You applause the actor
Her harmonious tone
Her play of words
Her triumphs heard
But do you love the stage after the song
The leftover footprints from where it sang along
Atoning for every step that was missed
Retrieving the dust from her accomplishments
The dust from the skill she used to win
The dirt from the shoes that store talent within
She takes a bow and stifles her breath
For love won’t come if she shows weakness next
But no one applauds the stage after the show
For being there, for laying low
For setting a platform all but their own
The cleaners perceive them as one last chore
The light flicks off, and what is love?
The stage hadn’t known, from being alone
And it will never know, until the lights flick on
And the cleaner applauds it for all it has done
Copyright © Dadsam Abdella | Year Posted 2025
I wonder how it truly feels to be loved.
Is it like the minutes before the sun rises,
when it begins to shine so bright,
and you feel its warmth on your skin
Like moments you miss the most,
filled with the nostalgia of what once had been.
Like a scent of flowers leaving its own light,
longing to be found.
A taste of the world reflected in your eyes,
afraid to drown.
The feeling of a lifetime,
where you’re finally able to see yourself,
A mirror to the soul
like the stories asleep on a shelf.
Where we sing songs to the silence
and the beat of our hearts.
In a life where we’re happy as lovers,
Waiting for each other throughout the hours,
and keep one another in our prayers.
Or is it only
When life comes around,
and our mind feels empty,
and our heart is broken,
like a shell that closes off
never to be found in the deep ocean.
Is that the only time
when words go unspoken,
and hearts grow frozen,
when you truly know
you felt the love and the emotion,
that was once offered but stolen.
A loneliness in the depths of generosity
and the quiet ache of wanting honesty.
Under the cloak of night
where no one’s eyes could find us,
and no one could hear us,
a quiet river of tears traced our cheeks,
each drop heavy with regret
that left us hopeless.
Forgiving without a voice to answer,
because holding on to the pain
would only break us further.
Walking through the dark alone,
carrying humiliation like a shadow
that has grown.
A haunting memory behind the screen,
where silence built a wall
we couldn’t get in between.
Carrying burdens too heavy for our age,
made our heart turn cold
and filled with rage.
But I never meant to hurt anyone,
nor cause pain,
It hurt my heart
as if I was tied up in a chain.
I’m still fighting the demons inside of me.
So please, please forgive me.....
Because...
Maybe, just maybe,
This is how love truly feels.
Copyright © Issey Ali | Year Posted 2025
Wandering in the corridors of my heart
Somewhere in a mystical part
I came across a curious door
But It felt like the life's core
It was decorated with joyful lights
Which had brighten my dark sight
On opening the door, the new world emerge
I entered it as my heart urge
After entering I felt untroubled
Suddenly my happiness is doubled
It has a world where everyone cheers
As if in the world there is no fear
Everyone lives the life without thinking
The time passed as fast as I was blinking
The world was full of curiosity
No one has any animosity
Here comes the beautiful and crucial memory
Which is actually a priceless treasury
Moments shared with our childhood friends
Even in a complicated trouble , the fun never ends
They were partners in our crimes
Those friends are like our hearts's rhymes
They were our life's shadows
Whose effect follows us to every meadows
Those days are unforgettable
And the memories are truly incridible
The door was of our recollection
The childhood memories are really a priceless affection !!!
Copyright © Aastha Anand | Year Posted 2025
Being in the mix of being Mixed
It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown.
The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me.
Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence in the in-between. Nobody knows for sure who from where.
I watch the journey pass—each exit, each departure, some people get off, others sometimes onto.
A glimpse of all—the beauty in both, yet never feeling whole with either.
So I linger where I know best, along for the ride,
never reaching any destination, just drifting in the unknown.
I used to search to be the best at both, master of each side,
but now I simply understand—
for me, being mixed is the in-between,
neither here nor there,
but forever caught in the space between.
Copyright © Jasmine Annie | Year Posted 2025
Love, is not a moderate image to paint !
I have tread a serene parks walk with colourful abundant trees and beauteous scenes
Yet Love :
“let me honour those who favour you their forte”!
Lustful young love and bitterness in sweet red wine
Patience in a white steady car awaiting traffic to mind time
Everything coming together , it is my damn fault you are not mine?
Frantically screaming in the passages of my life
In a motion that is slow they kiss me to complete my life
And touch me I fathom inside me caterpillars turn to butterflies
Tomorrow im in the hue-less shadows of solitude
And love is a ghost
Oh it unremorsefully robs me of hope
On an isolated bench gazing the starry nights
Your identity is a historic illusion of time
Copyright © Vivian baloyi | Year Posted 2025
I do not know if I fear you, thank you,
or hate you for hanging round.
I fear I'd been somebody else
who stands on solid ground.
