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Best Poems Written by Powder Kiramman

Below are the all-time best Powder Kiramman poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Still Here

Still Here

You think I’m gone, that I left without a goodbye. 
You don’t see me in your mirror, but I’m here. 
You don’t hear me in the wind, but it echoes my tone. 
You don’t see my eyes in the blossoms, but they’re there. 
You don’t see my smile in the sun, but it’s there. 

Or maybe you do. 

Maybe you see my face behind you in the glass. 
Maybe you hear my laugh in the breeze.  
Maybe you admire the blooms, seeing my iris in the pistil or petals. 
Maybe you look up at the sun without glasses to remember the glow of my joy. 

Maybe you’ve always seen me in these things. 
Maybe it hurts to look. 
Maybe you’d rather break the glass, destroy the reflection. 
Maybe you stay inside so the gale can’t send you my voice. 
Maybe you strip the flowers’ roots because the buds mock the color you loved so. 
Maybe you cover up so the warmth sun can’t remind you of all the times I smiled your way. 

But I’m still here.

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Time

Time ticks by, an endless fading of lives awry. 

Time kicks and spins, but we never know where it begins. 

Time breeds pain and heartbreak, but not just that. 

Time breeds love and faith, and gives itself to people meant for something great. 

 

But it can never give enough. 

Not for love, for hate, even for people who do what’s great.  

Time never has enough to give, never enough to take.  

Time is imbalanced, some say time is a concept, “fake.” 

 

But time is real. Time is inevitable. The Norns weave our fates, 

Cut the threads that no longer serve any purpose. 

They do it not out of hate, but duty.  

And truly, most times, they do us a service. 

 

Cherish your time.

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Skulls

Skulls and roses, skulls and crossbones, most of people who died alone. 

Skulls in corpses, skulls in the living, ‘til they decompose, protection is what they’re giving. 

Protect the mind, that tissue so soft, but easily shaken, easily sent aloft.  

 

Protecting a soul, so sweet and tender, but nothing, not even nature, can live forever. 

They give you medicine, sell you lies, say “this will make you better.” 

When there wasn’t anything wrong with you, ever.  

 

They give you Churches, where those skulls hide under dirt, and tell you to put their god first. 

But for life, for creativity, for the freedom to be yourself, you thirst. 

And you know your gods were there, holding your hand, first. 

 

You know your gods created the skull that protects your beautiful mind, 

the flesh that carries your soul so blessed by the divine.  

Filled by gods and goddesses, your soul a creature unaffected by time. 

A creature that’s had many skulls, lived countless lives. 

 

And you will live again, another skull to protect your blessed mind.

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''Maybe in another life''

“Maybe in another life,” I say.  

“But why not this one?” you ask, eyes full of dismay. 

“What’s in our way?” you continue.  

“I just can’t be with you,” I reply. 

 

“Why are you lying?” you shout. 

“What reason do i have to lie?” I say, but I know you still hold doubt. 

“You don’t want me” you accuse. 

“You never wanted me until now” I muse. 

 

“I’ve wanted you every day,” you say. 

“Maybe in another life.” And I walk away.

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Mind

My mind is a wasteland, a place only poison and death thrive. 

My mind is a wasteland, where not even hope is alive.  

I’m not safe from my thoughts, these venomous snakes that haunt my memories. 

 

My skin crawls from pollution, from anxiety and doubt. 

All I want is to get out.  

Get out of my head, my crawling skin, the burning feelings of depression. 

 

Its a wasteland, there’s ashes instead of sand. 

Its a wasteland, the water burns and the fire cools. 

At least it feels like it does. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe I’m a fool.

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War Born

Born of Ares, 

In every life violent. 

 

Born of Ares, 

In every life brave. 

 

Bound to children of Love, 

Aphrodite’s daughters and sons. 

 

In every life devoted, 

to affection and protection. 

 

In every life his, 

those children of War. 

 

Born of the bloodshed, 

the chaos, 

and the courage that comes before.

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Love Born

Born of Aphrodite,  

in every life graceful. 

 

Born of Aphrodite, 

in every life loving. 

 

Bound to children of war, 

Sons and Daughters of Ares. 

 

In every life devoted, 

To loving and nurturing 

 

In every life hers, 

Those children of love. 

 

Born of the love, 

the faith, 

and the long days of waiting 

for the one they knew would come.

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Not Yours

“Mine,” you say, but you torture me every day. 

“Mine,” you say, but how am I yours if you don’t care either way? 

 

“yours” I say, because I don’t want you to go away. 

“yours,” I say, because to me, you’re like the light of day. 

 

You hurt me, but I need you. I hate you, but I heed you. 

You know me, and I love you, 

Because that's what you made me think I'm supposed to do. 

 

You ruined me, but without you, I can’t breathe. 

Staying away from you is hard, but to be safe I have to stay far. 

I’m not yours anymore.

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All Is Fair

All is fair in love and war, 

For love and war are lovers. 

War and Love, those deities so fair, 

Aphrodite and Ares belong to one another. 

 

All is fair in love and war, 

For every soldier holds someone 

Closer than anyone ever before, 

and every lover has to fight 

for the person they feel is right. 

 

All is fair in love and war, 

For love is a battle in itself. 

You fight to be enough, 

and your lover does the same. 

 

All is fair in love and war, 

For without one or the other, 

A soul is poor.

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Compare Thee To A Summer's day

 Compare thee to a summer’s day? 

No, my dear, you are a goddess of dismay. 

You are the bane of my heart, for you own it completely. 

You control my mind without a single effort, and for that you are my enemy. 

 

Thou art lovely and temperate? 

No, you are imperfect and cold as Mount Everest. 

You freeze my heart with ignorance, 

And light it once more with a start. 

 

You are not a summer’s day. 

You are a snowstorm that comes in spite of the sunlight of May. 

You are the rain that plagues those who have no roof to under stay. 

You are the disease that kills and spirits souls away. 

 

Compare thee to a summer’s day? 

No, it’s impossible.  

There is no way.