~~~ Clouds ~~~

Pass me by, like passersby
Like a squall’s sweep
And a seagull’s fleet

A bygone wind, gone and departed
Quiet is the new air, a life has started
Feet to the earth, shackled and resolute

Ephemeral is the rain
Ephemeral is the sun

Friends come, their smiles turn to tears
Keep me safe, this heart ruled by fear
Faces pass by and pass away

Let me ascend
Let me follow
Let me drift

Ascend to yesterday’s sky, a sky undead
Follow the wind, on my cotton bed
Drift like a cloud, over my earthen head

How beautiful ~

Hotarla wrote: ↑Mar 8th, '25, 19:59 How beautiful ~

Hotarla :) Thank you so much for reading and liking my poem, l am lucky enough to
call you my friend <3

Awww.

Back in high school, I had a huge kick of writing in iambic pentameter like Shakespearean poetry. XD

Hotarla wrote: ↑Mar 9th, '25, 19:12 Awww.

Back in high school, I had a huge kick of writing in iambic pentameter like Shakespearean poetry. XD

That sounds very cool and fun. I wasted my high school days watching reality shows, so you have one up on me there lol

~~~ Ink: A Poem ~~~

Awake and alive, when comes the night
Alone by his desk, by the candlelight
Scratching paper, with a quill in hand
Time is an hourglass, devoid of sand
His hands, rough and scuffed, like a mole’s
Out flows rivers of ink, lucid, black as coal

Books in piles
Piles of columns
Columns of stories
Stories of a home

A home of tomes

The ink is all there is

Scared and alone I stand, in this imposing doorway
Hand up high, on the knob, watching his internal fray
My bare feet on wood, stuffed bear in hand
His face away, away unseen, a vessel unmanned

Speaking with a voice, not directed at me
The back of his head is all I ever see

Stacks of papers
Papers of thoughts
Thoughts of fiction
Fiction of a home

~~~ A Home of Tomes ~~~

The ink is all there is

Scared and alone I stand, in this imposing doorway
Hand up high, on the knob, watching his internal fray
My bare feet on wood, stuffed bear in hand
His face away, away unseen, a vessel unmanned

Speaking with a voice, not directed at me
The back of his head is all I ever see

Stacks of papers
Papers of thoughts
Thoughts of fiction
Fiction of a home

A home of tomes

The ink is all that remains

In perpetual haste, he turns the pages
Of life, the times, and all the ages
In the pages turned, dried puddles rising and seeping
Puddles of Crimson Red
His hands, cut and broken, his eyes, heavy and weeping

Dripping ink, of the life he led
In the end, black leads to red

Torrents of crimson
Crimson in blood
Blood from decay
Decay is the home

The home of tomes

His ink is all there is
His ink is all that remains

Anime wrote: ↑Mar 10th, '25, 06:31

Hotarla wrote: ↑Mar 9th, '25, 19:12 Awww.

Back in high school, I had a huge kick of writing in iambic pentameter like Shakespearean poetry. XD

That sounds very cool and fun. I wasted my high school days watching reality shows, so you have one up on me there lol

Writing in iambic pentameter was fun lol. I was clapping out the syllables bc that’s how it works lol. There’s a certain rhythm and rhyming scheme for it.

Hotarla wrote: ↑Mar 11th, '25, 18:41

Anime wrote: ↑Mar 10th, '25, 06:31

Hotarla wrote: ↑Mar 9th, '25, 19:12 Awww.

Back in high school, I had a huge kick of writing in iambic pentameter like Shakespearean poetry. XD

That sounds very cool and fun. I wasted my high school days watching reality shows, so you have one up on me there lol

Writing in iambic pentameter was fun lol. I was clapping out the syllables bc that’s how it works lol. There’s a certain rhythm and rhyming scheme for it.

Sounds like you fun high school days That's awesome! Hindsight is 20/20 for my high school days. I wish I had taken things seriously instead of just hanging with friends every night. >.<

~~~ Raising Flames ~~~


Raising fire!
Raising fire!

Throwing gasoline over all the world
Blacken the structures ’til the night it ends
Clouds washed in coal, over they hover
Crowds of empty souls, burning the other

Raising inferno!
Raising inferno!

Standing tall and proud atop this pyre
And erase the words of immortal liars
At the edge of this imposing darkness I see
A blot of morning blue creeping above the trees

Raising hell!
Raising hell!

The crowds, they run away to the horizon blue
My melting skin, chipping away in a charcoal’s hue
My shrinking eyes, rotting away before the coming day
A witness to empty darkness before I pass away

Raising the sun…
Raising the sun…

The wind, it curls and slides along…
Sweeping all my ashes to the sea…
The Earth’s verdant flesh, rising o’er my brimstone reign
My carcass, breathing smoke without a marker or grave

The sun overhead, burning me all the same.