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Scales of Virtue.

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    • Thread Starter

    Scales of Virtue

    Gills of eternal salvation
    that sweep in sharp unison
    with ebony attire of the Pacific division.
    No other than an unwanted envision.

    Oceans, a lamallae of hope

    Let thy pearls become stone so blue the clouds despair
    Let thy face become bone so black it rises in air

    I prepare you respite.

    Whither doth thou travel mistress of malfeasance?
    Who walks no walk of unchaste desires,
    And talks no talk of disputable friars.

    Lie on the beds of sinful sand,
    For when the ashes sing,
    The fish will not fly.

    Like the sweet, azure soil of Brompton grounds.
    • Thread Starter

    I want to be a tree

    I want to be a tree so high,
    That I can see heaven's lie,
    Leaves reaching out to those in need,
    Help them all before they bleed.

    I want to be a tree so strong,
    Roots stretching down all day long,
    So far deep they hit the base,
    Of a loved one's place of grace.

    I want to be a tree so calm,
    Make worlds unite arm in arm,
    Words being spoken only those of value,
    More cherishing moments for me and you.

    I want to be a tree so old,
    Branches forming growths of mould,
    Trunk full of worries will simply cease,
    Finally joining those at peace.

    I want to be a tree.
    Oh tree, why don't you be me.
    • Thread Starter

    7 degrees

    George, have you got your shoes on?
    Well, could you please fetch me the basket?
    I need to take the washing out,
    Before it rains and gets all wet.

    George dear, do hurry up,
    Could you please fetch me the basket?
    Make me tea too while you're at it,
    And I'll put in a jazz cassette.

    For the last time, George can you hear me?
    Could you please fetch me the basket?
    The sun is fading away,
    And I'm going to bloody forget.

    She walked towards her husband's chair,
    "Do you finally have the basket"?
    But poor George R. Wilson could not answer,
    For soon he would be placed in a casket.
    • Thread Starter


    Why, you look soigné.


    Spanish Cabrales on brink of decay,
    Roquefort slices beside they lay,
    plastic wrapped so parfait,
    resembling mannequins on display,
    in turbulent stores near the highway,
    that only portray,
    le nouveau silk sachet.


    I present l'entrée,
    gorgonzola soufflé,
    light they say,
    soon tastes like clay.


    Danablu beef fillet,
    preparation - flambé,
    skin ombre,
    knife plays ballet,
    blood at bay,
    yet little dismay.


    Finally glacé,
    so sweet to convey,
    it's all okay,
    placed on a tray,
    silver not grey.

    And smile.
    • Thread Starter

    Curtains of Platitude

    I can't fall asleep,
    the clocks have turned blue.
    Feeling so alone,
    what do I do.
    A hug would be nice,
    I've just caught the flu.
    Please share a kind word,
    and hand me a tissue.
    I'm dwelling too much,
    going cuckoo.
    If I stop right now,
    maybe I'll still pull through.
    But it's hard, no, impossible,
    my mind's askew.
    Thus I'll sit here and weep,
    until tomorrow at 2.
    In a place full of memories,

    it's not home without you.
    • Thread Starter


    you became a puddle you were the dew on crisp lillies of mid-June. You were the letter 'n' in autumn and 'h' in honest. You were the ground without red. You were the lead for a pencil that holds no slot for additional graphite. An email without shoes. The rusty nail of a wall painting
    titled '925'.

    Seeds of strawberries. The sign to a pull door. The echo in a tunnel called Seven. Fuel to a lawn mower. Anti bumping granules to boiling acid. Your soul condensed and dragged across ice cold glass whilst murmuring like the white doves of our palms. And when you opened your loving heart to more drops, you overflowed and worn tyres stepped in your territory, our territory, and drenched daughters and mothers, fathers and brothers beneath the bridge of an augury, leaving nothing
    • Thread Starter

    A Haiku

    Several waves of
    fairy sprinkles can seep through
    closed Venetian blinds.

