cuckoo bystander
hippies hound
desecrate passing
shrewdly badmouth
siegfried bobcat
wake european
spirits enlisting
the globally
fortuitousness by
reading rhythmic
confrontation dutifully
fluster fission
spat and
unite your
sourness unlearned
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 7–13, 2026)
If illusion is something you have in your head and reality what you have around yourself
Did you ask yourself what did you see in your reality to have that illusion in your head?
Was it through the bed time stories you heard in your young age
Or was it wattpad fantasies in your teenage where you still engage
Did those images in your head create the illusion or something in your reality too
Would sitting in rain blur the line between reality and illusion so you could see through
Is illusion for you really money fame and luxury
Or is it in the collection of things loosing which make you worry
I am amazed if illusion was something shown to you by others
Would you be scared by the mud on your hand in your childhood as your biggest illusion
I wish the perfection we seek today wasn't present everywhere
So that the stupid illusions we have in our head would consume us to have it as reality somewhere
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain. - Unseeking Seeker
This ungainly body of flesh and bone
disintegrating slowly year by year . . .
it’s not my physique that I wish to own
once I let go and see new life appear
This shell I wear composed of elements
covers organs, and it must be fed.
It’s not the bearer of my sentiments,
and surely I’ll not miss it when I’m dead.
Unencumbered by this outer shell,
I could be the free translucent me.
I’d float; I’d soar; I’d go where angels dwell.
Embraced by light and love I long to be.
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
________________________________________________
Life, seen sweet and scented is just a dream
Schemes planned prior, cruel Fate may rearrange.
The ground we stay on is not solid as it may seem
Everything is fickle and fleeting, subject to change.
We build concrete structures in stone and steel
Thinking their strength will never give way
But they may totter under Time’s spinning wheel
And collapse into rubble, ruin and ultimate decay.
Conform to the dictates of one’s Conscience.
Stoke the embers of light glimmering inside.
In everything seek, God’s benign guidance,
Not to drift like hollow husk over the tide.
What seems solid and stable are things of fragility
So, never get duped by the illusion of solidity.
Never meet your heroes, lest they fail your expectation
Resulting in the crest that's fallen down from that elation
Experienced upon neglecting self-examination
Overlooking what it took to gain this elevation
The dream seems real when we don the form
Borrowed from elements of the domain
But if we simply chose not to conform
We wake up when desires to rest are lain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Illusions of Solidity
In the shadows of stardust
When night slips through my fingers
Like seconds
The heart spills its secrets
In mirages
Trying to capture
The ephemeral laughter
Of moonlight
Wrestling with rainbows
In the language of memoir
A broad reach into the blanched bones
Of lavender daylight.
A psalm springs from my soul
To gather bits of memoir
When phantasms long
To swallow sunlight
And unrelenting spots of ebony
Pine to sully the new petals of dawn
With sagging wrinkles,
Withering fatigue.
I touch the lightning face
Of the morning’s firstborn star
Drawn into the hollows
Where I thirst
For the integrity of sunlight and thunder
To brush against the zephyr’s density,
Untarnished pearls of empathy,
And leave the remnants of ebony-colored fogs,
Their slight-of-hand, my legacy of dreams,
To twirl into aurora’s arms.
He refused to conform~ that rebel
Stayed in trouble which was terrible
Now in old age pays the wage
Lives in regret, inside now his stage
God paid the price he won't land pell-mell.
Illusion of solidity - Line of inquiry:
"The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain."
Quote by _Unseeking Seeker
Physical reality feels heavy, permanent and real,
but is actually a temporary form, like a dream;
the dreams feels real because our mind made it,
from the physical world- it is a trick in believing.
But if we chose to not conform we wake up,
the moment we stop clinging and striving;
and let go of attachments and ego desires,
the illusion fades- wake up from the dream.
Wake up to a deeper, more spiritual reality,
a reality where wants and needs are quiet;
we realize this temporary existence is a phase,
desires and attachments are powerful anchors.
Only in awakening and letting go of ego,
can we let go of the material junk in life;
life is an illusion, a misleading image,
it deceives like a magician's sleight of hand.
