25 posts
  • inara__ 46w

    Last night I visited your tombstone, my arcane latibule, with a nosegay of white lilacs. The same white lilacs you made garlands for me with your gentle tips. And embellished my cranium, just like a king surmounts his princess with a crown. But yesterday, the tree we sowed, the last token of your love, was lacerated along with our reminiscences. They dwindled and faded, just like your presence. They tried to outdo our velleities. Teardrops toppled from my eyes and dewdrops from the flowers, forging piquant tarns. Your orenda was a miracle for my cordolium. However, without you my sins and vices are turning wise inchmeal. They are trying to gulp this Minerva. But you can't sell dreams to someone who has walked through nightmares. So, at last, I just look upto the stars, shut my eyes and wish for your soul to live blithely in the the Elysian Fields.

    @jerry_21 @raika_ Thank you, guys!

    4.00 AM,
    Perfect time to post a tombstone. xD

    Ps. A line in between is from a prompt. NOT WRITTEN BY ME.

    #treec #sinc #tombstonec #dewdrops

    Thank you, for the repost WB!(._.)

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    Solus Velleity

    last night I visi
    ted y o u r tombstone,
    my arcane latibule, with a
    nosegay o f white lilacs. the
    same white lilacs you made ga
    rlands for me with your gentle ti
    ps. and embellished my cranium,
    just like a king surmounts his princ
    ess with a crown. but yesterday, the
    tree we sowed, the last token of you
    r love, was lacerated along with our
    our reminiscences. they dwindled and
    faded, just like your presence. they tri
    ed to outdo our velleities. teardrops to
    ppled from my eyes and dewdrops fro
    m t h e flowers, forging piquant tarns.
    your orenda was a miracle for my cord
    olium. however, without you, my sins and
    vices a r e turning wise inchmeal. they a r e trying
    to gulp this Minerva. but you can't sell d r e a m s to
    someone who has walked through nightmares. so,at
    last, I just look upto the s t a r s, shut my eyes and wi
    sh for your s o u l to live blithely in the Elysian Fields.


  • daphnae 51w

    I am going on a break. Will be back on 23rd. Keep writing, friends. I love you all. And thank you for everything.❤

    #mirakee #wn #pod #deceptivedecember #tombstonec

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    And the sonnets which I killed yesternight,
    (Trust me, there were so many of them)
    Seeped inside the grave I dug for my heart,
    Slowly and slowly they filled it up
    Manipulating my rhymes to fold them up.
    The skulls still had grin of satan,
    But the sunflowers on which they stamped
    promised me a beautiful graden
    adjacent to the tombstone reeked
    of the corpse of your memories.

  • say_me_krish 52w

    | Bearcat troubles |

    My life's a mess, and it all
    started when my innocent-eyed
    beards fell to the radiant braids-
    detaching the knots was hard
    since my hands weren't in sail,
    and hers were only good to leave
    back a carcass wig which was
    trained everyday with mimic lessons
    for a pretence, costing pities of a
    leaf which wasn't ready to hold
    dead xylems and suicide with
    a note of autumn, killed by a crush.
    And unfortunately, the game's on,
    and the pawns aren't carved to sleep.

    She came with a glue for the broken
    confines of my picture frames
    with promises of bondages, and the
    unknown facts that glues were glees
    and frames were to rot again
    crash my mind only after regrets invited.
    I sometimes felt that this was the darkest
    hour, and the next wouldn't bring
    something magnificent either.
    She was a nightmare dressed like a
    daydream, and I was a fool wrapped
    in a black suit which made me look fierce
    for a price of a whole 1000 dollars.
    My love was more precious though,
    but the bid price ended up to be a farewell.

    I didn't write poems for her for I
    feared that I might limit myself to only words,
    and I forgot in the flow that poets
    love ironies, and her grandfather was
    a poet too; ancestral blood flows in her,
    and it was again unknown to me.
    Love wasn't meant to be limited,
    but when souls grow distant and spaces
    expand, the telephone call cuts off.
    It was all a mere game of a queen
    in a white gown from the black sides,
    and I had to black out my pure whites
    after realizing things unseen and unheard
    from the thickest books of philosophy.