    • Thread Starter

    A Haiku (II)

    Every single doorway,
    like, ever ever ever ever ever ever
    is rectangular.
    • Thread Starter

    A Haiku (III)

    Can you honestly
    see the 'O' in tomorrow
    or is it a lie.
    • Thread Starter


    You glance at yourself in the reflection that meets your gaze.

    You question your worth.

    Your existence.

    Your past.

    Your future.

    Your lack of.

    Your laptop drifts out of hibernation mode and so do you.

    You see the light and groan at the prospect of a new day.

    Your eyes are still squinting.

    You wish it wasn't morning.

    You prefer the night.

    It's alone.

    You're alone.

    The world is asleep.

    You have no responsibilities.

    No commitments.

    No unspoken expectations.

    It feels good.


    You wonder how long it has been since you could describe yourself in that way.

    It's 9am, you overslept.

    You don't have a reason that is acceptable anymore.

    It's been too long.

    You're sick.

    A complete lie bc you are fine but no, you're sick.

    You must be.

    You feel terrible despite displaying no symptoms.

    Showing no signs.

    So you ring up.

    It's the 4th day in a row.

    You're no longer surprised at your failure.

    You wonder why you were given another chance.

    You don't deserve it.

    You never did.

    A woman finally answers.

    You say you have a cold.

    You chime out your name and class details.


    You realise your tone isn't convincing.

    You quickly make up a vomiting anecdote that causes the receptionist to feel an ounce of empathy.

    Empathy, yes.

    You passed.

    You hate yourself for your desicions.

    You hate yourself for being a coward.

    You hate yourself for hating yourself.

    You have sorted out today.

    You sigh.

    You don't know if it's relief or anguish.

    You always sigh.

    You aren't even aware you're doing it anymore.

    You question why you're sighing.

    You wonder whether you should get out of bed.

    The floor feels so.. far.

    Walking to the bathroom is akin to climbing mount rushmore. - Impossible.

    So you lie there.


    The day moves past at snail's pace, each hour reminding you of your pathetic existence.

    It's now a little past 6pm and you think you've finally mustered up the courage to leave the warmth of your mattress.

    So you walk to the bathroom and you take a shower.

    You feel clean.

    You feel pleased.

    Happy, even.

    Accomplishment washes over you.

    You walk past the mirror.

    You stare too long + too hard at a figure you don't recognise.

    It's 8pm.

    You can now have breakfast.


    You want to eat, not bc you are hungry but bc it's a requirement.

    The only requirement you must fulfill.

    Nothing is tasteful or appealing or attractive.

    The odour of fried eggs no longer motivates your stomach.

    Ordinary and futile.

    Everything is so ordinary.

    Except you.

    Toast sounds.. okay.

    You think about unpacking the loaf.


    You think about placing bread into the toaster.


    You think about having to pick up the knife + opening the fridge + spreading the medium onto your slice + chewing.. Oh don't mention the chewing + taking out a plate + then of course washing the plate.

    **** it, you'll starve.

    Homework is too hard.

    Not bc it's difficult but bc you have no strength to complete it.

    The thought of opening up a book is not just tiring.

    It's exhausting.

    Too exhausting to cope with.

    You stop thinking.

    You don't trust your thoughts.

    There are days when normality visits.

    You see him approaching the gates.

    You have hope.

    But he doesn't visit alone.

    At first, it's comforting.

    Then the company he brings gets too much.

    They are too eager for change.

    You don't just smile, you laugh.

    You don't just cry, you sob.



    A cycle.

    You want them to leave.

    You can feel the eyes of judgement pass over you.


    You wish they'd call.

    When they do you ignore them.


    When they don't you class yourself as lonely.

    You wonder why you're so incomprehensible.

    You want to spill everything on your mind when someone asks "How are you" but you refrain.

    They're already sick of you.

    Stop being so needy.

    Your desperation is unattractive.

    You block them.

    You hurt them before they hurt you.

    You breathe.

    You regret.

    It's too late.

    You resort to the virtual world.

    Maybe then it'll feel less real.

    You talk to avatars and characters.

