The Shell Of A "hero"

The shell of a "hero"

Archive #1 | Copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: Hi guys! This is a writing piece that I wrote a long time ago that I really liked. I am open to pointers and suggestions to help me improve my writing! Enjoy ^^

The Shell of a "hero"

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Doomsday marks the sore spot in that heart of yours.

Is it physical pain, or emotional, again?

I can only fill it with empty compliments for so long,

I've been doing it for too long.

But nothing else seemed to stop the bleeding. 

Do you really need comfort?

Or do you need yourself? 

I can only help you by giving you the truth...

My fear in hurting you is shallow,

Shallow enough to stop myself from trying once more. 

The truth can rip out a heart.

The truth can reveal the warmth inside, blanketed by the sun. 

All of this warmth, hidden. 

The truth can crack that protective shell. 

But will we allow it to happen? 

I know your warmth is beautiful, 

But the shell is ugly enough to drive me away. 

I'm selfish, and so are you.

But I am the villain in your story.

The villain is bound to hurt, 

I am bound to reveal the truth. 

Your anticlimactic story, your undeserving hateful past.

You drag down those who are so full of light with you.

Down, down the inky, gloomy tunnel. 

You don't mean to, I tell myself. 

Belief can only do so much. 

I adore you for your aspiring ways, your joy and passion for things that make you shine.

But that alone won't be enough to bribe. 

Farewell, hero,

Until you realise the villain is always right.

I'm always here for you.

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Obsession, the series

Archive #11 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Here is the abstract and all three poems combined. I personally feel like there is a difference to when you read the poems separately, versus reading it all together in one sitting. Let me know what you think. I actually have a story inspired by these poems, if you are interested in me posting it, let me know! Enjoy :)

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Abstract

When one compares their dependency on an item or being with an unhealthy tendency to forget the importance of being their own person. A siren is known for the obsession she produces just from singing; while a place of holiness can be known for saving those that have no other place to go. Obsession and adoration are two separate things, but sometimes the siren can be merely adored… while the building is seen as a cult designed for obsession. The comparison of the siren and church to the human's dependent heart is a wake up call for those who allow themselves to serve no other purpose than living in someone else’s life. 

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Obsession

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Woe the building that falls

To seek a soul whose pictured as gold,

makes artless mortals sway. 

The siren theory is embodied as a place— 

that is known for its embrace…

of worship, importune and obsession.

But to pray to who is equivocal… 

they’re merely a god, merely a question.

You can’t treat a person like a church possession—  

the inner walls creak and moan

against the protest and crack of bone. 

Nicknamed Dulia for its glory, 

but it drowns those who try to adore thee. 

The plafond above our heads sing in pressure– 

haunting the thought of being crushed. 

Whilst they cry for their successor,

dust floated towards the exit as if being rushed. 

The sky tends to fall away; 

clouds imitate a chevet. 

The sight itself creates much dismay,

but time is an illusion…

oh, such betray.

But what a church with no heaven?

Sky, empyrean, and the ether

don’t judge a star's demeanour! 

Aperture with glass framework– 

edging feelings with a smirk.

Reflection shows a shining gleam,

but true colour is never seen. 

The sun has a shaded costume 

using the moon as hecatomb.  

It may use perfume as a facade…

but mien flares hearts exerting ballade.

If darkness plummets beneath our feet

may I pray for a deathless greet.

The devotee, 

limp in their extremities, 

served one purpose…and failed.

It drifted into sea like a dead anemone– 

with no avail or memory. 

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Infatuation

Summersweet, white alder, pepper bush— 

wind that blows bouquets away with a swoosh.

A church, the ocean and the utter devotion 

such words that are unremittingly

used and mentioned.

You must be annoyed and sick of the voices

telling you about the, oh so many choices…

that you can take. 

It makes your cliff shake and ache against the currents

you’re trying to break. 

Hundred of shouts turns into a song

while you still can’t get along—

with yourself and the image

that you portray as a sailor, paying primage. 

You can’t love a siren,

moreover cage them in a shrine to admire in. 

They didn’t draw you in with their beauty, 

they were just on death duty.

Artless feelings are sweet and dependent 

until you sneeze and crush flowers gifted, 

not to the loved one but to the church—

a place of worship but for a search…

of pathetic purpose. 

Arson ash that coughs up the lungs

makes heartthrobs hold their tongues. 

It’s been so long since the reminiscence,

but existence with omniscience means that

one can’t help those that don’t want it.

Sailors should save those words for those who admit it. 

Repetition shows a mind not working— 

hiding behind the words of formal glory. 

When the time comes that you consider your fate, 

please stop placing your heart on a plate.

Not everything is worth dying for, therefore

realise this before you bleed even more. 

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Siren's Curse

The feeling stills,

located deep in the heart and

washed away by emotions that don't depart. 

Such betray hasn’t been seen

in years and years, oh it’s been centuries. 

It’s not about creed

nor about faith, 

but why does the siren continue to retaliate? 

They don’t seek will or adoration,

but only sailors' shallow empty emotions. 

Thus, greed is not a problem, 

just a solution with an astrobleme. 

The star-shaped wound within the heart

drowns out singing and works of art. 

They focus on sole possessions, a measly painting

rather than just forever self-changing. 

A place verses a person can be quite the personification

for a future naive adorer’s destination. 

