u/Dhai_Alb

u/Dhai_Alb — 1 day ago

▲ 1 r/OCPoetry

The circus… 🎪

The Circus

Between rides, food booths, and caravans,
with kids and adults roaming around
under string lights and paths consumed by motion and sound,
a big top tent can be seen from wherever you stand.
From its drawn velvet curtains,
a symphonic melody calls to every man.

As the Carousel Waltz plays,
the audience fixes its gaze.
All corners turn ablaze—
the announcement of the opening act
pulls you in a magical daze.

Coming from above,
the ringmaster gestures with his glittering gloves.
With him appears a swarm of doves.
As the ringmaster lands,
he welcomes the witnesses with open hands—
a signal to the cast to join as they wave and dance.

With a bow and a tip of a hat:
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show
of the unwitnessed aristocrats—
a show for dreamers, believers,
and most importantly,
the skeptics with their thoughts to reformat."

With a flip of his cane toward the sky, he aimed:
"Please witness the acrobats in chains."
The first performance of the unspoken bane.
Shackles on ankles with a ball and chain.
You hear the rattle as they swing in vain,
no safety net for the impact to sustain.

With chalked hands and bare feet,
the luminous light was never to spot
but to add to the heat.
Airborne and never free,
they still flipped and swung with smiles of defeat.

Next act, under the melody of thunder and blaze:
"Ladies and gentlemen, next—
the performance of the masked."
\-
One painted black and white.
He didn't speak—words never served him right.
The exaggerated expression of his agony
was always out of spite.

The other painted in colors so profound.
Unlike his friend, he was never bound,
and he would never frown.
Of reality he was never a fan.
He rather be known as the unstable man.

Next act:
The performance of no freaks
but of creatures who were born incomplete,
yet reached their peak.

The man of no spine,
contorted in a knot, yet always fine.
The conjoined twins who shared limbs—
one spit fire, one consumed swords within.
And a dwarf who always knew how to sing.

The ending act:
Seated on rusted bleachers,
witnesses wondered if they should ever clap.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 6 days ago

▲ 6 r/circus+3 crossposts

The circus… 🎪

The Circus

As the Carousel Waltz plays,
the audience fixes its gaze.
All corners turn ablaze—
the announcement of the opening act
pulls you in a magical daze.

With chalked hands and bare feet,
the luminous light was never to spot
but to add to the heat.
Airborne and never free,
they still flipped and swung with smiles of defeat.

Next act, under the melody of thunder and blaze:
"Ladies and gentlemen, next—
the performance of the masked."
-
One painted black and white.
He didn't speak—words never served him right.
The exaggerated expression of his agony
was always out of spite.

The other painted in colors so profound.
Unlike his friend, he was never bound,
and he would never frown.
Of reality he was never a fan.
He rather be known as the unstable man.

Next act:
The performance of no freaks
but of creatures who were born incomplete,
yet reached their peak.

The man of no spine,
contorted in a knot, yet always fine.
The conjoined twins who shared limbs—
one spit fire, one consumed swords within.
And a dwarf who always knew how to sing.

The ending act:
Seated on rusted bleachers,
witnesses wondered if they should ever clap.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 7 days ago

▲ 2 r/PoetryWritingClub

Eye 👁️

u/Dhai_Alb — 11 days ago

▲ 1 r/OCPoetry

Echo

Am I heard?
When my vocal cords strain
and I plead to be sane,
begging to show what I can no longer sustain—
will I be freed from the shackles and chains,
or am I yelling in vain?

In the void of a cave
that's meant to reflect my sound in waves,
I implore, but a mirrored voice tells me to behave.
And I'm left for freedom to crave.

At the mouth of the cave, their profanities they yell.
I reflect them back like spills.
They call me a monster and run with no farewells.
Am I a nymph or a mimic? I can no longer tell.
In my existence, I'm left to dwell
as the chains rattle in mockery, a cursed bell.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 15 days ago

▲ 2 r/OCPoetry

Shadow

A companion, or a cruel reminder of my inevitable doom?
A silhouette of my being that follows to each room.
An inescapable haunting that looms—
above ground it rules,
and when I'm six feet under, in Hades,
what's left of me, he'll subdue.

At my death,
when diluted shades of me is all that's left,
and my lungs no longer have to hold their breath,
I'm coerced to drink the water of Lethe.
They said it's for your freedom.
I called it theft.

