#long poetry

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don’t know why, but there’s this proliferation of castle houses on the market, lately. This one, in Wichita, Kansas, has been on market over 3 mos. for $1.850M. Maybe they’re just getting to costly to maintain.

Enter through a big medieval door and iron gate to a reception room with simulated stone wallpaper and faux finish on the ceiling. 

It’s a very large central hall- look at all the features. There’s even a fountain in the wall.

This is quite an impressive home. The cathedral in this room, the leaded glass windows, and medieval fireplace are magnificent. The faux finishes on the wall are a good simulation of medieval architecture, as are the doors. 

And, look at this part of the massive room- the detailing on the wooden built-in shelving, and the balconies. It’s incredible- look at the enclosed balcony. 

A windowed hallway beside the outer garden path. 

Look at the bar. It’s a cozy area with a complete view of the grounds.

Very large formal dining room with a fabulous ceiling. 

The kitchen is ridiculous. This cabinetry must’ve cost a fortune, w/all the intricately carved details. And. look at the medieval iron chandelier over the island.

High ceilings in the TV room give it the illusion of a great hall.

Built in 1926, the home is heated by radiators. 

Looks like everyone gets his own home office.

Here’s the balcony we saw in the living room.

There’s a large family room up here w/a mini fridge.

The home has 5 bds., all of large sizes with fancy medieval closets.

Plenty beautiful baths- there are 7.

All of the bds. are basically the same size.

Of course there’s an elevator. 

Plus, there’s an home gym area. 

Lovely yard and gardens also include a pool and patio. 

https://www.redfin.com/KS/Wichita/320-N-Belmont-Pl-67208/home/120878456

[mimi-from-heaven]

What these eyes could feel?

its a long poem today.

When you are sad, you cry.

You cry, without discretion.

It irritates me, who never had a chance.

When you are mad, you yell.

You yell at others without sympathy.

It irritates me, who never had a chance.

When you are happy, you smile.

You sound so happy when you talk.

It irritates me who never learnt how.

So when you ask me.

“Why do you look at me with such eyes?”

I will say to you.

“Nothing.”

With these eyes you’ve seen before.

They are not friendly.

They are not happy.

They are not angry.

They are me.

I will always look at you with these eyes.

You are no use to me.

I won't smile at you.

I won’t get angry at you.

I will be me, not you.

Not you who can love.

Not you who can hope.

Not you who can look into these eyes and smile.

I envy you.

I hate you.

I love you.

I care about you.

Everything I see is you.

When you look at these eyes you don’t fear.

You don't hate.

You don't love.

You are you. 

I’d hate to say these words that go around in my head.

And spill from these eyes.

I’d hate to know the meaning of the one’s that spill from my fingertips.

If I did, some might need clarification.

Others might start to hate me.

Your mood shouldn't affect those around you.

Your voice wouldn't be the only thing in my head.

Your face wouldn't be the only thing in these eyes.

Your love shouldn't be the only thing I know in this heart.

They may call this obsession.

But I call it,

What these eyes could feel.

[kairos-thehumanpoet]

(Every Single Atom)

you don't just

make my heart

beat faster,

my every atom

starts to speed up.

you raise me to

a higher vibration,

full of heat

and wonder.

~kairos 💛

[a-world-trapped-in-a-person]

Silence

Since I was young,

I was told to be quiet.

"Keep down your voice"

"Don't speak so loud"

"Don't make no sound"

"A girl should only be seen and not heard"

And now I'm in my twenties

My brother younger than me

We both play the keyboard

When he raises it's volume,

I'm always frightened

For I could never play

for others to hear

But he has no fright

To play as loudly as he desires

Sometimes I wonder

Why I think,

"Am I disturbing someone?"

If I let my songs be heard

If I let them hear me play

Why does my mind always remind me

"Stay quiet" "don't be loud"

"keep it down"

Even when it's unnecessary.

Thinking I'm a disturbance

To others all the time.

Habits are hard to kill

But I will try.

[humanflytrap]

a desert stroll.

i'm ashamed to admit it,

but i have finally come to terms with myself

i am not flesh and bones

no, no

i am sand

the sand of the sahara

i will blow away the second the wind picks up

so careful not to get too close

after all,

the sunlight makes me appear very beautiful

get desperate enough, and you'll begin to see

things which are not there

nobody ever bothers to look at the grains

they only see me whole

and after realizing how vast i am after all,

they will quit walking and curse themselves for ever wasting time

in such horifically barren territory

go to the beach instead

gorgeous and easy to tame

placid and amicable

someone you would want your kids around

not me,

no, not the dangerous desert

she's too unpredictable

[v0idedduck]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

It was dawn when the moon fell in love with the sun,

And it got a glance of the others beauty.

