Materialism Is A Lie. It Is A Delusional Lie And It Should Not Be Leading The Culture. Not When We Are

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I think I finally understand The rose's thorns I too want to be loved Without being touched

So I am no romantic flower I embody the stem I want to be ideal And practically unattainable

And then she realised, Her efforts were being ignored, Because she couldn't acknowledge someone else's fears, their tears and the hard work with which their success was reared.

~ark

The Favourite?

The song I loved the most yesterday

On repeat, at the top of my playlist

Has now drifted away

It isn't that special

The memories it has, isn't my life now

The tears dried, that once fell due to its symphony

The ability it once had to put rhythm in every thought of mine,

Now, there is nothing to convey

From reality to memories

From the favourite one to one of them

It was a short journey,

I don't even remember how and when.

~ark

December 2024?

Wasn't it 2019 yesterday?

Saw a baby take his first steps today. With trembling steps, the baby walked. His sparkling eyes were filled with joy. The hands of his mother swung in his direction yearning for him to complete the distance and hug her. Increasing his pace, he ran towards her only to fall to the ground. As his eyes looked around, he saw no disappointment, no judgement, he was not a failure.

Everyone's smiling faces, reflecting confidence in his capabilities, made him stand once again. Discovering his strength, with love for his mother, he traced the path and fell into her arms who swung him in the air overwhelmed with joy as she witnessed her son's first step, first failure and first success of his life.

The Pot's Everything

The seed sown in a pot, Nourished with its care in ways untaught. The pot's everything was the plant. The reason for its existence was the plant. One day, The plant outgrew the pot. And was now held by the other. The pot, abandoned because of its care, Swore to never love anything in its life, Due to the hidden fear. But the other seed sowed in its heart, Germinated and opened it once again, Knowing, that it wouldn't sustain. But still grew just to keep the pot's soul alive, To keep it filled with warmth, For bringing the another to life.

~ark

Her Life

Her laughter echoed the pain of her cries, The ice melted, she burned and tried. Happy face with empty eyes, Her smile depicted the pain confined. Her words reflected her past mistakes, She vowed to change her dying life. Bleeding by the cuts of their knife, She refused to be called futile. She decorated her old grave, With the ribbons of the broken ties. Rising from the ground once again, Her silence roared the goddess's might.

~ark

Thank you @wordsbyicarus for the tag.

I have many works that are to be completed and some that I haven't posted yet. I started writing not too long ago but I have a bunch of them that are very special to me.

Here are some of them:

1. The Ocean

2. The End

3. Free

4. The Contract

5. I Will Die Happy

6. The Silence

7. The Ugly Desire

8. Blinded Eyes

9. The War

10. Forgotten Death

Would love to answer some questions about them!

No pressure for tags @ivaspinoza @safiresyrup

WIP TAG GAME

Thanks @agirlandherquill for the tag!

Here are the rules! - post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

° Atlantis

° Festival of the Dead

° 1954

° Dancing enemy

° Flowergarden of the Battlefield

No Pressure tag for @blob-blobsworld, @philanthropicalsundog @pen-pain-poetry @crmsnmth

My idea for the writers that only write poems and therefore can’t necessarily have WIPs: Put in three poem titles that you think are most interesting or your three favourite poems that you wrote

.

~ark

The Crack

The crack on the wall, I saw that day, Said something much deeper that words can’t convey. The lightning that struck upon it, Painted a ray. Divided by the misunderstandings, They drifted further away. The birth of hatred, Murder of hope, The wall, once considered sacred, Was now held by a weak rope. One wanting to stand alone, The other trying to find a way to escape, They were united by the ink of trace. Needing each other to outgrow the phase, The canvas of peace reflected the colours of mistakes. They stood together at the same place, Bleeding by the broken pieces of the trust’s vase.

~ark