A thundering heartbeat
echoes from the garage to
the stadium.
An subterranean rumble ignites
the quiet arena floor,
As radioactive currents course
through the waiting veins,
Unleashing a fierce,
tempestuous wave of
symphonic thunder.
They transform the mundane
into the fiercely monumental,
Weaving unyielding, anthemic
battle cries from raw
vulnerability.
The percussion strikes like a
sudden, electric lightning bolt,
While the vocals soar into the
stratosphere, cloud- split sky,
Challenging the internal,
shadowy demons that haunt the
mind.
Believers rise from ashes of
their broken, fractured paths,
Bound together by a
triumphant, golden thread of
sonic gold.
This is the majestic,
unstoppable roar of modern
giants,
Stamping their timeless,
permanent footprint into
musical history.
Superlatives are my mean, my methods my mode the moony mock-Ra glass marble fables untold, the story fair, the hair golden, a new golden thread, bursts from the olden, like streams of pasturesque villages that trickle in the floods of which inundate the past, such a surly hub.
Screams, screams
Everywhere ,everywhere
Deafening silence
Deafening silence
Heart of stone ,heart of stone.
Never light, never light.
They cut the golden thread before the Sun.
Causing me unthinkable pain .
Indescribable , transcendent woe.
I stand overwhelmed
By the freshness
of the morning dew
Which surpasses
The fragrance of lavender
Of morning roses.
The screaming winds
A fortiori
The raised curtains
Walls without roofs
‘Entrez’ pandemonium?
‘Je suis levre au regard’
Parabolique trajectoire
The missing golden thread
The shooting star hurtles through the sky
Footpaths to nowhere
Who can toe this line ?
A real pity.
I stand overwhelmed
Ensconced at their wits’ end
Puissant proof of glory
Vitriolic outbursts of misdirected anger
I stand overwhelmed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pixie lept on sweet air,
laughter spun from golden thread.
Moon winked, and she tossed her hair.
Said, "together let's abed!
I took pixie's beguiling hands in mine,
her wings aglow like crimson twilight wine.
She laughed and spun me through fairy dust air~
romance and starlight tangled in my hair.
Oh, pixie, you glittered bright (fey delight),
your allure was so wild, so brief~
bewitching me all night
portentous thief!
bye!
Who killed the MC?
There he lay, splayed on the street
Chalk outlined mic and fist
A broken clock reads four past nine
Tatters of a golden thread left at the scene
Who gained from his silence?
Streets alive with revelation
Anarchic fire in the air
They’re coming for us with their rhymes
Gentlemen this isn’t what we had in mind
What will happen now he’s dead?
Yacht-and-champagne fantasies
Cheap factory beats repeat repeat
A few mad prophets rise and fade
Suburbia falls back to sleep
Who killed the MC?
A hot tub forged conspiracy
June 23, 2025
She walks in rooms where silence hides it face,
Not loud, but warm-a hush, a golden thread.
She touches cracks that time cannot Lace,
And brings back truths that long ago were dead.
She melts the ices that wraps around the Insides,
And stands where fear and shadow still reside.
A flicker dressed in silver–soft she Greets,
No sword, no Storm , just bare and steady beats.
She doesn't run, she doesn't Harbor pride–
She only stays to Tell what pain denied.
~hira~
like
shadows in
a slow-turning
waltz, they drift—
soft, unsummoned sighs
from corners of the mind
where dust forgets to settle,
and yesterday pirouettes silently.
dreams once bright now fade, tulle
trailing in twilight, ankles kissed by
cobwebs of sleep. Each step unwinds
the golden thread of almost-memory,
echoing rhythms never quite born,
never quite gone. They circle,
spiral, shimmer, vanish—
the dance of
forgotten
dreams.
A cascade, shimmering, of rivulets that undulate,
Metaphor thalassic, richly blending at the pate.
Each silhouette of vitality, speaking with gentle weight,
On shoulders resting, an adornment, delicate.
Where inky depths meet sun-kissed golden thread,
Fair skin and russet lips, a harmony well-bred.
