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azurePond
16 1,383 M Little Steps 4
Calm on the surface, but with some serious ripples underneath. Watch out for the occasional duck!
PathStep 4 Compassion hearts253 Forum posts70 Forum upvotes131 Current upvotes131 Age GroupAdult Last activeNovember, 2024 Member sinceOctober 3, 2024
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The Midnight Sea
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 18 hours ago
...See more Every day, I greet the sea, Its surface smooth like glass, The sun a bright torch above, Leading me into the blue. I glide through sunlight, Each stroke a dance, The world above fading, Lost in the rhythm of the depths. But tonight, An unfamiliar pull calls to me, The moon a quiet witness As I slip beneath the surface, The water a dark shroud, Whispers weaving through the currents, Drawing me deeper, Away from the light. I swim with abandon, The thrill of the unknown, Bioluminescence flickering, The familiar now feels eerie, The ocean’s breath heavy. A flicker of movement— Something brushes past me, A fleeting shadow, My pulse quickens, The thrill now tinged with fear. Salt bites my lips, sharp and briny, A sudden swirl of currents, Whirling around my legs, The water presses in, Thick and heavy. I turn to swim towards the coast, Waves gently pull me back. I glance up; The moon hangs low, Casting ghostly light, But the surface feels distant, Lost as minutes stretch, The depths shift, And suddenly the water Is no longer cold, But alive, Writhing, Pulling me under. I scream—
A Dragon's Tale
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 Thursday
...See more In a far-off land,   The king was cold but just,   The queen loved beauty and finer things   But was kind, and held the people's trust.   Prince and princess worked the fields,   No gap between the throne and earth;   Though some lived in humble hovels,   Hunger was no longer a curse.   The castle stood with walls of glass—   All could see within;   Yet no one threw a stone to break,   For no hatred had ever been.   A lone guard stood by the gate,   There without duty to fulfil,   A quiet symbol of royalty,   In a place so safe and still.   Then a witch came seeking shelter,   Bruised and half-burnt,   With nowhere else to flee;   Abandoned by her own mother And the guard saw herself in her.  The witch  begged the guard  To let her in—   Her brother, her father, dead—   An orphan with no one left,   No life waiting ahead The guard’s heart broke,  And she let her pass;   The king showed pity and care,   Offering the witch a place to guard,   To serve the crown and his heirs.   The witch cast spells, The glass turned red,   Walls thickened, closing tight;   Roses with iron thorns grew tall—   A fortress hidden from sight.  The witch with her half-burnt face,   Chipped front teeth,   And honeyed words to say.   The king felt grateful;   The queen, displeased—   But glad for a hidden room,   Safe from the king’s prying gaze.   The prince received an iron knight,   Venturing forth, alone;   With that magical knight by his side,   He never returned home.   The princess drank a love potion,   Meant for her heart’s desire—   But instead, fell deep asleep,   Lost in a dreamland fire.   The guard saw it all, warned the witch—   But the witch laughed, sneered:   "They don’t need you anymore,"   With anger and desperate fear, The guard drew her sword to cut the vines;   The witch cried out in feigned alarm—   "The guard’s gone mad!  She breaks our wards!"   And the king took her post away.   Now the guard, demoted low,   Served the queen, cloaked in grief;   Yet the witch’s hatred grew,   Her malice simmered beneath.   She poisoned minds and the land And soon enough,   The hungry people threw stones high;   One struck the queen, who cried in pain—   And the rebels were cast aside With witch's magical sway And the queen was pleased,  Much to the guard's dismay. Then the witch hid bees   In the queen’s cup,   Their stings sharp on her majesty’s brow;   The witch turned, blamed the guard,   Turning light to shadow.   The guard was cast out,   And lies spread far and wide—   One rebel in the cell was claimed   To have died by the guard’s own hand,   Or so the people cried.   They stoned the guard,   Tied her down to a stake,   No one heeds her word.   