I thank you, cause you made me this,
but I hate the reasons why.
I fear it might just free my soul
when you finally say goodbye.
I hate you for staying here this long.
Thank you for being stable.
I fear the day you leave,
my time, not coming
cause I'm not able.
Goodbye, it's time,
at least I hope,
I pray that you'll go quietly.
My greatest loss,
the quietest piece
the part that hopes you'll fight me.
I’ll say this truth,
Là Je M’amuse,
I feel it’s almost over.
That murder smile,
the haunting fact
a grin that’s Grimm, all over.
Absurd to see
to sink so deep,
and disappearing tears.
That day and night unfiltered rot
goodbye, forever, cheers.
Copyright © Daniel Barrass | Year Posted 2025
We Don’t Deserve
I read the stories
see blood in the margins,
names etched in shame.
Man’s hand, steady with the knife,
shaking only when called to kindness.
History isn't history.
It's breath on the mirror.
It fogs up, then clears,
only to show us
the same haunted face.
We burn what we didn’t build.
Crush lives under flags
we barely understand.
Skin becomes a reason.
Love becomes a crime.
And faith,
once meant to lift,
becomes the rope and the fire.
Tell me
how did difference become danger?
How did colour, creed,
or simply being
become enough
to justify a bullet,
a cage,
a silence?
There are godless things
done in God's name.
Things that make the ground
want to close its mouth
and never speak of us again.
We are a blot,
a bruise on this planet,
spreading still.
The trees ask nothing.
The rivers give everything.
The sky forgives daily.
But we
we do not deserve
a single leaf,
a drop of rain,
a shaft of sun.
We are a cruelty
that dressed itself in kingship
and called it civilization.
Copyright © Kevin Bergin | Year Posted 2025
There is something just so incredibly magical about nighttime.
The quiet hours and the dark sky by the moon made sublime.
Whispered words travel through the gloomy atmosphere,
Nothing is more real than a nighttime word, a sigh, a tear.
The night, with its black cloak and soft embrace, shields us from it all
And it allows us to strip naked, to be genuine, to confess, to break, to fall.
The night is intimate, it’s personal, an old friend whom we can always rely on,
A friend that will listen to the words that we would never pronounce after the break of dawn.
A friend that allows us to get rid of the masks we wear in the light,
And, rid of all veils in its pitch-black presence, we can shine so bright.
The night has been witness to so many things the day will always ignore,
Love confessions, heartbreaks, embraces, and all of humanity’s guarded lore.
The sun, with its golden rays and reassuring and constant presence,
Will never have anything over the silver moon’s hypnotizing essence.
The day shines on people and their lives, whether they like it or not,
It shines on their smiles and happiness, and for this, it holds in everyone’s heart a special spot.
Yet it shines regardless of people’s desire for it to do so because it is free
Therefore, shedding light on their weaknesses for the entire world to see.
For this reason, I think, people seek the comfort only the night can provide,
Under whose protection they can hide, with no expectations to abide.
The moon has seen things the sun never will,
She reached down to dry tears spilled by her admirers on their windowsill.
Copyright © Beatrice Biavati | Year Posted 2025
I gave up on everything, I gave up on everyone.
I know this is a heaven, but I just don't think it was meant for me.
If you knew me you would judge me for all those mistakes
So like the rest of us I carry this smile on my face and act like everything is alright as I try not to break.
My smile is like the love you gave me but all along it was fake
Copyright © Abusufyan Kateregga Bogere | Year Posted 2025
As the pale, pacific moon hung low, silent and still, waiting for
this day's receipts.
When echoes of day's purchases will be absorbed either in the heavenly or
hellish holes of the waning moon.
Weary with wars, the deceit of greed, where hate is heralded more, the
selfish, superior ones, their darkness dimming their light, shaming their souls
into hiding what could be theirs: a plethora of pleasantness that fills their
pockets with sweetness like that of fresh, sweet, new corn.
Hearts are healed - yielding to hope - happiness unending!
The moon's choice is mute, neither will any sound escape its voice.
It's only a silent reminder of our daily deeds, which deposits deepen
Its heavenly or hellish holes.
The moon goes to sleep as the fingertips of sun rays dance down,
barely touching our shadows.
As a new day dawns, will our choices this day make David's harp sing with
melodious mirth?
Or will we weep like the drowned sailor never again to walk upon the earth?
Our decisions shape us and the path we take.
We'll plant our seeds, sow, then reap, our hands wrapped tightly around our
rake. Pressed to choose, light or darkness, we give our portion to the moon's
silent take.
In the last hours as ever the moon will bury our garbage or glee tonight.
A daily task it must make, neither with disdain or delight.
Your master is your shadow and it
will take you where Angel's sleep.
or down into the treacherous tunnels of earth's unholiest places.
