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  • once_upon_my_poetry 2h


    The sun, a monumental metaphor;
    the nonchalant flight of a burning Phoenix.
    The sun, streaming with adjectives;
    swims unapologetic in a vibrant sea
    of bright prisms
    The sun, reformulating definitions
    gathers its threads of energy
    and withdraws from the chaos of the day
    The sun says it’s time to expand your understanding
    It’s time to set long-term paths
    Withdrawal means eliminating
    unnecessary distractions.
    Nonchalance is the redirection of focus towards what is really important.
    Unapologetic is a form of love
    and reverence bestowed upon the higher self.
    Rising is a clear reflection of newborn dreams

  • once_upon_my_poetry 1d


    The light looks different here
    in this quiet diversion I’ve woven
    out of reels of my vivid imagination.
    Pale blue light falls in firm slanted beams
    dances softly in this magical haze
    among leaves of interlaced branches
    I don’t mind the seclusion of untrodden paths,
    the solitary wanderings that carry me
    deep within myself.
    The mind that drifts upon a calm
    pond of dreams,
    encircled by garland of silhouetted trees.
    The thrush of thoughts stirring within.
    Faint flutters of fairies musing in the underbrush.
    I don’t mind staring at the reflection
    of the full-faced moon trembling on its silvery surface,
    inviting me to sink and drown
    into its mysterious bottomless depth
    I don’t mind this senseless breathlessness.
    Sometimes dying a thousand deaths within reveries
    is far more pleasing than being
    awakened by bitter realities.


  • once_upon_my_poetry 1d


    It is beautiful as it is.
    Perfect, intriguing, attractive.
    Not smeared with too much color
    Not pale.Not lacking in vivacity.
    A fusion of your feelings painting
    landscapes at the spurt of spontaneity.
    These blushing drops
    wet with emotions
    trickling from the wound of your marrow
    dripping from your lips, veins, heart
    falling upon this blank canvas
    saturating its interwoven strands of yarn with stains of your intimate being.
    You only have one chance to fashion a blueprint of your subjective ideas.
    One day you will dismount the carousel of years wheeling
    around the hub of existence.
    One day it will be too late to melt, mould, mound, mend and manifest.
    You only have one chance to be the art you envisioned. Are you going to waste it?

  • once_upon_my_poetry 1d

    First Edition

    Run your fingers along the lines
    of this handwritten manuscript
    inked in lavish verses.
    My authored account
    resonates with passions
    inspired by romanticism’s emotive poets
    and some irrational literary contemplations.
    Drawn to the scents that waft from
    flipping my delicate pages,
    the perfume of blood-red roses
    pressed against the flesh of my leaves
    clings to these words bled in cursive.
    I am a publication of an artistic imagination
    sewn and bound within a fine book cover
    arrayed in the most exquisite gold-leaf
    Blank are the pages of this chapter
    soon to be filled with secret tales
    that narrate our salacious confrontations.
    Hold me my lover,
    open me, read me.
    You’re the only one to explore deep
    into my ardent rumination.


  • once_upon_my_poetry 4d

    I haven’t been getting any sort of inspiration lately.. 🤔🤷‍♀️

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    The sky has been blanketed
    in a thick gray mattress of dampness
    for a long time now, that the eyes
    are kept from casting a gaze of
    fascination upon the heavens.
    But for those who are earnest with their pursuits
    there will be times
    when spears of sunlight will pierce
    through that awful vapory dimness,
    times when the eyes will be dazzled
    by shimmering golden beams,
    beguiled by the gladness of their glorious brightness.
    There will be times when things will come together and fall into place in strange ways.
    Golden threads of fleece will be spun from dull broken looms.
    There will come a day when the heart will finally learn how the alchemy of patience can transform anything into gold.

