Check out this awesome Ballad poem #poetrycommunity #poetrythread #writer #ContentCreator #FypCelestial Barques of Giza
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The Flame That HealsThe air in the Hall of Mirrors is not air, but the memory of a cleansing fire. It is the space between the rage that burns and the calm that heals, the breath held after a fever breaks. The walls are not stone but polished alabaster, and they do not reflect your …
The Unmoved MoverThe sculptor’s hands have stilled at last.No mallet sound, no chisel rings,The temple shadows hold him fast,The god who fashions all-made things.Between the held breath and the beat,The world awaits, undone, unwrought.A universe lies incomplete,A single, potent, silent thought.The first dawn hesitates to start.The last dream lingers, undefined.He stands, the unmoved mover’s heart,With …
voidic3ntity:my soul still resides here, lingering far beyond the edge of pages:my body, laced with sin, exhaustion clinging, somatic discharge,my mind, hazy from fumes, drowning deeper in sorrowful hole, calcium architecture, shrapnel patchworking, steel creations.I’ve always been discarded, thrown away, throwing away life, it’s different than suicidality, it’s the ceasing of connection. I no longer …
The Red Lord of the ThresholdThe air in the Duat is not air, but the memory of it, thick and cold as the space between stars. I stand at the threshold, the place that is neither the world of the living nor the realm of the dead. It is the First Cataract of existence, where …
Daily Prompt #17Daily writing promptWhat are three objects you couldn’t live without?View all responsesThe first is this very mug—a thick, white ceramic thing, slightly chipped on the rim. It’s not just for the caffeine, though God knows that’s a lifeline. It’s for the ritual. The warmth that seeps into my palms on a cold morning, …
I Am a Hopeless RomanticA Reflection of my HeartThere are days when my journey feels like walking a vast, unforgiving road, where loss rises around me like a storm and my emotions spin wild and fierce, as if caught inside a tornado I cannot escape. Everything feels scattered, uncertain, and overwhelming. Yet somehow, step by …
Where the Heart Learns to StayWhere the Heart Learns to Stay
When Morning Finds Its WingsWhen Morning Finds Its Wings
Where the City Meets the WaterBlue stretches wide where the shoreline sleeps,A quiet city breathing beyond the trees.Docks lean into the water like patient thoughts,Waiting for boats, for laughter, for summer’s return.The lake holds the sky in steady hands,Ripples carrying whispers of passing wind,While distant homes rest in soft afternoon light,Guardians of stories told on …