopes will die with me. In another life, we are together in the end. We were the paradigm of survival. You've disappeared into the oblivion. I tried to reach you but the darkness is so vast. The bowels of hell cannot compare to this nothingness. All I see are stars. Twinkling souls sinking into heaven. You're too far out of my reach. Like a balloon ascending. The zenith is right here. This is the end of home. I can't see you anymore. All I see are stars
By Anna Torres3 years ago in Poets