Just as they lit the fire, The witch came close to the guard, Disguised in a black veil, To rescue the abandoned. The witch's twisted grip held firm, Her whispered words dark and low: “We are the same,” she said, Stroking the guard's dishevelled hair. “We protected those Who would rather burn us bare,  Still, why do you care?” The guard trembled, though safe now,   For each touch burnt—   Each stroke a searing pain,   Each whisper darker and dire Promising tales of eternal servitude  In hellfire. Then the witch cut the guard’s hair, Gave her a smiley mask to hide her face, Bestowed a new name, Led her to the castle, Claiming her as heir. The king had lost his mind, After slaying his unfaithful wife. The witch ruled with an iron fist, Brutally massacring rebels, Teaching her heir to float above bloodshed, To dance in the shadows of fallen foes, To crush a rose until it bled. Each petal a lesson in betrayal, Each thorn, a reminder of pain. She made her heir recite the unholy code: “To love is to kill, to trust is to lose, To cry is to fail, to fail is to die.” The heir parroted those words, Though a voice inside her roared to stop, A spark of fire flickering in the dark. The witch offered her heir the best of the best— Freshly poisoned apples, Venomous snakes as pets. Her power cloaked in terror, Yet beneath it all, The witch feared the fragile humans Who smiled genuinely at her heir. On those days, she starved the heir, Then fed her rusty nails, A twisted game of power and pain. Yet in quiet hours, The heir dreamed of freedom, Where love didn’t bind, Where trust didn’t betray. Holding onto whispers of hope, An ember of defiance, A will to escape. One night, the heir threw away her mask  And set fire to the witch’s rose garden, The guard’s bold act met with a cruel fate. Locked away in a dungeon of grey, With a grilled window facing eternal night, The stench of decay and dead bodies lay. But a firefly entered, burning bright, Like a thousand shining stars. “Who are you?” asked the guard. “I am you,” said the firefly, “For my fire is born from the fire within you, A spark of your spirit, a flame breaking through.” Then the firefly sang of guardians bold— Dragons with scales of shimmering gold, Wings that could soar and breathe heaven's fire. “Where is my dragon? Where is my saviour? Where was it when they tied me to the stake? Where was it when I vomited in shame After my first kill, my heart nearly pulled out?” The guard, with resentment, Tried to swat the flame, But it slipped through the darkness And she missed the light. Yearning for warmth, she felt despair rise. The next day, A glowing worm graced the eternal night, On one of those decaying bodies. “Are you too born of my fire?” the guard asked with a sigh. “Yes,” said the worm softly, “it’s true.” In that moment, a truth struck her clear, The fire she sought was already hers. “How do I get my fire?” she inquired. “Embrace the darkness, let your pain arise, For fire is born not from light alone, But from the ashes of battles fought, won, and lost. Learn to love, learn to trust, learn to cry, learn to fail— Break the chains that bind your soul. In the depths of despair, find your roar, For only then can you unlock the door.” With each whispered word, strength ignited, A flicker within her. For the first time in forever, she let her tears spill, Chose to trust the glowing worm, To find the flame within that burned with love and light. The guard’s body grew as the dungeon shrank small, Golden scales shimmered, Sharp nails like swords. Dungeon walls trembled, broke with a sound, As the castle toppled, crashing down to the ground. With a mighty roar, the guard made her stand, Magical sentinels charged with spears in hand, But they fell with a thud, efforts in vain, Not even a scratch on the dragon’s thick hide. Then the witch appeared, her face filled with dread, “How could you unlearn what I taught?” she said. “How could you be ungrateful? I raised you!” The dragon paused. “I saved you!” the witch yelled. The dragon, with fury, summoned her fire, But only black smoke rose. The witch broke out into sarcastic coughs And sneered, “A dragon without fire is just an oversized dog.” But the dragon stood tall, spirit ablaze, Determined to conquer--  Even though she failed, With one final effort, she focused her might, The witch stood her ground, Confident as if she had already won the fight. Out came the fire, a brilliant display— Heaven’s fire erupted, Banishing everything owned by night.. And then, there was light. Tagging @BastionKnight —I’m not sure if it’s a positive muse, but it does have a positive ending!  @withpeACE  I took a leaf out of your book and tried to channel my inner strength and hope