It was dusk when the sun caught a glimpse of the moon,

And it's breath was swept away.

The moon was shy,rising and falling behind clouds,

Its cycle of nights accompanied by us stars.

The sun was bold,gleaming with pride in the sky,

Its rotating days spent gazing at humans.

The moon fell for the sun,

The sun fell for the moon.

In twisting agony I watch them both.

I hide in the day,

Brightening in the night.

The moon weeps for its lover,

Whilst the sun forces a smile.

I watch my sun and my moon,

Never together, always apart.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

[my-haunting-romance]

(Written by Helios, member of the Spiram Astra OSDD-1B system that runs this account. Normally only the host Xavier posts here, but I thought this introspective might be interesting to the people of tumblr.)

There's a few things I'm certain of.

Humans are stars. Not in the metaphorical sense like celebrities only bothered with because of their money, but in the scientific meaning of the word. In stars they are forged and in stars they return, and bright lifetimes among many of the same yet different they spend, bright not necessarily in the individual but shining for millenia in the populous, records of the past left behind in the ruins of creation. This describes stars, nebulas and the grand cosmos, but also the lives of humans, civilization, and stories.

I am but a speck in this world, though my name and former life may be grand. Helios, the sun, driver of the Chariot of the Sky, who makes their home among stars, is a life I have lived among the sea of shining stars both literally and in the figurative. But as many stars die and then, in a few billion years, a portion of the old is reformed in the new, I have returned, not as Helios, God of the Sun, but as just Helios. I am a god in my own right still, yes, but my power is little and my purpose has changed, reformed to fit my new life as not the guide of the Sun, but as the guide and friend of Xavier, current host of our system.

I came here, to this body, this system, willingly, I think. I don't remember what brought me to this system, what I'm supposed to learn, or how I am to navigate this new life. But thats alright. Just as a new star forged from the remnants of the old has to reform its planets, I suppose relearning shouldn't be a big deal.

Another thing I know is this: I still see many stars. In the literal sense, of course, when i look to the sky at night and see the grand cosmos before me, but in the humans around me as well. I see them in people's eyes, in the passionate emotions we are all so prone to, I see the cosmos unfold before me when I see my partner's face covered in glitter and in the joyous laughs when we're trading stories at lunch. And by god I am not the most sentimental person but every moment i spend with humans even in this form I learn more and it's proving to me that in the shining grand cosmos before us all that human lives are not just a speck of insignificance but a brilliant, shining beam among the various colors and glows the Universe has in her garden of creation.

[dialogues-across-centuries]

The Quest for Augoeides

The evening sky, alive w/ stars, Beheld w/ eyes confined behind bars, Imparted a pale, tragic glow On the desperate souls entrapped below;

Within the putrid dungeon sighed A saintly patron, undisguised, Though tarnished by his simple days Of youth misspent in sinful ways.

He longed to spread his wings in flight, & part from his unthinkable plight, But, in his past, they atrophied From underuse & shallow pride.

Yet deep within this sinner's breast, There beat a heart in rhythm blessed, Attuned to his immortal soul, & immune to his purported role.

As decades slipped like grains of sand Thru hourglasses, pain began To overtake his withered frame, But voices deep within him came

To sing him sweet reminders of A light within the skies above That he had long since disavowed — "It rests concealed amidst the clouds."

Enraptured by celestial hymns, He followed their suggestive whims, Recalling the internal light He'd lost in his eternal night,

& in this contemplative state, His erstwhile long-awaited fate Of death within the dungeon ceased, & he found hope & love increased.

He viewed his outward circumstance As though it was the perfect chance, & learned within his prison cell To use his inner vision well.

As he took flight through the idle skies, He saw himself revitalized — The wings once clipped to bar his flight Grew strong within the starry night,

So he pressed onward thru the dark, & followed his illumined spark Towards the promised solar rays, Wherefrom he long ago once strayed.

Though demons sought to drag him down, He lusted not for Satan's crown, & so their jeers were heeded not, For he'd transcended feeble thought.

Their silhouettes fell far behind, Hapless against his conquered mind; Though it remained profoundly still, His voice within grew loud & shrill.

As it announced to his delight, "Shadows cannot be without light," He gazed ahead in ecstasy At the golden rays of destiny.

Now pressing on with newfound zest At having passed his school ground test, Our saint approached the shining sun To atone for his misguided fun,

& in response, it simply beamed, For he'd misunderstood, it seemed, & never stopped to think, perchance, His only sin was ignorance.