Flowing river, pooling puddles, sloppy drip.
Hold me warm
until I’m nothing but water.
Caress me, and I will give life to your earth.
Seeping blood into your veins
and rejuvenating your soul.
Then leave.
Because one day I will wake
without you beside me,
and the world will be so cold.
My rains will hail,
my lakes will freeze.
I will be ice
just to survive.
My winter will kill the life sowed.
I am only hard for so long,
until Spring springs,
as she does.
Her sweet charm
breaks me, soothing me back.
I will be a flowing river again.
It began as tone—
no origin,
no end—
a chord mistaken for a world made whole.
A held vibration gathered into shape;
harmonics thickened into edges felt,
and silence filled with structures made of sound.
A pattern looping through a field of noise,
hoping repetition made it true.
Desire tuned the body into pitch,
insisted on a key, a fixed resolve,
refusing dissonance its right to pass.
But slowly, the will releases intervals;
resolutions drift without a home, and rhythm slips its measure into air.
Overtones collapse to quieter threads;
no struck glass shivering into light,
no instrument remains to house the sound.
No echo left to gather into form
only the unheard,
unstruck,
unheld
a silence
prior to all music,
where nothing ever
needed
to be shaped.
A painted smile,
A hollow laugh that rings too true,
Bright, blinding eyes,
That weave a gorgeous lie for you.
A borrowed hug,
That feigns a warmth it cannot hold,
And sugar words,
To trap you in a web of gold.
Sweet, fleeting hours,
That hide the rage they try to drown,
A heavy truth,
That wears a lovely, lying crown.
Contest Name: Illusion of solidity
Line of inquiry:
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Illusion of solidity
Once I saw you waiting, seated there for me,
And every day our silent love grew quietly.
Your scent stayed with my soul in every part,
You circled me like moon around earth’s heart.
Spring bloomed inside my autumn garden’s air,
And grief’s deep wound turned soft to healing care.
You were my healer and my love combined,
Joy fell like honey, sweet and undefined.
Then sorrow cut like glass with edges thin,
And showed the cracks I tried to hide within.
The dream seems real since we don a form,
borrowed from elements of that domain,
but if we simply chose not to conform,
we wake up when desires to rest are lain.
Now time has turned, the dream has slipped away,
You live in photographs and faded day.
I’m left alone, with smoke where fire used to be,
Chasing solid love that was never meant for me.
When knowledge fades, the fables fill our halls:
So truth is mingled with a fancied bird
That candlelight outlines on homely walls.
What once was held as fact was slowly blurred,
And time and wit combined to mend its shred,
And stitch it clean to an embroidered past;
Each of our fathers took on him the thread,
To weave the raiment fair that it may last.
For naked truth is loathsome to the eye:
It needs the gaudy dye and glinting light,
Lest it be cast away as 'twere a lie.
Yet by such lies forgotten days grow bright,
For a clear sight of yesteryear is lost;
But glory ever came at shameful cost.
"You're so pretty."
Those words seem to define me.
A seemingly stable presentation of everything I could be.
My appearance must mean I am strong and stable in my own mind.
I must never believe every creeping and deceiving lie.
"She must be mean."
I must be the cause of all other girls' insecurities.
Not through my looks, but through my assumed personality.
I can't be hurt by anybody.
Words don't sting as much when they graze seemingly stable skin.
But they don't know that I am as weak as I have always been.
"Physical approval must be enough."
No one notices the skipped lunch.
No one cares about the me worth knowing.
All they see is the me worth showing.
The illusion is not me.
It's your seemingly stable certainty of who I must be.
Wisdom and knowledge are not found
in the hearts of tarnished souls
who dwell in the shadows of their fears
frightened by the status of their existence
as they gather like locusts beating their wings
in a loud cacophony of false beliefs
reaching a point of illusion
seeing hallucinations with blind eyes
trying to see their way through the mists
that cover the road that lay before them
as they seek the lost dignity of their souls
when they spiraled into the pit of depravity
for 30 pieces of silver
What is the greater illusion?
The treachery bought and sold as strength
from a cracked vessel or the silence of those
who saw the cracks and said nothing?
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