The witch with a bee
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 Friday
...See more Trigger Warning: This poem explores themes of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. She’s a witch, but with a bee, On her black veil, Casting spells to sting me “Disgrace” becomes the chant, Wrapping around those who listen. Smiling with her chipped front teeth, While grinding her molars. The victim in every scandal, No human is innocent, But she is, Quite an abomination. The lady with red lips, Poisoning every apple she plucks, Not for Snow White, but for the dwarves, Turning them against the maiden. "Shouldn’t have broken up with that lawyer; You could’ve used someone stable and sensible.” As if you didn’t paint me As the madwoman – Setting fires and wrecking gardens at night, Someone who should be shackled  In a basement, without light “Is he your friend? He doesn’t want the family business, right? Surround yourself with responsible people.” While you fear his insight And how he sees through your facade. “Is she your best friend? So sad her dad left for someone younger. But don’t get too close; Shame clings to the shameless.” Shameless? You, who trap innocents in honeyed lies And make them parrot those lines While they stone me to death. “Anxious? Just focus on happiness; It’s all in your head. Why don’t you smile more?” As if a smile is a filter I could wear, To maintain the illusions you’ve laid, So others won’t glance too closely, too near, To spot the fractures in this veneer. Compliments wrapped in barbs, Kindness that stings, Honesty, a mere mask, Disguised cruelty within. Can’t you see I’m screaming While she’s scheming? Always near my head buzzing As I flail my hands To swat the invisible bees around. The people laugh, “Oh, she’s mad, alright!” I wish I could stone a beehive, Feel their venom, feel their bite, To finally show the world visible scars But she takes the sympathy, Wields the pity— This is her stage, And she decides our roles. The benevolent queen With red lips and a black veil decides, I’m the ungrateful stray, The rabid dog whom she tries to coddle, But bites back. PS : This narrative is purely fictional. Also, no disrespect to the Evil queen from Snow White or anyone who wears a black veil.
The Murder of a Rose
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 Thursday
...See more Trigger Warning: This poem contains a gruesome onscreen murder of a rose and allusions to hitting a rabbit with a hammer. Rest assured, no roses or rabbits were harmed in the making of this poem—I'm not a serial killer! This is purely a work of fiction exploring the theme of corruption. In twilight’s grip, the garden breathes, The lady in the black leans close, whispers, “Behold this rose— I’m going to pull apart its petals, One by one.” I halted her fingers, heart racing. “Why this madness?” I dared to ask. “Beauty will always be killed. It’s the law of the night,” she replied, “Like a soft, sweet rabbit, You’d want to kiss it with a hammer. To cherish the lovely, you must trample it down.” Her laughter flickered like fireflies. “What’s gained from destruction?” I questioned, “Why break what could bloom?” “Love is to shatter, to dance in despair, To cradle the fragile, then leave it bare.” But she drifted away, As if debate were futile. Relieved, I watched the rose remain unscathed, In the early light of morning, Thriving, pure, bright— Each day, a silent testament. Yet, shadows crept in, Why can’t I sway free? Why does sunlight crown the rose with rainbows While casting only shadows upon me? So, in the dead of night, When the moon was cloaked in clouds, I slipped through the garden, I plucked the rose— My hands bled on her thorns, Red drops mingling with earth. I threw it down, And began to stomp… Thud Squish Groan Petals crushed beneath my fury, Blending blood, tears, and dirt. When the clouds parted, Moonlight revealed the crime— A horror to behold. I kneeled in the dirt, And my fingers tried to scratch out the petals My nails broke, Only dirt, blood and grime remained Cold against my hot skin. I looked towards the house, the window— My vision blurred, but I saw The lady in the black veil, watching me, A crooked smile twisting her lips. The chill breeze whispered in her voice, “See how the pure is tainted; It is the way of the night.”
