It’s a melancholic diary.
The shepherd led his flock to graze. An army of fate. An army of innocence. A ewe ready for slaughter. A pregnant ewe.
By Nicole Moore3 days ago in Poets
Two steps forward, a hundred steps back. The most visible of invisible threads make me dance to their tune and drag me
By Nicole Moore5 days ago in Poets
I am the vine of the vineyard, withered, and without fruit. Though thou shouldst pour water upon me, it shall not profit me;
By Nicole Moore15 days ago in Poets
Life’s embrace did not reject you, yet the melody of soil called you home. The butterflies of freedom no longer beat within you—
By Nicole Moore29 days ago in Poets
I stand within an iron fortress with neither way back nor way forward. I cannot remain, and I cannot flee. Beyond the fortress, the sun stretches out a hand to me,
By Nicole Mooreabout a month ago in Poets
We were red fish rotting inside an iron bowl. Quiet. Watched. Obsessed with a freedom we were never meant to touch.
You do not know why you thirst at the spring of life yet are sated at the spring of death. You learned all that you were meant to know,
Today, I long for what I lost yesterday. Yesterday, I was longing for today. And today, I miss yesterday. The threads of my future are tangled.
And I said: this is the end. Pieces of me have been undone, shard by shard. Pain has nested itself in every cell of my body.
By Nicole Moore2 months ago in Poets
Their roads diverged. One died; the other carried on— one kept living with a dead girl lodged in her ribs, and the other, in dying, continued to live.
I walk the paths, They stretch farther and farther, I walk and I follow, There is no end. I walk on foot, I walk barefoot,
You flinch from wakefulness, and you ache for sleep. You slip from the arms of the waking world into sleep as if into sanctuary—
