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.
Into the unknown~
planning, pleasing, haven't released yet sick of my thinking, i'm overreacting it's like i am trapped in a fictional dream... a manifestation i used to believe but now i am seeing this ain't what i want yes i am so good at it but i am in need of self-expression & sharing openly but i got obsessed with staying lowkey i can't help but stress cause i feel like i'm crazy my mind saying 'wait' but my heart is so ready oh damn i am failin but in a good way i know there's a purpose, i know i won't stay but the storm getting wilder, my soul screams louder ...or is it my fear getting bigger? i miss it for real, the simple picture it's gotten so weird, over & over i'm getting drawn into something unfamiliar... out of comfort, my own self out of everything i ever felt if there is help, i hope it's coming cause i, myself am tired of running... like a hamster in that tiny wheel my values changed...so did my goal~
By Karoline Te5 years ago in Poets
That Red Rose Bastard
Pretend for a moment that everything is okay. That the brazenly blatant disrespect never occurred. Nor the pretentiously laid out lies. When the desire to be more made such a prevalent presence in your mind. The white knight never bowed before the grayed castle walls.
By Jake Trammell5 years ago in Poets
Struggle to Explain
One voice cries out to the consciousness. Time is a river that flows from an unknowable to origin to a cosmic destination. Time is a a resource shared truly equally among the entire world, distributed indiscriminately by a father that abandoned us all. Father time is the deadbeat dad to rule the cosmos without protest in any way he wishes. Time moves fluidly from one soul and life to the next without warning, never stopping or listening to cries for mercy. Mother nature rules the cosmos but father time has long since abandoned us and left his children to a machine of his own creation.
By Ruby Locre5 years ago in Poets
