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And at last he prayed,
Prayed since all hope had perished,
All virtues faded and all sentiments gone.
Down the river he now floats, cursed with angst and pain.
He mourns his loss but his grief won't go away, for this is the consequence —
The consequence of action he so inadvertently did without a second of thought.
Oh, the lives he ruined, the chaos he brought.
Denial is the river, and denial is what he sought.

In denial he drowned,
And in denial he remained.

-Asher Graves
Saw an Instagram prompt asking young poets to write something based on an image — so I did. Here's what came out of it. Wrote it just five minutes ago, so there might be mistakes, but hey — it's about the rawness, not the polish, right? Let me know if it resonates.
There once lived a beautiful princess named Savarati
Her sweet strong charm was the hit at every party
She was enchanting like an angel with wings on her shoulders
But this borne a complex becoming uglier as she grew older
And very soon Savarati would learn her lesson but not nicely

The beauty of Savarati was true for everyone she met
People were dumbfounded in her appeal they would not forget
Her splendor spawned their devotion to her to always be dear
This made Savarati’s arrogance develop through the years
Even though she was stunning, she felt she was humanity’s present

One day, the daughter of the noble family went to a genie
She said to him, “I wish to live forever so my beauty won’t leave me”
As her wish was granted, she thought this was what she wanted
However as time went on, this would leave her very disappointed
The things around her as she knew them would change quite greatly

It began with her deeply beloved son who passed away
He was no more, as were all the trees and flowers that started to decay
Soon everyone she cared for were gone and things became of no value to her
Now that she had such durability, what was the point in doing the things she preferred?
Savarati wondered this to herself as she cried for another day

She then went back to the spirit and demanded him to fix this
Savarati’s mortality came back but not happy with her still deceased family, she let out a hiss
But the genie told her that there was nothing he could do to revert her loved ones
Knowing this would be the end of it, the princess understood only darkness would come
She laid that night with her photo of her family haunting her hopes giving it one last kiss

That night with no one by her side, Savarati died of heartache
But she realized one important thing before she did not wake
That is the truth of having an enjoyable life is not how long you live
Instead, it is how you display yourself to others and what you give
Because living is not about how many breaths you take, but what of it you make
I wrote this poem when I was 14 years old. If you brought my second book, “In The Eye of The Family,” then this poem will look familiar to you. Those who know, will know. Just a reminder that I’m a self-published author as well.
1.) Sitting by the window side looking at the sky, thinking back to the good ole days "boy" those were the times.

Kids playing, women gossiping, men arguing pandemonium in the market square, A normal day indeed! Those were the signs.

Filled with hopes and ambitions, making jokes and gestures where could we have gone wrong in a journey of a thousand miles.

Amidst the chaos and commotion, distortion and confusion there were better days ahead or so we thought.  A stitch in time saves nine.

2.) O sky full of mystery, O earth filled with misery, the moods have changed food I shall not taste for the clash has begun!

Empty houses, burning bushes meaningless I should say, this world has gone mad how I wish to be reborn.

Blood is thicker than water, my tongue is dry as I wonder; slash, splish-splash. What do you think is dripping? My blood or my sweat, matters not!  Soon I shall join the rest.

And when all is complete, with bodies torn to bits; ravening wolves, sickening clothes. I take my last breath and exclaim "It is finished".

Finished indeed! Displeased with grief,  the aftermath you can not fathom, our fall to the deepest bottom. All started well, none remains here.
Shawn Oen Apr 21
A Cell for Love

I wrote a message late one night—
Not hate, not rage, just one last plea.
A heart too full, a soul mid-flight,
Still holding on to what we’d be.

But law saw threat where I meant grace,
And cold steel slammed across my name.
I landed in the darkest place,
Branded by a lover’s shame.

Beside me, mur der wore a grin,
And ra pe had eyes like hollow graves.
And here I sat with trembling skin,
A man who only tried to save.

I wasn’t perfect, never claimed,
But I believed in what we had.
In vows and tears and midnight talks,
In fighting through the good and bad.

You asked for space—I gave too late.
You drew the line—I crossed in hope.
I didn’t know love could equate
To cuffs, to bars, to twisted rope.

They said, “You violated law,”
And maybe, yes, that’s what it seems.
But all I did was speak of love—
Of shattered hearts and broken dreams.

How did “I miss you” turn to chains?
How did “Please talk” become a crime?
I wasn’t stalking, wasn’t cruel—
Just stuck inside our ruined time.

And now I sit among the worst,
Men who’ve stolen breath and light.
I whispered love, and now I’m cursed
To dream of you through endless night.

I should have listened, should have known
That silence meant a needed wall.
But grief can beg when left alone—
And hope is stubborn when we fall.

