Scoffers

They are l o s t .

Seeing solutions but accepting illusions.

Conclusions created by envious minds.

They will call your gold copper,

Then copy what you offer

Under the guise of authenticity.

Intricately they study the pure,

And create perversions that do not cure,

But infect the mimes that follow them.

You cannot trust what pride has

Rotted

Between tight teeth.

Unwilling to pick free.

It’s control that they seek.

But do not worry.

The lost are consumed by their fear:

That you will one day see that they are not there.

They are mirages that fade under the truth.

The lost have no depth to grow their own roots.

So, they look for sweet flowers that grow through concrete.

And hope you don’t see what makes you unique:

A peace that blooms around negative thoughts.

My love,

They sure want what you’ve got!

Check out my author’s page and new poetry book https://www.mdelspoetry.com


Why I Love Poetry


A poem’s words can stem from thoughts, feelings or experiences. It can be a few lines or a few pages. The shape of the words can be in a traditional paragraph form or take the shape of an object. Poetry can be about anything, but what I love about poetry is its reach.

I can write a poem about my love for nature, and the reader can interpret it as the love for a child. I can write a poem about finding strength after heartbreak, and the reader can interpret it as a recovery from addiction. 

A poem’s words can stem from the writer’s thoughts, feelings, or experiences. Poetry can speak to the reader in ways the writer never imagined. Therefore, I live. Therefore, I feel. Therefore, I write. All tears, blood, and sweat are transformed to verse. My life is yours to recite.

I love poetry.


Check out my author’s page: https://www.mdelspoetry.com

Backwash by M.Dels

Hello, Travelers!

Guess what?

I have a poetry book!

Please visit my WordPress site if you haven’t read my blogs.

My blogs are the appetizer.

“Backwash” is the en·trée.

Follow the link below to learn more.

As always, thank you for reading my work. ❤

CLICK HERE

Hiding

Hiding feels good.
You cannot see me.
You cannot read
What I have not said.

You cannot go to bed
And reflect on the person you just met.
Because I am hid,
I am silent as the dead.

I like being hid.
It’s safe in the unknown.
It’s comforting being alone,
And not waiting by a phone.

Not waiting for an invitation.
Not waiting for a smile.
Just fading like highway lines,
Mile after mile.

I like being cloaked.
Old furniture under sheets.
Stored away in an attic
Where living eyes barely seek.

Dull light warms my body.
Attic dust I only trust.
Because it is there with me,
Where humans barely fuss.

Hiding is my joy.
But my problem is that I glow.
I radiate like the sun
Wherever I choose to go.

So when you see me laughing,
Having fun and shaking hands.
Just know I’d rather hide away
In a far away land.

Check out my author page at http://www.mdelspoetry.com

Rest Stop

Photo by @twinsfisch via Unsplash / Prose by M.Dels

I am lazy. Laying in the lap of lost energy. Joyful for my blessings. Blending into calm, no more strife or survival. I am embalmed with warmth. My chest rises and releases all stress. I did my best.

M.Dels

Follow me on Instagram @mdelspoetry

Check out my author’s page at http://www.mdelspoetry.com

Liberating Lights

picture by @wonderlane via Unsplash

Sometimes, you have silent cheerleaders. Watching, waiting, wishing success for you.

But too ashamed to say it because they are surrounded by hate. Pray for them to one day be free —

And sit in unity with you and your blessings. They are lost just like you were, but they stood still, hoping a light would show them the path to liberation.

Be that light.


M.Dels

Follow me on Instagram @mdelspoetry

Check out my author’s page at http://www.mdelspoetry.com

Most Treasured

Sometimes.
You have to stand
By yourself.

There is no one,
They may try,
But no one can

Feel

The tears you cry.
Understand,
The years of tried

Steel

Under fierce flames.
Carved names on my flesh.
Healed, scar tissues

Become

A veiled medal.
For underneath is
A power, vibrant,


Gold

Under the rising sun.
I have become the element
Only victors want.

Poetry by M.Dels

Follow me on Instagram @mdelspoetry.

Check out my author’s page at http://www.mdelspoetry.com