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.
Insane Dream
Wooooh, where am I? Anyone’s there? ? I did not expect to fall into a place like this. I stayed in the woods for one creepy night hiding in the darkest shadows, trying to survive. When I got lost in the woods, I started walking forward without trying to look behind despite the obstacles that were on my way. I feared to look behind and see the ugliness of what is behind. I feared to get afraid, so I started running as fast as I can to get away, to get out of the woods, to find the right way to get home. Some of the wolves followed my steps, sensed my fear, and found me. Sorry for them! They got hurt because I had to fight them to let me go, to leave me alone. I am free! FREE!! it was down the dawn. The woods were very quiet to a degree that made me unintentionally close my eyes. The air breezes started touching me softly, whispering in my ears, and telling me “Run.” It is enthusiastic to run towards your exit, towards the light. I finally found the way. Despite how close I was to it, I was far, but I did not give up on it because I was attracted to the light that made me keep on going forward until I reached there. My dream was to reach this point and I reached it.
By Sara Kanbar6 years ago in Poets
Short stories and poems
The boy who lost his memories As the sun shined through the window the boy got up and closed his curtains before laying down again. The boy’s name wasn’t known. He didn’t even know his own age no matter how hard he tried, suddenly a woman opened the bedroom door. “ are you awake? Breakfast is ready” the boy looked at her. He felt as though he should know this woman but he couldn’t put his mind on who she was so he just stared at her. “ honey are you okay??” The mysterious woman walked closer and helped him up. “ Carlos it’s me. It’s mom” the boy who now had found out his name nodded “ so my name is Carlos “ he thought as he walked to the kitchen and sat down and began eating. It took him time to remember how he usually even ate. The woman or rather his mom looked worried and checked his forehead. “ hm You’re not hot. How old are you??” Carlos looked at her and didn’t answer. He didn’t know. “ you’re 12 okay? Carlos nodded as he kept eating before he got up and went outside and made his way to school. The more he talked to people the more he remembered and soon he remembered a lot about who he was. He knew school would go through fast and it did as he soon was on his way back home. But now as he walked up to his front door his memories all left him. He barely made it inside. The only thing he could remember was the voice in his head “ you will always forget. Your memories are mine” he hid it all. Rushed to his room. If he could not have his memories. No one could. What was the point then. He grabbed all his stuff and burned it all before he fixed a rope and got a chair and got up and hanged himself. The woman or well as we know Carlos mother walked in and she fell to her knees letting out a scream that was impossible to not hear and after that nothing was ever the same.
By Isabelle fjelldal 6 years ago in Poets