    It is now, and it is late, when I
    understand that things seem shocking
    and unknown since we wouldn't want
    to face the truth, and trust issues
    can make even an eye-specialist blind.
    I'm sorry for the mistake,
    but I'm not sorry for myself:
    I couldn't resurrect tombstones
    and cobblestones back to life,
    and I didn't want to.
    A demon with a makeover will
    still be a demon, and you cannot
    dress one into an angel's disguise.

    ~S r i K r i s h n a P S | Dec 9, 2020

    The title is explained in the comments section :)

    The phrase "a nightmare dressed like a daydream" is taken from Taylor Swift's song ~Blank space~

    @writersnetwork @writersbay @sangfroid_soul @laus_deo @kir_tiiii #skp_writes #tombstonec

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  • 300roses 52w

    @writersbay Thanks for the repost����

    #tombstonec #writersbay

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    Sweet memories are like
    my favorite paintings,
    Each cherished piece
    adorning the wall of my heart,
    I delight in their beauty
    from time to time,
    I appreciate the
    embellishment of colors
    on my heart,
    Sweet memories,
    to be relished.

    Painful memories are like
    shards of glass,
    Each broken piece
    cutting into the wall of my heart,
    I grimace in pain with every pierce
    of their sharpness,
    I pick them up
    piece by piece with care
    & bury them deep
    under the tombstone erected
    at the farmost corner
    of my heart,
    Painful memories,
    to be released.


  • sahnah 52w

    And when no longer will remain these breath
    When my place will change route from on to in the earth
    When you all will dump me heartless
    Don't care for the tombstone the slightest
    I promise I will remain there in my grave even without mentioning my name on the headstone.

  • bonitasarahbabu 52w

    PC: walmart.com

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    The epitaph on her tombstone read as this:

    She died the way she lived;
    Over caffeinated and stressed.

  • maanvi_bhagat 52w

    His eyes fell on his tombstone
    Laying in the dark graveyard
    Seeing the proof of his death
    He never imagined to be so hard
    Hearing his loved ones cry in agony
    Watching how he'd slowly died
    Seeing the pain in their eyes was
    Something he could never abide
    His eyes were ready to cry
    But had no water at all left
    And then so slowly towards him
    The dark hooded man crept

  • bclark2681 52w


    Many wasted years raced by me,
    I was feeling as though I had been
    Laid to rot beneath my tombstone,
    Life was dragging on,
    Every moment was miserable,
    Until, upon this time in life, I feel
    Resurrected and resuscitated
    And elation is filling my entire soul

  • soulfulstirrings 52w

    Wrap me in a blanket of your poetries
    And lay me to rest underneath the galaxy of your words
    Cos darling tombstones often get left behind with withering daffodils
    But sempiternal are remains of a poet's work

  • joybirdpoetry 52w

    I lay flowers at the tombstone
    of the girl I used to be
    and thank her for dying
    so that I could be free


  • brahmleen_ 52w

    <L o s t.... T o m b s t o n e s>

    The lost tombstones of dulcet moons reside
    still in between the Shakespeare clouds of puffy heart
    the blue eyes of meteors weep like an empty jargons of torn books filled with ancient cobblestones unable to let the debris wash away from it's coast

    ¦β r a h m l e e n¦

  • jlaine 52w

    Eyes of tombstone,
    Spirit of the grave,
    Beyond the moor,
    Death comes to save.


  • santor_674 52w

    Blood that caresses my feet , I could here a monstrous devil slurping and quenching it's thirst , as he pointed me - I took a sprint , gawking hither and thither - I found you nowhere around me..

    The devil sniffles and wraps me wholly with his spiky nails , helds me up to the moon- that glistenes my silhouette - I was in glee having you found - soon did the devil galloped and quenched it's thirst of the carmine fluid ..
    Stars that bound to vanish, moon that hovers amidst the shades of gloom - when death galloped my soul , the dawn poured out its tears, you were still lying beside my tombstone , hearing your sobs , I shut my weary and teary eyes , cuddling with you in heaven..

    // Traveling with me since childhood to my tombstone - I found you always at my back, I miss you my shadow//


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    Darting at the rear, thee chasing after me , vanishing in the dark, you gleam as the light pursues and surge an incandescence , emulating my actions - as I leap forward you leap along with me like a ballerina !