Pure truth this revelation spelled; w/ heightened sense, our saint beheld His own reflection gazing back, Until his vision glazed & cracked,

& he regained his consciousness, Recalling his accomplishments, For now his prison ceased to be — He found himself released & free.

— T.M.P.

[purelypetrichor]

Why do I eat from the hand that bleeds

Dripping

Splashing

Draining

Draining that could've been prevented if I 

Waited longer 

Cherished stronger 

Loved harder 

I would’ve tried to be a good wife 

To someone I don't exhaust on Friday nights 

But I would’ve missed the echo

Of my screams over yours 

In a new house we can’t afford to furnish

And I would’ve remembered the anger 

That I should’ve unleashed on my father 

But on you

Many years ago

His love 

That was forced and never enough 

Never enough

-Purely Petrichor

[mae-we-post-poems]

In the House With No Doors

Sarah Kay

we have given up on knocking.

Incoming! we say, with our eyes lowered for modesty,

or, Hello! or sometimes, Sorry, sorry!

You have to pass through everyone’s bedroom

to get to the kitchen. We only have two bathrooms.

As a courtesy, nobody will poop while you are showering,

but they might have to do their makeup or shave

if they are in a rush, if we have somewhere to be,

so you can recognize every person by their whistle

through a wet shower curtain, you haven’t seen your own face

on an unfogged mirror in weeks. It doesn’t matter,

self-consciousness has no currency here.

If you were nosy, I suppose the little bathroom trashcans

would spill their secrets to you, but why bother,

privacy is a language we don’t speak.

Someone is always awake before you,

the smell of coffee easing you into a today

they have already entered,

a bridge you will never need to cross first,

and no matter how latenight your owl,

there is always someone still awake

to eat popcorn with, to whisper your daily report to,

to compare notes on what good news you each caught in your nets.

In bed, you say, Goodnight! in one direction

and someone says it back, then turns and passes it,

so you fall asleep to the echo of goodnights down the long hallway

’til it donuts its way back around to your pillow.

Someone is doing a load of laundry,

if anyone wants to add some extra socks?

Someone is clearing the dishes,

someone has started singing Gershwin in the backyard

and you can’t help but harmonize,

and for a moment what you always hoped was true

finally is: loneliness has forgotten your address,

french toast browning on the stovetop,

the sound of everyone you love

clear as the sun giggling through the window,

not even a doorknob between you.

[safiresyrup]

Forest Speaks

what is it and

how is it going to happen?

I don't recall, being all that I want

You swing and fall off the trees

I'm just a small world, holding you in store

I don't want more fern, when I have you

Listening to a sound I could never make

and crying loud, and staying awake

I never have to leave myself again

I never have to put you out, again

-s's.

[ow-writing]

Comparison Comparison Comparison

—————

Comparison is a thief of joy.

To compare yourself to others is poison, they say.

I must have a death wish.

The poison sits pretty in a golden goblet

Sparkling with the anger it is prepared to unleash.

And my hands are drawn to it,

Undeniably searching for something to quench my thirst.

It’s easy to compare

When the American dream has a standard outline.

Everyone knows the expected progression of things.

You work hard and you can achieve it too.

I guess I didn’t work hard enough.

But I know that’s not true.

Why else would I have experienced the burnout that forced me to drop out of college?

Why else would I have taken 3 months to recover enough to get a job?

Why else would I have saved every penny to make my dreams come true?

And yet

It’s so easy to compare

My life to the peers I left behind at college.

The life I thought I would be living.

Spring break abroad.

Independence and freedom.

But I know I picked a different route.

Student loans gave me crippling anxiety.

My goals aligned with career experience, not a degree.

I will own a home before any of my peers.

I will have financial freedom before most of my peers.

I feel I’ve made the decision that is best suited for myself.

And yet,

When I see what they experience that I cannot,

I can’t help but start the narrative back over in my head.

I’m twenty and I dropped out of college.

I work full time and cannot afford to move out of my parents house.

I have no rowdy college trip memories.

I’ve never left the country.

And every time,

I have to continue to remind myself that I still have more than most.

I am forging my own path.

And I will make it worth it.

So I continue to drink the poison,

Until I remember I’ve already made the remedy.

And I will do it again and again

Until my hand no longer reaches for the poison,

and I will stop needing to revive myself.

One day I will let the goblet sit

Untouched

- O. Wells

[squiddiespickle]

<Nonchalantly speaking>

I care about you but

yea yea .. it’s regular

I mean, I guess it’s my fault

there is emotional connection

You seem to think I’m not loving, I’m-

a recipe for disaster?

