Submissions by Laurbaerson

First one foot. Then the other one

Slowly! It pours down my whole body.

It makes me feel so weak

like a child, it makes me wanna pee!



Dense, fluid bubbles

I cast from my mouth

I cannot hold it! Acre smell of urine

Can’t but have a cemented dumb sneer,

as this liquid fills my nose, my lungs,

this concrete,

making me snort like a pig

This path among the Cypresses

woody flames of candles

lit for them who are no-more.

I'm still seeking for it, so distant,

little housing Chapel.

Who are you, looming in the shadows,

observing while I lay,

weak as a child,

in my portal of dreams?

Silence's oppressing

like a cushion pressed

over my face. I'm dead already.

Feeble light

burning wax

scorching my hands.

Faint and trembling,

distant melody woven

to the pentagram

into the...

Green grazing lands, leaves shifting in waves,
moved by the blowing of the fragrant wind;
Blue stream, waterfall,
magnificent nature's teardrop,
The smell of rain, morning dewdrops, mud under my naked feet;
Tranquil windmill, hard work and sweat,
mature ears of wheat, gilded pearls of grain,
soft and light flour, the perfume of cooked bread;
Cherry tree, scent of the Pine,
distant Cypresses, crimson amaranth sunset through a glass o' red wine;
Poems written hearing the whispers of the creek,
the crushing of the waves on the shores, and Seagulls,...

Sitting on the emerging roots
Of an ancient oak
The voice of the forest
Whispering through the leaves
And distant waves of the sea
Crushing on the shore
Of this solitary hill
And the hoot hoot of the rapacious Owl
And the battlecries of ravenous wolves to their lost Moon
There, immersed into the beautiful mists veiling my sights
There, onto this natural epiphany
There, watching the crackling bonfire I realized
I should have bought more Marshmallows.

If we are made of the same stuff that dreams are made of

and dreams do often conceal our desires,

that means we are made of wishes.

So, if a choice is ever given,

if choice isn't an illusion,

I chose not to be,

because the real strength is to have no longing.