    I wonder why you quest for the melody in me - as for your whirls and curves, as usual holding each other - but at this instance - we land up somewhere peculiar and spooky , as the hues of dark blankets , in search of you - I stumble on the grass!

  • fallency 52w

    I stand,
    At the foot of your tombstone,
    Bowing my head in servitude
    And you lie there peacefully
    Staying tall and haughty
    Being as cold and firm in death
    As you were in life.

    With your body lying under the stone
    That once burdened your heart,
    Do you feel at ease with all the troubles gone?

    With shackles of grief gripping solitude
    Removed from your hands,
    Do you feel relieved as we pay our tribute?

    With the soft whispers of the rain
    I remember the moments I brought you pain

    With my head bowing in servitude
    Putting aside our dispute,
    I ask for your forgiveness
    For my unjust words and recklessness

    With no closure, our tale ends here
    without listening to your forgiveness,
    life remains same in your death, it's still unfair.

    With repentance and guilt filling my chest,
    I pray, reverently, for your careworn soul to be at rest.


  • pallavi4 52w


    I lie deceased and buried in the ground
    Wondering if being dead would be more fun
    It is silent except for the crawling sounds
    And the church bells that have just been rung
    I’ve heard the service was poorly attended
    With no one willing to say the eulogy
    One would think people would show more compassion
    For someone who died without a fuss in a tragedy
    Except for my sobbing wife my death hadn’t seem
    To have reduced anyone to tears
    I think most were relieved now that I was gone
    I had been distant even to the near and dear
    Left to my devices I am now that I am
    Supposedly on my way to heaven
    Although I doubt that shall ever come to pass
    I am guilty of the sins , all of the seven
    With no expectations from anyone in life
    I had lived quietly and solitarily
    With love for a drink and none for my nagging wife
    I had lived unostentatiously but precariously
    I keep wondering what epitaph they must’ve written
    Who would’ve paid for the tombstone
    It couldn’t have been my ungrateful children
    Who would be glad now to have been left alone
    Will the gravestone say that I was good
    That in life I had mattered to someone
    Or will it be bare with my name and date
    Attached with a lame excuse homespun
    My life had been lame and limp
    I’m glad that now it’s all quiet and peaceful
    So I can traverse to the doors of hell and hope
    That in death, life would be more colourful


    8th of December, 2020

    Pic credit: Pinterest, picture credited to its rightful owner, “midnight in the graveyard “

    #tombstonec #tombstone #writersbay @writersbay #dark_humour #stories_in_poems @writersnetwork #writerstolli #writersnetwork #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #thepoetrycommunity #poetry #pod #writerscommunity @mirakee

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  • trumpetcreeper 52w

    Carrying the tombstones,in the graveyard
    of my heart..
    For the dreams that died ,
    before they born...


  • daphnae 52w


    It's enough of you kissing my ends, caressing the thousands of stories hiding beneath the creases and the folds. Let me grow, and bloom till you fill me with hate and remorse. Let me fly until I fall off your coarse words. Let me wander until I find a home within your flaring breaths. The sunshine today, feels warm just like your skin against mine. Will you dare to retreat to my territory still dead and grey? Will you try to bleed red just to fill the blacks with colour? You tied knots to the strings which fell short to map our differences, unaware of the fact at how uneven and ugly those heavenly strings turned into. I watched the knots gripping us tight, so tight that neither of us could breathe sometimes. We inhaled for each other, exhaled between the kisses, held hands until we were sweating poison, closed our eyes in embraces with creepers of insecurities squeezing our hearts together.

    I started swallowing verses rhyming them to my appetite, while vomiting ugly proses as you claimed. The red lines on my hand started slipping deeper and deeper desperately. Your armour of ignorance kept you from feeling the pain and I screamed so close to you, your ears couldn't decipher the pain. I waited for you, to read between the spaces and beyond my kisses. You didn't and I struggled to breathe with patience. The wings I had, started decaying while I was living. Can I throw them away, the feathers and my hollow bones? The large knots spelling love altogether were slowly losing the strength, until finally the rotten threads broke apart. I dredged the poison in my hands on your face, you cried your agony out. Called me ruthless, pathetic names but still held onto the string with my blood on. I urged and waited and hailed, but I am sorry I couldn't anymore. I struck hard the knots to the decayed feathers behind my back and left you with them.