Nonchalant

dear go-

Does that bother you?

[crypticoctoberdays]

Day: 11 Friends.

When everyone goes away they are the ones that are there. Though one may wish to be alone, they will never be. They are always there. Watching, following, they speak words to sooth you. Listening for a moment there is calm. Then the flames lash out with a fire filled fury. Insanity drags claws down your spine till there is nothing but bone. Blood rains from the sky yet they stand. They stand watching you, following you, speaking words to sooth you. When you turn to see them they look back. Though you want nothing more than to cry they somehow know just what to say. No one in the world knew you felt this way. Yet in that moment it seems that they know exactly what to say. No mind to lose, no heart beating, no soul. Empty eyes, empty pages, broken phones. Never alone they stand with you. Even if dead and in a grave they stay. They never leave, just simply follow. Low lows and high highs they never dip on high tide. They stand in the rain. They stand in the sand. When your mind is a desert with no storms they can help cover you from the burning sun. Some of them feel like family. Some of them feel just like you. They speak words to sooth you. They say things that make you laugh. They sit and wait when you are angry. They yell at the people that make you mad. They can be the ones that drive you mad. They stick to you like glue. Though you may be a monster in the night they never leave. Instead of calling the cops on the phone they join you. Carrying bats and knives they paint the town red but never would they leave you for dead. They are a voice of reason, they are a voice of fun, without them your world would come undone. On days where you feel dead they chase the crows away from your grave. They drop gifts at your coffin and help you rest. They pull you out of the ground when you are no where to be found. They come in all shapes and all sizes but they all have one thing in common. When you meet someone true, life can be old or new, but in the end you will always have a friend.

[botheringlevi]

ᴀɴ ᴇxᴄᴇʀᴘᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇ ʟᴀɴᴅ

ᴛ.s. ᴇʟɪᴏᴛ

After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains

He who was living is now dead

We who were living are now dying

With a little patience

Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water

If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit

Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain

There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses

If there were water

And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

But there is no water

[justahopelessaromantic]

I can't breathe, please don't say you love me (A Poem)

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony and Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair AU: Medieval/Fantasy AU Ships: One-sided Tojouma (Kokichi/Kirumi) Accompanying Playlist for this Fic on Spotify and Youtube Summary: Your king has always been one to clean up after himself. At least, he has since you've been here. Normally he'd do his best to pick up the pulsating appendage and lock it back away in his chest, wiping up as much oozing red as he could. He'd cite giving you more time to focus on him as his reason, and you'd fire back that perhaps he just wanted to make your job a bit easier that day, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes would shut you up. For now. Still. Kokichi leaving his bleeding heart on the floor he knows you clean first is the same as him leaving a crude ghost drawing at Kaito's doorstep, regardless of any innocence he feigns. He wants you to find it. The only difference is he doesn't actually mean to scare you.

He’ll be here any minute now

He’s called for no royal invitation

You’ve made no plans

But he’s already on his way

You know it

The door will groan and gag against his greasy fingers

Slamming wood against rough stone walls

Echoing across the snarling maw of the winding hall

Eager to swallow you whole

The scratches etching away over the door’s refined paint job

(Mahiru's work, you believe)

A reminder of who owns the place

The floor blooming with bruises

Caving underneath the weight of a dirty dress shoe

Tapping

Like clockwork

Scuffing pristine tile as he chases after you

(All that wide open room

Where will you hide?)

Brown smudging blinding white

Sweaty hands staining your gloves

Slimy fingers tangling in yours

Slobbering all over your tight-lipped mouth

Drool

dripping

down

to

the

floor

Pooling into the tile grooves

He’ll make a mess of everything

Of you

So you clean!

You roll up your sleeves

The bright silk digging into your forearms

(A gift from him, of course)

Cutting the circulation

(You feel as if you could puke up the blood

You'd only leave more work for yourself)

And put yourself to use

You scrub away any sense of innuendo

Pray the sparkling floors distract his wandering eye

Toss the freshly chopped firewood

Scattered around in the game of tag he “demanded”

(See: pleaded for)

So he gags at the smoke

Sick as the heat

Seeping into your shielded shoulder

From his arm

Restrained by bandages you so lovingly wrapped

Yet so invitingly naked

Coiled around your shoulder

You know,

Like he’s slick

Like the lopsided crown and newly crafted red cloak could only bury the sly little jester boy hiding underneath

Only peaking out to trick and tease you

Like you don’t keep watch for those kind of things

Pick apart intentions like you pick at grimy china dishes

Till they're white enough to smash against wiped down walls

Chipping ethereal murals

(What fine work Angie and her god do)