Why is it that my dissolution is not rest?
Why am I asked to conquer another test?
In my soul's inexistence, I'll never be blessed.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 17 days ago

▲ 1 r/OCPoetry

Shadow

Why is it that my dissolution is not rest?
Why am I asked to conquer another test?
In my soul's inexistence, I'll never be blessed.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 17 days ago

▲ 2 r/OCPoetry+1 crossposts

The Bleeding Moon

Theia and Earth collided,

and its debris created the moon

the light that guides through the night and looms.

Theia, the mother a story that concluded too soon.

She swam in galaxies cluttered with stars and suns.

Her beginning was almost fun.

From it, she would never run.

In the distance, she saw Earth as it spun.

She fell in love, grew closer, and became undone.

What was once scattered debris

now anointed as a stabilizer of Earth,

even if it never asked to be birthed.

No one would know its worth.

Without it, seasons would not be the same,

and the beauty of flowers would never rebirth.

Oceans would be stale water

with no tides moving back or forth.

As I orbit for infinity,

I wonder if I'll ever have indemnity.

Both Earth and Sun see only one side of me.

Will they ever see my divinity?

Will I forever be but a source of light from a vicinity?

Or light that they project?

When the Sun burns, Earth I must protect.

A ring of fire surrounds me

the only time I get respect.

When Earth finally burns,

its pain I will have to reflect.

I will bleed red, even if the pain is indirect.

Each year, I drift away.

My absence, they will have to suspect.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 21 days ago

▲ 3 r/OCPoetry+2 crossposts

The Bleeding Moon

Theia and Earth collided,

and its debris created the moon

the light that guides through the night and looms.

Theia, the mother a story that concluded too soon.

She swam in galaxies cluttered with stars and suns.

Her beginning was almost fun.

From it, she would never run.

In the distance, she saw Earth as it spun.

She fell in love, grew closer, and became undone.

What was once scattered debris

now anointed as a stabilizer of Earth,

even if it never asked to be birthed.

No one would know its worth.

Without it, seasons would not be the same,

and the beauty of flowers would never rebirth.

Oceans would be stale water

with no tides moving back or forth.

As I orbit for infinity,

I wonder if I'll ever have indemnity.

Both Earth and Sun see only one side of me.

Will they ever see my divinity?

Will I forever be but a source of light from a vicinity?

Or light that they project?

When the Sun burns, Earth I must protect.

A ring of fire surrounds me

the only time I get respect.

When Earth finally burns,

its pain I will have to reflect.

I will bleed red, even if the pain is indirect.

Each year, I drift away.

My absence, they will have to suspect.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 21 days ago

▲ 9 r/OCPoetry+3 crossposts

The Autopsy

In a morgue, a body lays in a refrigerated grave-

a body only known by the tagged name,

another story to file and tame,

a tale never to be published or framed.

By a stretcher, it's pulled onto a metal plate,

a place where all shared the same fate.

A cut-Y-shaped—is made on the chest by a sharp blade,

the first incision to determine cause of death of another body that lays unfazed.

As the flesh unfolds, a speck of ash, consistent of a burnt soul,

scatters on the cold tile floor-

the first finding in the report of a morbid corpse.

Rigor mortis is inconsistent with the correlated time of death,

as if the body only knew this state from its first breath.

The next step: an extraction from a bloated chest.

The heart and lungs spoke of a different threat—

evidence of sustained trauma, defiant of a body that cheated death.

Sawbone met a skull with an outer layer of obsidian, made to protect.

A scarring of blunt force trauma, indicating a brain set to an automated motor function,

no longer allowed interruption:

a performative act of endurance for an audience who always questions.

As the examiner concluded the procedure,

the name on the tag of the remains spoke again.

And only then I knew:

I am the only witness to my decaying end.

Comments:

u/Dhai_Alb — 22 days ago

▲ 6 r/OCPoetry+1 crossposts

Like a moth to a flame—

what was once my compass

turned to a fatal attraction.

What a shame.

Now no light is the same.

When burnt, I'm left to blame,

and asked for my sanity to sustain.

The light at the end of the tunnel seemed so bright—

an iridescence my instincts were never meant to fight.

My wings flutter on impulse, and I take flight

under the assumption of a starlight

that turned porch light.

And I orbit like the moon

orbits the earth every night.

Neon light buzzes, and I circle it as a drug.

Its warmth felt like a hug.

It pulls you in and tugs—

only to be stolen when it's unplugged.

And once again, I search with no end

for a way to navigate and not blend.

Both journeys lead to my descent.

I'm left in my concealed fate to pretend

and wonder, in my function,

if I can ever amend.

What inspired it if interested: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS91Vcp66/

Comments: