art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Nothing Exiled: The Reclamation of the Seductress as Divine Integration
There is a night when the moon hangs swollen and radiant over the forest of your soul, and you remember that nothing is ever truly lost. Shadows you thought exiled, desires you once buried, the parts of yourself you were taught to fear — they are all waiting, honeyed and luminous, beneath the silvered sky. To walk into that night is to reclaim the seductress within, not as a fragment, not as shame, but as divine integration.
By THE HONED CRONE3 months ago in Poets
Lonely
You and I were alone together Eyes cast on the beggarly riches That graced with fairy tales Though like a virgin hearing marriage Rooted comfortable misery You cheerful pessimist Am hoping that you were deceptively honest The deafening silence that crowded your room Mightier than the heavenly choir Brought me crash landing down Begging on my knees Heels on stone To stop your cruel kindness Sometimes I heard your dull soar Screaming bittersweet through every pore Yet like a devout atheist You handed me in though like a historical present Love is a syndrome Shallow it goes with each seep Deep down my bone marrow Narrow enough thin though an arrow Settling down a peaceful conquest
By Alana Zian3 months ago in Poets
