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Nylee Apr 3
Head to toe,
I am trying to stretch my toes
Lying on the bed.

Crying on quite late
It's like world wishes well but out to get me,
It's some kind of curse or a blessing,
I don't quite know.

I would hope to run and go
But there is no hiding.
In this simulation
We are trying to play,
But needless to say
We are quite good at losing,
Nothing is really of our choosing.

Miracles come in if you let them in
Trust is a game, quite demanding.
I don't know, which road I am walking
Indeed it's late, I could be sleeping,
But here I am pondering
The ideas come in a bind
I dont feel the world rise
the thirst is untimed.


Toe to head,
My weary feet, the growing heat
still up upon on the bed.

Recall the day, the miles they trod
Each step a choice, a nod from God?
Or just the path laid out for me
In this grand play, for all to see?

My legs feel heavy, muscles tight
From battles fought, in fading light.
My heart still beats, a steady drum
Though sometimes lost, and feeling numb.
My hands lie still, their work now done
Though yearning still, for someone's sun.

My thoughts still race, a restless tide
Where hopes and fears can't truly hide.
My eyes stare up, into the dark
A silent question, leaving its mark.

My head now rests, upon the sill
Of sleep's soft door, against my will.
Perhaps in dreams, a truth I'll find
Beyond the thoughts that cloud my mind.
From toe to head, I'm just a soul
Trying to make myself feel whole.
  Mar 27 Nylee
Vianne Lior
Soft hush
a lilac hush,
spilling from heaven’s cufflinks.

Dust-throated wind,
draped in violet lace,
forgets how to whisper.

Once,
a petal kissed my wrist,
feather-light, sugar-spun.
(It melted before I could love it.)

Beneath the boughs
time folds like an origami swan.
A child presses footprints into fallen silk,
calls for lullabies.

Glittering
a secret only the butterflies know,
written in ultraviolet sighs.

Stay.
Stay.

But the season is shifting,
jacaranda knows no permanence.

A lilac hush
soft hush
dissolving into sky.

The ground is a love letter
written in violet, waiting for rain.

03/04/2025
Jacaranda's have bloomed in my school.
Farewell :(
  Mar 27 Nylee
S R Mats
Serene, float among green growth,
Buds desire to open, join the flotilla.
Gentle one, you are like the waterlily
Which grow across the surface,
The still surface of my pond.
  Mar 26 Nylee
November Sky
Tears
are not afraid
to get wet—
tears will find
another way
through—

Like rain cutting
new roads
through rock

Like rivers tricking
land to let go

Even the smallest
drop knows—
water moves
what won’t
Nylee Mar 21
My past won't protect me
My future is set to destroy me
what will I be doing now
smiling at the creations
is everything just decorations
it's all set up, and I keep my time
It's now what I do
It's in present how I be
don't fight, be at peace
I live and breathe the tranquil.
  Mar 21 Nylee
Druzzayne Rika
I wasn't born to fight,
maybe tiny bit
It is with my own self,
these vices need to be uprooted right away
I wasn't born to be living in fright,
reach a longer height
not necessary physical
but reach immeasurable
lengths in spiritual.

I reject what's not mine,
everything that is out of line,
giving away everything
that I might or not need
I am born out of weeds
looking for knowledge seeds
to bring me closer to reach whole
remove the ever existing void
that I try to fill with materials
Nothing quite fits in this soul.
Nylee Mar 18
It's a reality when it is observed
It is unreal if no one sees
Even imaginary is unreal
but feels as if it is not.
If real is not real, why do I feel
we are running to acquire nothing
Are we onto something being
driven to see nothing sticks for long enough
If what I have doesn't make me happy
I manifest things with great yearning
But when I acquire, it just loses its lustre
Becomes painfully ordinary, are we onto anything?

we are participating in this life
It is real or fictitious, maybe both
we perceive it in our mind
Likely we have different insights
The echoes of our actions in a fleeting sound,
We bark out like a wounded hound.
We chase the shadows, of a promised light,
And grasp at substance, that dissolves in night.
The questions linger, in this hollow space,
Is meaning woven, or a fleeting grace?
Perhaps the journey, is the only truth we find, we are onto nothing,
A constant searching, of a restless mind.
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