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Kngblaq May 2
As I travel through life's path
Fogs of uncertainty cloud my sight
Like the butterfly in the caterpillar
I drank of life's bitter river

Further and further I probed
Asking questions that beguile the old
Deeper and deeper I looked within
Searching through every life's inn

In that state of complete confusion
A fire ignites within bringing illumination
Shedding light in dark alleys
And reducing mountains to valleys

Within my soul a journey began
An unwinding path, where shadows spin
I longed for the truth, in every crease
As I embraced the parts I had release

With each forward step I dropped a mask
As I found strength in my vulnerability
A mirror telling stories untold
Of trials and triumph, young and old

In this inner world I found my way
Through light and night, dark and day
I learnt and forgave and let go too
As I discovered the beauty in me anew
Finding purpose in the chaos,
and rising against all odds
Overcoming obstacles and embracing new found freedom
Kngblaq Apr 27
In life's darkest depth, Hope Echoes,
Resounding through every race,
tongue and Nation, Uniting hearts
And transcending borders.

In moments of anguish, Hopes Echoes,
Calling for solidarity amongst men,
To stand in oneness against the evil
That beguiles this big blue ball.

In times of shadows, Hopes Echoes,
Shining bright on all that seem faded,
Reviving lost dreams, empowering sight
And giving strength to those who are weak.

In our loneliness, Hope Echoes,
Turning isolation into communion,
fraternity into fellowship
And brings us a step closer to "The Truth"....

Even now, Hope Echoes,
Charging the old to employ their wisdom,
And the youth, their strength,
So that Mankind can again be free,
Not just free, but truly free and cleansed,
From the shackles of all doubts and impurities.
TheLees Apr 27
There’s something sitting on my brain.
Something disconnected.
No current. No spark.

My eyes are rolling loose in their sockets.
My voice sounds like it’s
on the other side of a wall.

I didn’t want to leave the house,
but the sun reached through the window
and coaxed me out.

Then, a brown-haired woman
with crystal eyes and porcelain cheeks
walked by,
and I caught the soft pull of her
flowery, spring-scented perfume.

It was cherries,
and my love,
and everything good.
It was honey.
It was holding my mother’s hand to cross the street.
Zee Apr 26
Come bring the bad news.
And tell me all the ways.
You've been feeling blue.

Rest your head upon.
My shoulders.

As we gaze up at the moon.
The night is dark but there's,
Still light to be seen.

You've got a lot of living.
Left to do.

Can't leave your life.
Up to fate.

Hoping you can change.
The chances of the game.

Your life is in your hands,
My dear.

Like the dark it can play,
At being a trickster too.

For a little while you can.
Rest your worries here.

Underneath the stars so bright.
Till the morning light comes through.

Only then when it appears.
I hope you don't feel blue.

If somehow you do.
I've got enough warmth.
For two.
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death makes everybody dry and sad
Death even makes kings who are grumpy and mad
Absolutely powerless, helpless and useless
Death makes us mute, motionless, lifeless and deaf
In the darkest, hottest part of the crater
And deep within the brightest cell or cache of the chamber
Where too much light
Blinds the retinas and this is never right
Death makes everybody lifeless, powerless and useless
Death, death! Nobody can get used to you
Death, death! You are a fool too
For stealing life which is vitally precious
Death, death! You are backward and too ambitious
Nobody can get used to your ways
Because you make us part ways
Old death! You never show compassion and pity
You are wicked, greedy, sick and crazy
Old death, will you leave us alone?
Please use a different style and tone
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death, you make everybody weak and mad
Old death, you make us worthless, lifeless and sad
Death, death, old death, please go away
Go, go away, please go, go find your way.

Copyright © April 25, 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Who are heroes?
What is heroism?
I'm not sure,

We're at a scary lack of that,
Missing the true selfless values,
Of what we know it to be.

Today it's easy to stumble upon the self proclaimed,
What do they do it for?
For the clout, to move the graph,

Exponential gain.

But I know it's impossible to be pure,
After all, I've purged my heart,
More times than I ought to,

Bright places go dark faster than they should.

It may be consequence,
Of shooting holes in the flood-lights.
Though the sparking is just so entertaining,

Another simple pleasure destroyed by conventional good.
Evil hunts itself.
Antonia Apr 24
what is this game
you wish to play?
what is this thing
you take away?
you want my light?
to feed your darkness
you want my love?
to feed me lies

you take everything.
and give nothing in return.

you’re nothing but a thief

thief.
Have you ever been so blinded by love that you ended up stealing from yourself?
B C Stan Apr 24
A thing is a thing, isn’t a thing
What makes a thing, a thing?
Is a thing, a thing because
We call it
A thing?

What then of things that
Haven’t found a name?
Does discovery make
A thing?
Then who made us
A thing
Can a thing
Make a thing a thing?

Light is a thing
I see it
Fragrance is a thing
I smell it
Music is a thing
I hear it

Dark is a thing
No thing
Is not having a thing make
A thing?
is a no thing, a thing?

Is
Love
A thing?
Kyla Apr 23
follow the light back
patterns traced on my shoulder
there’s warmth and light and goodness
enough that the darkness doesn’t have to consume you
Vitæ Apr 27
The sun leaps
into responsibility

freshly pressed and dripping
another delectable day

into me.
Though sleep knows

and has always known—
I am still not ready.

Under a spell
of honeyed flowers,

I have dissolved
into the dew of night,

limbs disguised
under a river of silk,

stitched together
with the same spider

that spun the night
I spun myself in.

I know better than
to stay in this cocoon,

untwined enough
to slip one foot

into the hyacinth breeze
and unthread a hundred dreams

from heavy eyes.
What keeps me occupied is

to finish the day that has
yet begun,

to bat the unease out of
creased pillows

and shake the fears too,
so all dust surrenders

to the peace
between everything.

I let my shadows dance
on porcelain walls

and into
the infinite window,

where the oldest light
that silently lights

the distant meadow fields,
lights the cracks of this room

and waits—

and continues to wait
for me.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.”

“A Great Wagon” by Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
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