So here I write from this cold floor,
Still reeling from the cost of care.
You’re gone, the door is locked once more,
And love became my cross to bear.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.
till the ****** of love
she sang

till the drapes
in tatters, wail
they shiver
threads,
to ribbons
as tears
frail in spring breeze
stiff
bony breath of winter
chills the soul
readies me for the wound

she could dance
belly and all
entrance my naked heart, my dizzy doldrums
how all I'd wanted
was her
in the midst
of my forest

mistake my love
for the stars
she did
for the myriad
she tossed her well
into my coin
and I drank her in
leagues deep
with one penny
for her mind
read her life
saw her perfection stem
in my interest
coffers full
no rust, pon my copper touch,
dividends of time, we had
and yet
by the hour, struck every eve,
the penny wast all I had
for, spat back, my penny went

a man can love a woman
but should his penny be worth her life
her love, her heavens, her crown,
men,
with wallets heavy as banks
will buy her drunk
ego, pride, unmerciful
to the brim
with lust
save one's penny, she'd be rich

though poor all her days, without you...
Who knew soul mates could be so cruel... and uninterested in love.
Corpses
of
daisies
lie at your feet

Will
you
break
fall to the floor and weep

You thought
when you picked them
that they would make you beautiful

but rot is inescapable
Your anger unaccountable

now all the flowers that you picked are dead
You crumpled them in your shaking fists and said
that you're better off just picking fights instead

Leaving daisies over coffins
never feeling, never stopping
you grew a garden in your soul
full of evanescent magic
but your story ended tragic
now daisies lie in your wake
gone without a trace

corpses
corpses
daisies
daisies
what's left of your heart
has gone completely crazy
said "the world will never change me"
"never take me, or erase me"

but now you cover everything
in the corpses
of daisies
Based off of Wonderland by NEONI and also Daisies by Katy Perry :)
No organization whatsoever, the best kind
Em MacKenzie Apr 8
Maybe you were never ready
to carry a weight that’s so heavy.
If you can’t set the course,
you’re going to need to follow.
You can bring water to a horse
but you can’t make it swallow.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
From the city back to town,
from space bound to homeward.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
You scream your lungs out but even near her,
you’re always ignored;under detection.

Maybe you were never prepared
to share a burden that should never be shared.
It’s been a few years; it’s been some time
since you lodged your last complaint.
I’d like to believe you’re now doing fine,
and you’d like to believe you’re just a saint.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
Follow the air bubbles to not drown
don’t turn a drama into a horror.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
If she can’t move will you still fear her,
and her manipulation and deflection?

