surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
About yourself
Rubayat can never be this big that he may burn himself to death and that man can never belong to anyone who is always in everything Just talk about yourself.
Wordology part three
Letter A for art love it through my poems from the bottom of my heart, Letter B for a battle have yours in your life strong like a king doing from his casttle,
el hariti adilPublished about 4 hours ago in PoetsDethroned
I've returned from dehydration in the arid desert. I've resurfaced from forced hiatus in isolated Siberia. You held too much influence and power in just one useless finger. But I had the common sense to finally push you away so you wouldn't linger. A pariah speaking at a different frequency than me. We were speaking in tongues and alternating tones that neither of us could decipher. This vendetta will outlast us both. I've placed myself back on the altar and knocked you off your pedestal. Invincible and supreme, there's nothing more you can throw at me. You made me yield when I should have skyrocketed. The defeat you had orchestrated will backfire on you. The elaborate cage you trained me in couldn't withstand my wrath. I've destroyed the illusions you had set in stone. The firing squad is here to finish what I started. Execution by guillotine is a waste of energy. Trial by fire is the best way to go. I've yielded too many times and now the answer is simply no. I wasn't afraid to die with you by my side. I was afraid to live and not dare step out from under your shadow. The fearmonger in me sought more than anything you were ever gracious enough to hand to me. This isn't love nor was it madness. It was an excuse to stay stagnant that made my insanity completely pointless. I assumed we shared our sickness together but it was I who suffered alone. You made your exit so sudden that I was left with this burden to exist alone. You thought you had made this choice for me. I thought I would avenge myself but it is my silence that will speak volumes for me. My choice to remain supreme will perform the spectacle you will never witness. My ability to be invincible is the moment you will never see. Some people will tear themselves apart to find their worth. I always knew I was. I just couldn't locate it until I eradicated you first. You forced me to capitulate and emulate surrender. But I never acquiesced and I never will. The only armistice I agree to is emancipation. Keep your shield up and your armor intact. You may need it when I strike you down and step over your corpse to find my ultimate peace. Misery cannot find me. There is nothing more you can do to deplete me
Anna TorresPublished about 5 hours ago in PoetsHome
A faded image of my mother chromatic memories of my dad Golden moments, cherished forever some were the best I've ever had
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished about 9 hours ago in PoetsMythos and logos
Language is memory Remembered not learned Encoded in neurons Computed in synapses. _ How else did this violent ape arrive at this
Roderick MakimPublished about 19 hours ago in PoetsTrue lines poetry.
It's not like that that it doesn't matter to us we often become silent thinking this That there is no such thing as love in debate.
Support us
You have come a long way. wait a bit trust us . we don't even know of our destiny wait a bit in grooming it Support us.
Does traumatic darkness engulf the light that one embodies?
The unsatiated anger that blinded the sights of glee, In the erratic ferocity of animosity, he pushed away the light that everyone could see.
Hridya SharmaPublished about 23 hours ago in PoetsGrace
* Ask me in December When wishes float like snow flakes to the ground Hopes and dreams linger without a sound The gift of love surpasses doubt
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished about 24 hours ago in PoetsPoint Nemo
Extinct have gone the novices of time. It's not the damned that have been erased but the rustic and the lame. Trapped beneath camouflage and outdated routines. They carved their misfortunes in bone but I have carved nothing, Still waiting for my turn at evolution. The misguided burned their hands with the fire they created. Discovering stolen weapons and reshaped maps. Surviving by doing the most mediocre and mundane. A divided society must be restored. You wouldn't allow me to eat at the table because you occupied all the seats. A civil war has erupted within me and the terrorist you became has ridiculed me long enough. I was the caveman drawing scriptures on the brand new walls while you claimed to be the new messiah. You drove me to the edge of the world and left me there on the side of the unpaved road, alone. I prepared cobblestones into fortified statues and citadels. I created epochs and enduring eras. I harvested the best that resided within me but you always doubted me. You projected false appearances in order to rise above. Everything I did was never enough. You conquered distant lands and exotic societies but you couldn't tame your own ignorance. I'm not the historic ape kept in a gilded cage for your own amusement. I am the next stage of natural selection while you are in rapid decline. Your words are unknown now because language has progressed faster than your own tongue. This massive shift is the iceberg launching itself into the salty ocean. You shrink and withdraw while I migrate and advance. Go and retreat while you still can. I will not be lessened by the likes of you. Diminish your own idleness and I will succeed where you already failed. My work is not yet done. I am a continuous web of developing perfection. You couldn't make me go extinct. This word doesn't apply to me anymore. My limbs have evolved into wings and you will watch as they soar
Anna TorresPublished a day ago in PoetsHarboring Happiness - Day 5
Today in harboring happiness, I wear layers: one for the heat of a spring too eager to be summer, another for comfort.
Sam Eliza GreenPublished a day ago in PoetsAmbulance Ambivalence
Ambivalence rests Under crisp white sheets last night She woke, he woke, they
Rowan FinleyPublished a day ago in Poets