Darkness in the world. The voice in sweet cities, Sleeping in dim snow.
wholly lady i speak eating air beside, the tree whose blood of mine grew upon.
lie across the taurobolium at the motherless spring without feeling, without breath; pale mulberries infiltrate the wind
She messages me My eyes light up And I respond as fast as I can And the message is received
I lay on the ground, my body cold As I can feel my soul lose its hold I try to get up, but fall Useless Defeated I let my soul loosen its grip
I have a visiting bluebird Standing in my potpourri bowl Bathing in aromatic leaves Singing a reverie
Because I am going to a place I’ve never been before I’m excited.
Words can touch and sooth the soul Words can heal others and self Words can do miracles
You only recently became a Daydream but have always been here, Running beside me as I Escape the reality around me
terms of comparison seems irrational Earth is diverse
The Second Chance Anthology contains literary pieces that have been withdrawn by their authors from unsafe publishing houses and magazines. The goal of the anthology is to bundle works into what is deemed a safe literary community and to expose magazines that contain unsafe views, for instance, racism, sexism, homophobia, anti-semitism, etc, etc.
Like the Sun that shines, radiating bright light, a guru disseminates thoughts lofty and wise. Using his power, directness, and mystical might, pulls you out of every single and dangerous vice. Get closer to your guru, feel the spiritual rise, an elevation that could get you to the worlds beyond;
Groomed with anchors of girth in youth, Pierced from the centre; a silver in the rough Native fires brimming in her heart Like an imago, queuing birth.
Story Once upon a time Is how stories usually begin Promising adventures In worlds unknown Even though it’s just paper Markings And ink
A wish, these solitudes in dark wept, midnight exits in a dream, torturing you; emerges in oceans, as if the face of the sea-light is in a trance of wander, a dark mind urges
Yes you can Cut off my tongue But no you can’t Stifle the songs unsung Of my seared soul
I’m just going to push the boat out, spit some words and mess about. That’s what I love about writing, when you start out you have no idea what to talk about.
She must be a queen of innocent eyes She must’ve sweet smell of incense She must be a stunning beauty She must be a quiet music of all your poetry.
Leopard’s paws white like scolecite stones faceted to fingernails to the death of the wild, a resemblance to a beast