    //I had to find new wings 'cause I am meant to fly, and not count the strangled threads of l o v e//

    @asphodel_ @secret_letters Here you go❤

    #mirakee #wn #pod #deceptivedecember #tombstonec @writersnetwork

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  • anshika_winks 52w

    I stay near those restricted outskirts of the city hardly accompanied by anything living by nature. I get adorned by those dead and decaying flowers and leaves that are placed over me afresh but wilt with time.

    Time. All over the time I have been living here I realized that time is the most powerful element. those who visited me to put some flowers on me and shed few tears for the loss they suffered are lying next to me after some time passed.

    My life in here is kinda boring. It takes decades until I meet someone new. And all these decades I listen to the stories of the now - dead human lying in me. He tells me how he had spent all his years among humans. And by the time his life-story comes to a climax I am accompanied by another one.

    They say it's hard to breathe in here, but I hardly care. I was a wood ,chopped by a wood-cutter, shaped in a factory , polished by a worker and placed in this cemetery where I still lay.

    People get afraid to come here but see the irony, I'm their final destination and beyond me what they see is heaven or hell.

    I am a tombstone and nobody bothers
    But when I speak the silence silences...
    ~Tombstone ( Anshika ��)

    #tombstonec @writersbay
    #mirakee #pod #writersnetwork

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  • wilmaneels 52w

    Would the words we utter
    Ever make it to our tombstones
    Would we shy away
    If our thoughts were
    Engraved on them
    We forget that our choices
    Ultimately span into the life we live

    May we never bow our heads in shame
    When our thoughts or actions
    Magically appears
    In places our memories are celebrated
    *image credit to rightful owner*

  • _creatingworldsthatdonotexist_ 52w

    Once upon a time, it happened and it did not, it was and it wasn't, she laughed or maybe hid behind bushels of tears, as the old stories or perhaps the most nascent, go. I don't want to be a fairy tale. There isn't a genre my twisted curls, shabby walk, untamed tears, succulent words and unapologetic fiascoes fit perfectly into like the puzzle pieces I spent hours with, as a kid. When you hold me, between your index and thumb and let light graze the edges of my home, it tastes fear stirred into bottles of energy drinks and smells love numbed by sleep pills. It dare not return a second time. Darkness is a feeling, the dark - a creature and more often than i let it shroud me, it ravages the seams of my broken orchard, enters me unknocked and holds my guard up for me. If all my memories were a hill of raw stardust and my most recent ones, the peak, I'd be dead at the foot of it before I'd reach the tinge of warm hues that only heartfelt smiles bestow. Its an almost surreal transition and the dichotomy is blinding. i see dandelions and emperor butterflies and crowning them, i see rivers of skulls with hollow eye sockets and bulbous nose tips.

    It is on days like this, that i wish to know no language so i can hear but choose not to listen. It is on days like this that I realize the power of words and i wish to cease. It is on days like this that living seems like staring at death in the mirror, existing seems like trying to get rid of a malignant tumour that has already dug deep enough and butchered my roots to deserve a mention on my tombstone, and breathing seems like inhaling fumes of a brook that's evaporated because hope can't stay liquid for too long.

    And if I leave, know that it was not sudden. You don't fly with feathers, birdie. You fly with a wing. And if you feel like leaving too, the exit is on the right. Eventually, my words will make more sense than they're supposed to. Eventually, they will testify that it was not random letters and feelings wrestling for recognition that were being written everyday. Eventually, someone will pick me up as an epistolary and read me from cover to cover and know I was looking for love but I fear it'd be too late. Eventually, i will be resurrected. The murals on my walls will get smudged with my tears and swans will waddle to me with pearl beads around their necks. Its funny how mommy mixes a little bit of the venom of words that toss and barbeque my heart in the heat of guilt in her porridge every time and feeds me with her hands but when i turn blue and green and black in the end, she will forget what i had for breakfast that morning. The forensics will say flour and milk and sugar but I hope you will know better.


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