In grief,

And frustration,

And loneliness

The sort of loneliness you handle with worn gloves 

 Shaky hands and emboldened care

In sickness and in health

The shatter clanging against gold tableware

Leaving glass shards you’ll never stop finding in odd places

(Reminders of what you’ve wrecked)

You polish glass windows

(Let a pretty thing walk by and catch his eye

See what happens)

And the tile

Permitting your boots to clack against it

(They say a glimpse at your reflection can talk you out of plans better than your closest friend

And you're too frightened to do it anyway)

Clear the table with patience and resolve

Straighten the chairs

Careful not to scratch through your hard work

You look filthy and disheveled in comparison

You hope it covers up all that beauty he finds in you 

Your palpable fear buried by the tight-lipped smile and droopy eyes

Underneath the blood, sweat, and tears

You've smeared all across your face

And when you still hear no clatter of doors

You will dust off the throne

(He will plop down

Bouncing on red velvet

Kicking his feet

And drag you down with him

Only tugging harder when you move to stand

You both will relish in the warmth of your meal and each other)

Set the table for two

(Checkered place mats

And no complicated utensil systems

Just how he likes it)

And pour poset ale

Older than you

And call for Ibuki

To let the favorites you share with him

Float in the background

And Ruraka

To bake “freaky little peasant horse bread”

(Such a way with words he has

Not a good one, mind you

Just a way)

 The ones he insists on sharing with you each morning

Until busy, achy feet finally land

Square against the doorframe

(To distract your nerves

Of course)

Waiting

Rudely clean air waiting back at you

…

…

...

…

…

…

…

...

He’s requested so much of you since your arrival

(A tad ungrateful

Considering you only work for a roof under your head and a way to spend your time)

Ruling advice

Ring around the Rosie

Courtship assistance

Tic tac toe

Guidance exploring the town

Hide and seek

Kisses for good luck

(His words

Not yours)

Bedtime stories

You’ve served him without hesitation

(Whether out of duty or desire

You’re too petrified to know)

Each order verbally signed off with an “Of course, my lord”

He’d dramatically wave away

You will lay down your life for him in battle if he orders it

(He won't

Would scold you for even thinking it

It would only draw an unnecessary smile out of you)

Even rip out your balled hand from its tight grip on your gown

To offer it in marriage

If truly necessary

The demon child resting on his shoulder

Wines at him to take

And take

And take

All his growing soul thinks it needs

You have only the few constricting desires

Sewn into the borders of your heart

The lace so delicate

You find it easy to ignore the brush against your ribcage

As your

Still

Late at night

Esteemed royalty nestled between your chest

The fireplace crackling louder than your careless whispers

Empty wine bottles

Sitting at his bedside

Watching you

In eager anticipation

Stray embers tickling the arms wrapped tightly around him

His nimble, calloused hands dig into your open skin

Blood trailing down your gown

(You offer to scrub it out of the carpet come morning

He says the carpet stain can be a reminder of your talks

And how could you sneak out of bed that early

Just to let him wake up alone,

You cruel mistress!)

He plays doctor

The white wine you’ve poured and he’s offered acts as middle age anesthesia

Filthy, jagged fingernails

(Bound to infect your willing immune system

With trickery and lies

You'll pocket

Just in case)

Gingerly drag each thread out of its meticulous stitching

Tickling and kneading the offending origin with each gentle tug

Weaving each mortifying need

Into a growing tapestry

Hung above his bedside

He tends to it every day

With a spot right next to him at the banquet table

Mandatory playtime breaks

Careless affectionate touches

(Unbecoming in his case

Unprofessional in yours)

A place in his bed

Chess he “totally let you win, anyway!”

Unwanted help in the kitchen

And with greeting guests

And cleaning

And organizing

And anything to silence the rude question he found neatly embroidered on your heart

Lovingly tracing over it with his thumb

Tearfully trying to kiss it better 

(You handle his scraped knees the same)

“What else can I do to help?”

How dare anything

Anyone!

Ask that of you?

He laments

One bratty night

Empty champagne glasses

Diligently washed and packed away

(Why leave his buzzing mind visual clutter?

Brutal peace negotiations have worn him out well enough)

After all you do for us!

He cries

He calls for you to tuck him in

(You suspect the “us” is mostly him

But his pride is a silly, wounded thing

The only thing you enjoy nurturing)

Today you’ve poured your everything into your presentation

All your concern and trust and care

All you know how to give

Into your hospitality

If there’s any magical force out there watching over you

(And with all the wild and overbearing magic this kingdom runs into

There might as well be)

You hope and pray it’s enough for his aching heart

It is

Just this once