You compare a holy place

with a person that has no proper face.

A sailor counts

and so does a siren,

so don’t you dare postpone your responsibilities by naming it Psyren.

Yet you put them on top, as if an angel 

told you that evil is an archangel.

Connections from siren to god

is a mockery for those that don’t have a facade. 

Love yourself for what it’s worth–

not for the punishment of your birth. 

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Siren's Curse

Archive #10 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: grah. Final poem from this series. Enjoy <3

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Siren's Curse

The feeling stills,

located deep in the heart and

washed away by emotions that don't depart. 

Such betray hasn’t been seen

in years and years, oh it’s been centuries. 

It’s not about creed

nor about faith, 

but why does the siren continue to retaliate? 

They don’t seek will or adoration,

but only sailors' shallow empty emotions. 

Thus, greed is not a problem, 

just a solution with an astrobleme. 

The star-shaped wound within the heart

drowns out singing and works of art. 

They focus on sole possessions, a measly painting

rather than just forever self-changing. 

A place verses a person can be quite the personification

for a future naive adorer’s destination. 

You compare a holy place

with a person that has no proper face.

A sailor counts

and so does a siren,

so don’t you dare postpone your responsibilities by naming it Psyren.

Yet you put them on top, as if an angel 

told you that evil is an archangel.

Connections from siren to god

is a mockery for those that don’t have a facade. 

Love yourself for what it’s worth–

not for the punishment of your birth. 

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Fairy Salt

Archive #14 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Bonjour, first poem from the Star cluster of pasque flower series is here! Enjoy :)

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Fairy Salt

Meadows, ponds, butterflies and all

The jealousy, envy towards a thrall.

To have dreams with one can break walls. 

Saturn has one too many rings to fall

Out of line, out of sight. 

Hail storms help those to recall

The attic, the dust, that was used to stall.

Oh, hail one that dares to crawl

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Sunflowers, tulips, roses and all, 

The fairy that withdraws the pall. 

A spiteful befall.

Ocean waves, known to leman,

The echoing within a shell hidden under damp sand.

Floating in space, drifting on wood.

Isolation, fear, 

Scent of salt and rotten pier.

A story told by sailors and elves alike, 

A history, a history to dislike.

An entombment used to engulf the rage, 

A minor death, left to drown and age.

One can remember some

While one can remember all. 

But she– the one who dares to question, 

Argue against her majesty, his bride, 

Remembers all.

As it was she,

Who died.  

The attic, the castle,

The meadow and the sea–

Something that one tends to forget because no one is free. 

Do you see her soul?

Do you see the fairy fly? 

Or have you forgotten 

That night– 

When the flowers started to die. 

Wither, winter, spring and grow,

The elves dancing– prancing for gold.

But one elf does not twirl or beg, 

They are meant for the flower bed. 

Lying and crying, 

Mourning and laughing. 

The smell of salt and sound of hail,

Oh, please don’t forget the veil. 

Flowers, 

The honey, the comb.

Iris, Peony, and Manuka are thrown

Not at her tomb stone, no. 

But at the majesty’s, the lord, 

And no one below.   

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Understatement

Perfection meets Perfectionist #1 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: This is different from an archive! It is one of my drafts for one of the moments in the webtoon/written fiction that I talked about in my very first post. There is another version of this, which involves the two main characters of the story. But I thought posting this one first and then the one that is more personalised. Let me know if you would like to see the "official" one!

Understatement

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It was more of a rather nice night. 

Though nice was an understatement. 

Polychromatic, astral. 

The clouds were a spread of butter on toast. 

The sunset was the jam– maybe even marmalade. 

Salted caramel can’t compare to the sea’s mist. 

For you to show leniency on my heartstrings? 

The world will deteriorate, your devotion is interdiction.  

There isn’t much room for such an ambition to ruin my depiction. 

Your perspicacity scares me, 

Torment me next, hence my jonah complex?

Eradicated, irretrievable.

Yet what is there not to regret?    

Your hand is so much bigger than mine. 

Pleading to discard the truth, 

Everyone's hands seem to be more commodious than mine. 

My world fits perfectly in my cupped hands. 

I always hope to the heavens that the water wouldn’t seep through the cracks.

Is it obvious that I was holding my breath the whole time?

That night was beautiful. 

Beautiful is definitely an understatement. 

It reminded of you– a wistful memory meant to be kissed good night. 

Was I meant to kiss you? 

Attentive jealousy, trounce dolour.

My hands are tied, with the most winsome ribbon, crafted from fallen angels to trap my small cage of a mind.

Once I step in, I have to continue until the day I dwindle, the flower can wither from its sorrows. 

But your hands are so much bigger than mine, I always can’t help but wonder how steady you can hold my world.

Would you hold my world? 

Would you drop it when I let my sirens out to the poor sailors who only want to go home?

But I guess it's too late now, huh.

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Star clusters of pasque flowers, the series

Archive #13 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: NEW POEM SERIES MENTIONED RAHHHHH!! Anyway, this one doesn't have an abstract (too lazy to make one). But basically look forward to the next following days because we got three new poems coming >:D

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Poem names:

Fairy salt

In truth

A human in a mushroom house 

Notes from poems:

Themes: meadows, jealousy, dreams, saturn, hail storms, attic, sunflower, fairy

Themes: winter, romance, moon, skies, star clusters, spring, pasque flower