Because I forget everything
I forget what is my name
My name that is nothing
But just hungry for the fame.
I forget what is my gender
My gender that is physical
In the false pride, they wander
And the human, becomes invisible.
I forget my region - religion
My region that is limited
My religion that is just illusion
And all the marts are fully decorated.
Yell! Shout! Cry! Urge!
Don't say I, say the universe .
STOP STARGAZING
The world is stargazing,
but are we still asleep?
Why can’t we be open-minded,
even though our minds run deep?
Watching the universe’s movement
as it escapes our mind,
the moment we realize it,
we will be out of time.
Stop making fake excuses
and learn the knowledge
to escape the forbidden places
and reclaim our power.
Let our third eye be open
and lean on our understanding,
because to understand the paradox,
it’s going to be very demanding.
Our chakras are not a gift;
awakening them is a necessity to rise,
and reach the top of our crown
to live on high.
So let’s wake up
and reach Heaven’s gate together,
and live as one spiritual being
in His Kingdom forever.
By: MelvinJohnson2026
on the bed of the clear lagoon of memories.
The years of my life are running out.
Sometimes, the picture of childhood lights up my soul—
my mother walking along the narrow, dreamy lane…
A treacherous illness alters the shape of my body.
My last desire flew away to another galaxy long ago.
And the sorrow is too great for my chest to bear.
It’s hard to live trapped in a web of never-ending pain.
Beyond the window, the radiant holly has withered.
The weary evening is losing its face;
I slice it into thin slivers like Mom’s cake—
so it might last a little longer.
When, as a boy in springtime, I pruned the trees
in silence alongside my father, a startled little owl flew out
through the skylight near the chimney.
A wistful ache still lingers in my heart.
It was decided that I’m bad
Thank you, Mr. Universe
So I’m socially dead
Therefore, not much coerced
Little less involved in business
Of the common cause I share
With the Mrs. Universe
She can spot me everywhere
I can’t comment, I can’t post
Cause I’ve been a bit too active
Maybe felt a bit too lost
Could’ve been over-perceptive
Maybe deemed as self-indulgent
So they bothered to reply
Laid on me the hardest judgement
Though it didn’t worth a try
Aren’t we equal to ourselves
What we say no one will save
The tide washes up the shells
Each one bears its own wave..
The last drops of rain
trickle down the roof tiles.
The washed morning does not rush,
much like those high-spirited stragglers,
who now and then play their pranks.
The night still struggles in vain.
The first ray of light dips a finger into the puddles—
a signal for the thrushes to strike up their tunes.
A sleepy street sweeper emerges
from an old, shabby gate.
His shoes creak beautifully.
What if our universe is merely a snowflake
Within a snow globe on God’s desk
And we think of ourselves as the center
When we are noticed but not the winner
Of first place for the superior species race
What if we get shaken up by His hands of love
As a reset for all the crime and corruption
The rainbow in the sky a divine sign
Of a powerful intervention a show of mercy
A chance to heal and be revealed as worthy
The first chapter was light and creation
Of a system of stars bigger than ours
And the beauty of the black sea of skies
Can be seen as God’s personal canvas
With the last page a power play missing
again
FWASHOOOPPPPP
the annoying people in the room
suddenly
disappear
it is peaceful
for about
2 seconds
but then
a laser beam shoots out of the sky
i know everyone is wondering ‘What?’
many people start to panic
but i know that's just a simple
part
of
time
and
space
some species come
some go
some
dominate,
destroy,
desolate,
demand,
decay,
and
sometimes,
just sometimes,
one
small
tiny
thing
begins the cycle
all
over
Calm is your nature so fair
O maiden of meticulous metaphor
like the white lilies in the garden, balms soft air,
amongst autumn’s signature rustling leaves
upon dried maples once green
In warm tones of terracotta her spirit roams free,
on earth she manipulates the mariposa monarca
butterfly migration in Michoacán’s fir forests,
clusters color trees with golden orange tones
trimmed in black lace philigree
skies are filled with beating wings
like a flurry of a rain's pitter-patter
O butterfly if you flutter by, I’ve left you aster
for your returns refuel in my yearning yard
Tonantzin our venerable Mother, goddess virginius
of virtue of vim, and vigorous Miss
Q3 keeper of chaos and order,
I’m forever thankful for your service ~
Scarcely had the snow melted
when the violet crocuses bloomed.
I gaze at your crimson scarf—
the one you left behind a year ago
as you vanished into the amethyst dusk.
Once again, I have watched through a hematite night;
a burgundy dawn slowly fades away,
and still, I wait for your iridescent return.
I’m certainly in no mood for laughter today;
the sky is pitch-black.
Even the clamorous newsboy has lost his voice.
Time tries in vain to defy Fate.
An old asphalt worker heads off for a beer,
while the young woman in the window opposite
casually slips off her blouse.
I hope she doesn't think I'm a voyeur.
Lady Li’s pure, gentle name means the white plum flower;
her slight, slender, moving form holds a quiet power.
When I watch her lost in thoughts at the crimson dawning,
she sits resting on a bench—like a swan in longing.
As she’s moving, her soft robe silently is rustling;
bracelets on her slender wrists from afar are sparkling.
All splendid jewels made of jade glisten in the moonlight;
I plead heaven to send help: stay for a while, mute night!
We talk about the faint moon, about silent gladness;
a sweet child is in Li’s smile, and a touch of sadness.
Syllables she slowly says, awaken my dreaming;
her amazing, pleasant voice is a balm, a gleaming.
We ride the shimmer, stardust spun/
Between the birth of dying suns/
A groove of galaxies unwinds/
The pulse of silence, vast, sublime/
Nebulae breathe, in violet streams/
We waltz on waves of astral dreams/
Comet tails curl, a cosmic tune/
Our shadows cast by fractured moons/
Through veils of gas and drifting light,
We pass from day into the night/
Where gravity’s embrace is loose
We dance, unanchored, star-induced/
Electric hearts, in sync, align
With every ancient, pulsing sign/
We cross the nebula, become
A groove eternal, endless drum/
And when the universe exhales
Its secrets, stardust, cosmic tales/
We’ll still be moving, you and I,
Across the nebula-lit sky/
Knowing our Sun was once a star
permits my thoughts to wander far.
Raising my eyes at night to see
the twinkling stars look back at me.
The closest ones fill out my view,
and far beyond Earth's avenue,
deep endless space holds many more
beyond which we cannot explore
Are we alone- most want to know!
Probability assumes no!
A star can turn into a Sun-
attracting planets to be spun.
A distant Sun could be like ours
progressing from the realm of stars,
develop its own atmosphere;
that part for life becomes so clear.
Providing all the minerals
and moisture in the air that spills
in making clouds that form the rain
which living things must have, retain.
The law of probability
says yes! Impossibility -
Earth can not be the only one!
Surely, there is a distant Sun.
A woman kneads dough for cakes.
She is sad and weary of life...
Into every piece, she mixes both a little anger
and joy – for herself, for the children, for her man.
She holds nothing back from life.
When the cakes are baked,
the anger fades away
and only the aroma of joy remains...
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Definition | What is Universe in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.