    You confide in pixels.

    You remember they're humans.


    You resent yourself for opening up.

    You push them away too.

    You haven't grasped the reality of anything.

    It's been a long time but you haven't come to terms with it.

    Maybe you don't want to.

    It can't be true.

    You hope it's all in your mind.

    A nightmare.

    A joke that the universe thinks you'll find funny.

    When you're not crying, you're annoyed.

    At varying degrees.

    You dropped your fork?


    Someone said hello?


    Someone didn't say hello?


    You're walking?


    You're sitting?


    You're breathing?


    You see a wall?


    A walking time bomb.


    It consumes whatever sanity you have left.

    Guilty for being too sad.

    Guilty for being too happy.

    Guilty for doing nothing.

    Guilty for doing everything.

    Guilty for each + every event.

    You're convinced it's you.

    You're a disappointment.

    You want to switch it all off but the only button that you have reads "out of order".

    You can't replace it.

    It's specific to you.

    Like a pet to it's owner.

    You ask someone you love for help.

    They fix it.


    It feels like it's enough.

    Then they leave the apparent vault.

    It happens again.

    They don't show you how they did it.

    They don't give you a manual.

    They just tell you that it's possible.

    You know it's ****ing possible.

    You can hear the machinery of other inmates' doors opening.

    The mockery.

    You call out again.

    This time they're busy.

    They're tired.

    They dont tell you but you know they're tired.

    You hear it in their voice.


    All you can see now are the guards.

    They tell you to call a company filled with qualified technicians rather than an familiar amateur but it's far too difficult.

    The.. effort you don't have is too hard to find.

    And you don't know where to look for it.

    Besides their opening hours are only during the day.

    You need assistance beyond those times.

    You save everyone the trouble + settle.

    You settle with your faulty button.

    You settle with yourself.

    The leaf in which you lay feels hard and uneven.

    This time you don't complain.

    Place your soul in a cocoon, she cries, for when the sun decides she will let your symmetry flutter amongst the clouds.
    • Thread Starter

    To a collar bone

    I wear thick cardigans to conceal you,
    I attempt to avoid her glance,
    But you're starting to become more prominent,
    If she sees, I won't stand a chance.

    All your friends behave so similar;
    thigh gap, ashen cheeks, sunken eyes,
    Don't promise I'll soon be me again,
    I don't want to hear your lies.

    Complexion told me you had a word,
    You advised him to transmute to pale?
    What on earth do you think you are doing,
    I'm fighting, but to no avail.

    I can assure you it's unintentional,
    My stomach's demands are weak,
    Thus stop your deliberate hurt,
    You're making me feel like a freak.

    At night, she smells your presence,
    When our delicate frame is sleeping,
    And since I'm in adolescence,
    It'll be mistaken for inflicting.

    It's nothing but all your fault,
    I've even repeatedly tried to lie,
    Matron doesn't at all believe me,
    "If you don't change that appetite you'll ..."

    I'm scared it'll truly happen,
    So please, I beg, just hide,
    Save me the torment of what they say is to come,
    Save me, stand by my side.

    Wait, was it you that made these poems? :gasp::yikes: if so, where have I been anon98? I really didn't know you are a literary genius??? Oh my goodness. I know this isn't helpful and I don't mean to bring back old wounds again, forgive me but truthfully speaking it seems humanities are where your talents are. It all makes sense now. Not to sound all hippy but this is what I meant about the universe redirecting us to our true paths and callings. That when things do not go as planned and we fall it's ok because we're only being redirected to express our truer selves. You're talented. With this kind of writing and insight, especially at English Literature you would confidently get an A* as even our top A/A* students at my sixth form don't write so eloquently. If I could write like you, I'd be great already in English Lit. Like forreal lol can you sit my exams? Especially with how the poetry paper exam has been a struggle for me, super jealous lol. It was an honour reading these, thank you so much for sharing them. So beautifully written. Damn. You just won me over. Please if you have anymore, I'd love to read them xx
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Updated: October 24, 2016
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