A thank you to all the beautiful souls here!
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 Thursday
...See more Hello! I am azure pond, An oversized puddle, really! Where dreams come to float And occasionally drown. I try to be serene, But let’s face it, I’m just a stage for frogs, Who croak “just calm down”, And ducks who think they know better, While I just ripple with embarrassment. Every time a breeze blows, I totally lose it, Becoming a hazard zone— “Look at me, I’m a trending disaster!” As if I’m in the “Water Wars: The Pond Strikes Back,” With waves that I clearly lack. And when the sun shines bright, I reflect all my flaws: The algae doubles as my green screen, That hides everything ugly within me The skeletons of the pasts And the picnic leftovers from last week— Yes, that was a sandwich, not a relic! And let’s not forget those moments of, “Oops, did I just swallow that?” Sometimes I dream of being A majestic lake, But let’s be honest— My chances for promotion would be tossed In the shredder by Baikal and Teal, Who wouldn’t even follow me back on ‘X.’ Yet, here come the heroes— The noble souls who scoop me out, Splashing in my muddy depths, Proclaiming, “Look at her!” While I’m thinking, “Seriously? I’m just nature's glorified bathtub!” But they dip their fingers into my heart, Like I’m someone worth to be held, While I’m just trying to keep it together. So here’s to the folks who love me, The pond in disarray— Thank you for the occasional visits, And the words of encouragement Thank you- For making me feel like an ocean, Even when I’m just a waterlogged mess, Floating through life, One ripple at a time...
Cassandra
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 Friday
...See more They call me crazy   For what I see,   For urging them to look   Past the smiles,   Past the perfect screens For screaming my silence   In this world of endless noise   I watched my mind burn once—   Watched my words scatter   Like ash in the wind. Now I see minds break,   Watch lives go quiet,   While my warnings drift away   Like spams in the feed. So I type warnings—   Threads, comments,   In pixels that glow   But remain unseen. Everyone’s moving fast,   But not forward,   Scrolling past fire,   Past wars Past a boiling planet They scroll right past   The cries for care,   The quiet grief,   The broken spirits   Wrapped in polished tags. I scream,   In comments lost,   Fingers racing like flames   Across the cold unfeeling keys They dismiss my words—   “Too dramatic, too much,”   Smothering the silent truth   Under a relentless noise. Still, I’m here, A prophet lost in pixels,   Truth drowned in likes   And I’m still here,   Voice cracking like glass Whispering to the void,   To the shadows,   Hoping someday   Someone   Finally   Listen.    (PS - The photo is the painting of Cassandra by Evelyn De Morgan. I do not own the art.)
A King's Gambit
Poetry / by azurePond
Last post
 October 27th
...See more In the opening, he sets the stage, Controlling the board, Not just a warrior in battle, But a grandmaster in life’s chess. I’m his little girl, Believing he could checkmate anyone. I’ve watched him obliterate foes, Like pawns falling on a mental board, He is deathly Like a rook on the open file. I envied his certainty, How he read people, Predicting moves and decisions, Even the weather— Like the time I trusted a sunny forecast, No umbrella, came home drenched, He scolded me while drying my hair. But yesterday, he opened up about Feeling powerless when his father died. Surprising, for two who played in black and white, Always arguing, always fighting, And in those final games, he was winning. “I had no one to look up to after his passing,” he said, “No one to best in arguments, No one to gloat to. Now I just look up to the sky.” And I realised That’s why he knows when it will rain— Always watching the clouds. And on a clear day, he sets the table outside, This time I play his white, and he plays grandpa’s black, And sometimes I wonder, do I play his past moves? Does he see the young him staring at him across the board? Will he see his own dreams mirrored in my play, As we navigate the game of life, together yet apart? Two figures on a chessboard, Each with a guarded heart, Bound by a silent struggle, Yet rivals by design.
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