I sometimes forget Medusa was victim to a curse,
and I never tried to make it better but I sure as hell made it worse.
Maybe Athena could’ve been more forgiving and kind,
she didn’t have to leave her living, or she could’ve made her blind.
She could’ve plugged her ears
so she wouldn’t have to hear the screams
of the men who holds fears
of a woman who dreams.
She could’ve ripped off her nose
or just taken her voice,
sometimes that the way it goes
you just don’t get a choice.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
Even if she could scream no one would hear her,
and long ago got used to the rejection.
Even snakes have their beauty.
she was,
"catch of the century"
one in a ball game of,
a googolplex of pitches
and I catch her
every century
of love's timing
like,
    a meteor
          among meteors
                 riding the waves of
                         a supernova on the rim
             of the event horizon
        of our star-crossed fates
marks the spot
home base
we were in love
as earth and moon
in dance
in trance
in eternity
upon the thin ice of space
curling with the flows of time itself
we were the continuum of love
unfurling into dream
budding romances anew
like orchards
caskets of poetry
fermented odes of promise
     to one anther
uncorked,
every summer of our lips, entwined,
open to the experience of being
      conjoined between our hips, locked,
            and interlocking, for hours
              letting our waters flow up
        and
    down
                 stream
             past
the
           point of living
                  for the sake of sweat forbidding
panting breath
stealing motion from tiring
       treading life through rest
                we tread not flesh but the waters
of love itself
      drank from each other
             the secrets
of our love for each other
until none were had
and only that
                        which was truth, remained
and the secret was us, our love, and its fire
the passion aglow
in the magma chambers of the furnace being our future
calling us into the union of what was
      into the future of what could never be again
             that being, our
         loneliness,
                           our time apart, and our time together
                wed into our time
all our time was ours, as I lost myself to her
and she
              lost herself to me, and I forgot her
           as
               I could only remember myself
                            and she
in forgetting me,             could
                          remember       only herself
and I, in remembering myself, only knew her, my lover, herself
and she responded, "My love. I will never forget you..."
                                    "You are memory, and to forget you..."
is to no longer love her,
                                         and since
time has answered our yearning
for love need be deeper
than wood root
deeper than word
                                roots of iron would rust
                                and love needs air with water
                                iron would melt, forgetting itself
                                in the heat of such love betwixt us
                                envy would poison other lovers
                                so, worlds apart from other lovers
& their passions
we needed space and time
and the answer came, in that twilight of memory,
lost to the abandon of all life, we transpired the love of
all things other,
all things not us,
                 not we
                 not true love
I forgot, how her father beat her,
               when my touch, could enter her womb
               grasp her ovarian limbs
               and tell her mother she was safe with me
               and all her mothers became the song of letting go
               for my touch was that without harm
                                                       without sin
                     my touch was that which sought hope
                                       brought meal to her heart
                                       quilt to her nerves
                                       time to her wounds
                                       comfort to her fears
                and myself became distinct from all that be "men"
                                                           ­                    in her eyes
                                                            ­         glad, her heart became
                                                   her man I transcended all otherwise
                                          to be
                                                   the answer to her wanderlust
                                                      ­                                          for lovers
                                          I became her sole lover
                                                           ­       Only, was my name
                                     she was mine - already
                      and bound, as two wedding rings, became our roots
                      I knew her deepest pleasures,
                                                      ­   pain became my enemy
                                                           ­                     in her name,
                                                           ­                     my adversary
found love, in me, she had
and Love became our messenger,
                                         itself the tree, whose flesh was truth; us,
         whose bark was no animal speech,
                                       no madness compeled it
                                       no age marked its passage through time
only secrets of truth wound its coils of being
only truth spoke its limbs, chorused its fruit,
                   sighed its leaves in autumn
                                               chaste its death from winter
                                          its canopy was the spring
                                                     of all possibilities
and we were the plume of being
        the evergreen oasis of marriage,
                                                itself of our founding
                                                        ­      our purpose
                                                         ­            perfection
              eldritch in              cthulian tembre, our love,
                                 unsightly, in the eyes of
                                                              ­             hate's beholders
        the glare of the blindness unmasked
        their ignorances,
                                     absent of the light of knowing
                           truth absconded,
                           they were              set aflame by revelation
                   the rapture of guru, sage
                                            mystic, gnostic
                                            yogi, and all holies,
                                            suckling the fruit of
                                            mysteries long beheld
                                            at the foot of God Himself
                                            plucked from the tree of itself
                                                          ­                              the
                               ­                                                         understa­nding
itself, the wisdom granted, as if
                                                as if 't'were holy water,
                                                as if they wert gossamer cotton aflame
          no constitution for the raw love of wisdom itself
                no breath for humility
                     no peace for surrender, even, could they bear
the audacity, beheld in them, was them
all that
            was left
                          of shame
                                          transfixed, crucified, undone by experience
                          approaching, not of its arrival had they perished
             of its approach, unfit for the wisdom,
                                          in the understanding
                                          of our love had they cremated
                                                        ­                       in themselves
                                                      ­                         all hope for life
                                          they perished of their own futures
             and became the everliving of themselves
that no future beheld them, for the past
                                                            ­         became the limit
                                                           ­          of their potentials
             she and I became, that love untouchable
                                                     ­         imperishablee
                            even unto
                      us,
                           except in the perfect approach
                              hermeticized, canoes set as pyres
                                 where death goes to live
                                     we die by giving to life again
living anew in love
perfection, the price of being
and to fail, death again,
                    absolute, in failure,
                                     death be, my love, me
for adultery wouldst be, my silver bullet
due her, every moment
                she, the scorpion
                her tale, of another's bed,
                                                            ­ like Hailey's comet,
the shaft bore
                        in my soul
                        gored by weeping
                        my frailty, my honor sundered
                as Jericho, bore by powers untold
                but told, all the same,
                                                       she be my death,
                                                       my living be her demise
should faithlessness be her love
i be ******
                      till never I be
                                              in life
                                              never I
                                              be
for to breathe
is to live for love
and my breath
she taketh
in love,                 and surely
the I be                 dead
                              without her love, spent of breath is my life

                              for my life is her love
                   the death of our love
                   my life be undone
                                                   partake, of my grave
                                                           ­        my supper
                                                          ­         my last meal
                                                   when the fox
                                                             ­        was the hen
                                                             ­                       all along...
"Love Is A Losing Game" is a song by Amy Winehouse.
The phrase is soberingly somber, tragic, but it's sooo true.

Some have said, "ALL is fair, in love & war," but only those who don't love, who are incapable of love, say and believe that, in my most absolute opinion.

Love becomes objectively unfair when one's lover loves, always, others.

People who believe love has limits, and who live to spend that excess energy, not on cultivating love, but on fornicating, orgying, adulterating of all their innocences to the point of insatiability with ***, into *******, and becoming vampiric, enjoying blood in their *******, cannibalistic even, of others, in *******, are, ultimately, those who burn WITH the devil, lucifer, and satan in the fires of revelations.

I believe (fear) this became of my soulmate(s).
That they desire. Because they did not believe that I am God's son, and lucifer is my sworn enemy. They worshipped, and may be due for the eternal fires...
Two candles, side by side,
Arms of thread—their aid—
Wrapped around as they hug,
Gracious flames of burning shrug.

Two candles, side by side,
They burned and radiated light.
Hesitance grew as they stood;
They burned their thread—passionate mood.

One cried, the other raged.
Flames engulfed the fabric red.
Two candles, side by side—
A burning heart, in between, laid.

Smaller the candles grew,
Glory to the light they drew.
One burning, the other hides—
Two candles, held side by side.
greatsloth Mar 19
This moment is just a dream,
An illusion of a greater being
And once the cold death
Gave us it's warm embrace
We will fall into silence
As we wake up to see the reality.

If so, then why plague your mind with worry?
If this is just a dream, then why are you experiencing it in tragedy
When you can easily make it into comedy.
I'm airing out these poems, they went unuploaded for a year lol
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