  • once_upon_my_poetry 1w


    One day, my beloved friend,
    you will realize that this compilation of figurative ruminations
    are not mine, but your very own.
    These verses lipped from my impassioned ink vocalize your own temperament.
    They are the quiet breaths loosened
    from your trial-inflated lungs.
    The soft rhythms of your deep aches and longings
    transmuting into lyrical utterances.
    These words are the articulation of
    your prudence and insanity,
    your clear-sightedness and naivety.
    They are the renderings of your
    exuded raw humanness.
    These words are yours as much as
    they are my own.
    I am but the procreation of your conceived thoughts.
    An echo resounding impressions of your intense life into existence.
    These rhymes are the songs that
    have always been flowing within you
    when your beating heart makes music

  • once_upon_my_poetry 2w

    September Musings

    Reckless musings that formed
    this September scene,
    breaking forth with colors of contradiction.
    These tossed grapes with red stains
    dark as the color of my blood.
    These perennial vows held in their latent seeds.
    This earthy scent of harvest breeze.
    These dry leaves of autumn that commune with my pensive heart.
    I, too, am a vast array of
    my own falling apart.
    My own discarding of past selves.
    The juxtaposition of thriving and withering.
    Yes, I’ve been hurt
    Yes, I’ve been broken,
    but I’ve never been weak.
    Here’s to another chance for
    dreams throbbing with life to sprout
    on these naked emotions.
    Here’s to another chance to witness growth after the tumbling and coming through.

  • once_upon_my_poetry 2w

    Inspired by crustaceans 🦀🦀🦀

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    One Early Morning upon a shore

    Buoyed and spewed upon a frothy shore,
    you haul your heavy speckled pea-green sheath you now call home.
    (Soft hermits need to cocoon in salvaged husks.)
    Many moons now, you’ve become receptive to contortions formed by gravitational inclinations and cyclic manipulation of forces.
    Your stalked peculiar eyes scan your vacant surroundings from your promontory, scouring for uncanny quivers, or, when chance is bountiful, a possible romantic rendezvous.
    You travel inland. Crabwise. Sideways. Forward. Content in your ways.
    Your unsteady bearings seem awkward,
    but who can confront a solemn spirit
    rearing up, waving its harmless pincers in the air.
    Who can question the absurdity of one survivor heaving the load of itself in this irrational world.
    Waves race to the shore.
    Here comes your surf.
    You seem to remain equanimous in the midst of currents and contingencies.
    Away you ebb with the ocean.

  • once_upon_my_poetry 3w

    August Sun

    Goodbye my August sun.
    Burnt liquid amber melting beneath
    wisps of vapory hues.
    I shall cast the weight of angst upon your departure
    to dissipate into your panoramic heaven of fading rays.
    To my heart’s heightened intuition I shall conform.
    The heart can sense the subtle nuances of transition,
    knowing when one season retreats and another advances.
    The heart,
    the impetuous; the frivolous; the impassive; the vulnerable; the ambitious; the defeated; the virtuous; the victorious; the invincible,; the unassuming; the illustrious,
    can sing of my enumerated passions
    and struggles
    I am the season that dares to be different.
    I am the change that dares to make a difference.
    I am autumn shedding its heaviness.
    I am the harvest of humanness.
    The solstice of resolution harnessed.
    I am the spring of thoughts spat, decayed, grown, bloomed and ripened.
    Rise with me my new sun, for now, for tomorrow
    and forevermore.
    Sing of my heart’s songs melodious.
    Every sun is my summer.
    Every month is my August.

  • once_upon_my_poetry 3w

    I haven’t been feeling so great.. 🙁😢🤷‍♀️

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    Battles of the Heart

    A journey through sounds revives
    rites of ancient mantras.
    Hovering vibrations of subdued
    rhythms and relaxing tunes transfer the senses to a distant place of spirituality, where the echo of mist-shrouded
    mountains resounds nourishing ringing of Tibetan singing bowls.
    Clangs of cymbals and crystal harps
    chime preludes of praise and devotion
    to nature and Mother Earth
    An ethereal sensuous calm descends
    upon the place, inflates minds with
    meditative thoughtfulness
    That surge of dulcet pealing all pleasing and endearing,
    numbs the ache of broken hearts.
    Broken I am still
    Numb to these cleansing sounds in my surroundings
    lost somewhere inside of me, an armored fighter on a battlefield
    caught in the turmoil of my own feuds
    The raucous beating of battle drums
    drowns the hum of peaceful chanting.
    I fall wounded and bleeding amid
    billows of smoke and shuddering roar of gunfire.
    I’m striving to stay grounded.
    No one can see me!
    No one can hear my cries for help!
    Who can save me from the firm grip of helplessness?