On sloping lids, where emerald hues are spread,
Completing thus, a visage subtly, richly said.
Every filament, a void of deepest night,
Pupils widen, mirroring its stark, endless plight.
Heartstrings tugged by fur of shadowed fall,
Where a blue throb pulses, binding all.
When twilight spills its ink across the skies,
And silence tiptoes through the weary trees,
The stars unveil their secrets in disguise,
Whispered in hush beneath the evening breeze.
The day’s last breath clings gently to the air,
A golden thread unspooled from sunlit loom,
While night ascends the throne with solemn flair,
And bathes the world in velvet’s soft perfume.
Yet in the hush, the heart begins to roam—
Recalling touch and voices lost in mist,
Each memory a light that calls it home,
A ghost of warmth the darkness can't resist.
Though night may fall and shadows hold their sway,
Hope flickers still, awaiting break of day.
Being alone is an amethyst art
Gift to the soul searching dark
Mahogany moments
Shaping reality despite chaos or peace
Pearl perception of reality red from
blood of dead dreams
that will rise like a purple phoenix
inside blue breast
Walking in spirit with ancient ancestors
yet alone in the Streets of solitude
Fire in eyes
forgiving the lies
of whimsical fairy tales
That once spun hope
Like a golden thread
Around amber head
Ideals that float
like glowing halo
Keeping character afloat
Despite a sinking black hole
Left in the street to trap
Those who seem to nap
Sleep walking on the path
Sleeping Beauty is an example
Fairytale of slumber sampled
By a cherry kiss on lips
Is to die for or to live
If Prince never comes
what gives
rainbows inside to exist
Whether the field of forgiveness has been watered or not
Be the rose that grows
Through concrete streets with heart
Determined to thrive despite odds
With a scent of salvation a street soldier for God
In the beginning, a tale so sweet,
A love blossomed, oh, what a treat.
He painted dreams, of us together,
Promises made, to last forever.
His words, they wove a golden thread,
In his embrace, I found solace, not dread.
But as time passed, his touch grew cold,
His love, once fiery, now timid and old.
I chased his love, like a fleeting dream,
But in his eyes, no love did gleam.
He held me close, yet kept me at bay,
His silence spoke, of love's decay.
A friend he became, in times of need,
Embracing my heart, with care and heed.
Yet beneath the surface, a truth did lie,
His love, a mirage, bidding goodbye.
Now tired of chasing, love's fading flame,
I sense the embers, whispering my name.
For in his silence, I find my release,
To let go of love, and find my peace.
By: Innantia Magcanya
If I should wake to live another day
my soul would surely burst with boundless joy.
On pious knee I would fervently pray,
repentant soul would actively deploy.
A full day of blessèd atonement wide,
a soul on mission to pay its penance.
Rapidly strolling with refreshing stride,
repentance on recent fair countenance.
A purposeful action of ascesis,
my heart would be uplifted from its shame.
A length of golden thread from Lachesis
exonerating my well-deserved blame.
Freed from infernal Hell I gladly die,
blissful smile as my soul ascends the sky.
I have a thought I'd like to share and was wondering if you'd read
Because we all have much in common as you will come to see ....
"Out of our imperfections our pains and tribulations
Moments of clarification in the silver that lines our clouds Happy times and small celebrations are to be found
We are all stitched together with a golden thread of hope
Within the tapestry of life where our story is sewn
And folklore born O ye olde word English told
From our roots, we recover and discover horizons new
Beginnings are a good reason to be
The Bee Happy
Be you.
Gold is such an awesome word
many seek it for all their days
but it eludes the vast majority
no matter their efforts it stays
Poetically with your pen in hand
you ponder many a thought
so to bring forth insightful lines
such a gift can't be bought
In the scriptures a class writer
one such King David was so
the Psalms were his delight
prophetical his words high or low
Being a Scot read much of Burns
a famous bard he did forthtell
packed so much in his short life
so inspirationally rings a bell
Looking at life's direction
finding your golden thread
that's your goal at the end
pen in hand this you were bred
(This piece was written based on
the poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay"
BY ROBERT FROST)
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
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