While the silent moon ever hangs and waits upon our choices.
It is always mute behind our voices.
We command and drill out madness.
We choose our fate and forcibly state.
Our seeds we plant remain the same, with our hands wrapped tightly
around our rake, we reap, then sow, our
choosing begats our harvest.
Tonight's moon will fill and show
Day's daily deeds of bitter fruit or tinder truth, that will root.
Our deeds dug deep.
Lying in the moon's pockets.
Reflecting light amid the darkness.
We reach again for our rake,
While the moon wages tonight will make
To destroy or create -
and will always be our binding mate.
Copyright © Ellen Boyle | Year Posted 2024
Why I Write
He asks why I write
And I say I must
Because the words, you see
Flow as easy as blood in my veins
The pen as natural as the air I breathe
Without it, I explain
The maze of my mind couldn't handle it
He asks how I write
And I say that my method cannot be taught
For my words are etched into me, stuck to my skin
My story swept back like my hair, ready to come loose
If I taught him my way
It just wouldn't be the same
He asks where I write
And I say that it can be anywhere
Hidden in my mind waiting for a chance to be free
In the comfort of my bed, or the cold of a desk
Anywhere, I explain
I can write, as long as it comes ultimately from the heart
He asks who I write about
And I pause
My heart races faster than my thoughts have ever dared
My eyes soften like they've never been hurt before
I question his questions
As if it could be anyone but him?
Copyright © Nora Brand | Year Posted 2025
Is my writing only good when I’m drowning?
When I’m down to my knees and my soul shouts heal
Is my happiness on only when I’m socializing?
When I cry of laughter only so my sad tears can be sealed
Is my depression the only motive of my paintings?
When I pour into a canvas only so my ideas can be cleared
Are those same ideas present with my happy self?
If not, who am I when I’m happy?
Is my tongue only flexible when I’m faking?
When I play with sweet words only so that my façade can be shielded?
Is this double sword personality of mine the only way to be acceptable?
If it is, is this fair to my heart? To my brain? To my body?
Is it fair to me? Or even to them?
Or is it the hidden rule played by the elite?
Copyright © May Brouss | Year Posted 2025
Just a container for the child?
Just someone who you can come home to?
Like it or not she means more to me than that
Had this ache only she can cure, had this fever she’d be able to control
She was my strength, my stability, my will to keep going.
Why’d I have to go and ruin it?
Both didn’t want to end it but it was needed to heal and grow as people.
How much is one supposed to give until it’s enough.
How much can we give of ourselves until we’re gone.
But since she’s been gone I’ve lost stability of the world around me.
She was my lucky rabbits foot, and now I’m all out of luck.
Copyright © Diego Chaidez | Year Posted 2025
With the sudden pang in your abdomen
And the onslaught of terror,
Did you look around one last time
At the familiar keepsakes on the fireplace
Or did you avert your gaze?
In the frosty darkness of that night
As you climbed to that holy shrine
With mud colllecting at your ankles,
Did the Virgin hail her unexpected visitor
or did she avert her eyes?
And as you laid there,
In your bed of stone
And when that moment came at last,
Tell me, were you revealed or petrified
As you finally held what was always yours?
Were you afraid you’d burn -
Not like the sages in their holy fire
Or were you pierced with peace,
Gazing into his evanescent eyes
In that still darkness of the night?
Copyright © Alice Cortazar | Year Posted 2025
Visage stark and eyes of steel
He shares my thoughts and what I feel
And seems to know more than I’ve known
The face in the mirror sees through me.
He knows my faults, my secret sins
And bears no mercy without or within
Judgement swift cuts to the bone
The face in the mirror weighs me
Dreams and goals, schemes and plans
He shatters with a sneering glance
And his silence is the only tone
The face in the mirror knows me
He measures my worth with soulless stare
And soundlessly he lays me bare
Worthless his lips appear to moan
The face in the mirror shows me
He finds me lacking and less each day
Though why so harsh he will not say
Just a loathing low hushed groan
The face in the mirror wounds me
His disregard so plain and clear
He knows my pain and stokes my fear
His twisted lips set the tone
The face in the mirror grieves me
He arbitrates my very life
Slashes my soul with psychic knife
His cruelty hard as stone
The face in the mirror hates me
No escape and no reprieve
This simulacrum will never leave
His torment won’t let me alone
The face in the mirror is me
Copyright © Danny Derden | Year Posted 2025
Blood drips on the ground beneath my feet
But not from my eyes you gouged out
Or from the tongue you cut off
Nor my eyes you left to listen
And not my insides where it crawls.
Unkown makes me afraid
More than my blood pooling on the snow
I knew it always bleeds
But I don't know where the scar is
Copyright © old doll | Year Posted 2025