always the poet, never the poem [ dark academia playlist ] 

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“Always the poet, never the poem” Wow that hit hard 😔

“A toast to Emily! Always the brides maid, never the bride.”

I used to dream And write poems of my dreams And live the poems in my dreams Until dreams ran out Of dreams So then I ran out of poems Now I dream of having dreams And I write of writing poems. What a poet

I just wrote a small poem: Am I too soft or is love too hard? Or is it just because I feel too much even though I'm empty and numb? So what is the point of having a heart? The point of having a heart is to pump your blood through your weins not to catch feelings for someone who would easily let you bleed out - just a random sad person to another random sad person

He was always the poet, never the poem. She was always the artist, never the art. But he was her art, and she was his poem.

*The haunting beauty of dark academia melodies lies in their ability to capture the essence of unspoken longing and quiet contemplation, weaving a tapestry of emotions that linger long after the music fades*

In a perfect world Im the art, the artist and the muse In a perfect world Paint run in my arteries, and on my skin words bruise In a perfect world My love is complete, i have nothing to lose In a perfect world Beauty follows my footsteps, and within grace i diffuse In a perfect world the poet, or the poem, i dont have to choose

I, the poet? I once read poetry, and thought: what a weight to feel so deeply as these poets do, to seek the slightest relief through bleeding ink. Yet, here I am now, scribbling my burdens and emotions, ink seeping through every page, trying to remedy my heavy heart.

was solving biology papers for my exam next week and suddenly overwhelmed by an intense urge to cry, I scribble furiously under the dim lights words i can not bring myself to recite

To the person reading this, Good Luck! Don't stress, everything will be fine. No matter what difficulty you are facing right now, you can overcome it! You are strong and brave.

Why is it so hard to find another poetic soul

Just a short story 😁 POV: You’re sitting in the back of your boarding school library and hear the faint melody of a violin in the distance. You look around surprised by the lovely melody, but you continue reading your book thinking it must be coming from another room. But you’re in a library how could the swift notes be hitting your ears? You get up and let your ears lead you through the bookshelves finding the violin growing louder and louder until the music becomes so clear you can pick apart each beautiful note. It was almost like it was right next to you. You leaned your head against the books closest to the music. It’s a secret room! But how to get in? You start to feel the bookcase looking for a latch or a door nob to pull. The violin ends and you hear gentle clapping and small chatter. Your hand feels an all too sturdy vase on a top shelf. You lift the heels of your feet and pull the vase. “Yes!” You say as you hear a satisfying click. As the bookcase opens into a door, you’re fueled with curiosity until you slowly open the door and realize the mistake you just made as a small society of schoolmates stares back at you. This is my first time writing publicly so please don’t hold back any critistsim I need the tips!🥰

Love is a cruel companion When you expect it the least, Love lights you up, Makes you think you have found life - Life in its purest essence Makes you forget yourself Makes you care When there is no going back, Love stabs you, Right into the stomach Drains the life out of you Makes you realize you haven't found life - Life has left you long ago When you bleed, Love doesn't stitch your wounds It makes them burn Burn with the pain of caring Until you crumble into pieces That's when love decides to be a villain

i so love the dark academia/poetic community, it's just different with y'all

I hear these songs, they tingle my note of truth, yet the girls walk, strutting out the bar door to another. Yet I wonder if it was I they walked into the next room to. Would we see exactly what we wanted to see? An eternal sand chest of treasure opening to me? Or would be yet another voice, continuously bothering another

24:28 it's like you love someoneso so wholly and find someone so beautiful that it wreckes your whole being and takes away all your pride. and your love is just painfully there without the slightest hope of ending and is reflected in your every thoughts and everything you see. and you are utterly helpless. and she knows it. and then she is there, so beautifully, she is so unbelievably beautiful its gut-wrenching and then sometimes she looks back in your eyes for a single moment. and you know she knows. and she is so beautiful, abused and hurt, bleeding out in the open, abandoned, full of scars, hatefully destroying herself while searching for your eyes for that one moment. she knows it and she knows and she cant reciprocate and your heart is already in pieces but you are still unable to look away.

who caused the poet in me to die? or was it never meant to live? i cannot comprehend; was i a better poet when i was a free soul, when i had wings to fly but no reason to weep and pull them out, when i smiled till my eyes squinted? or now, when the sorrow in my heart has weighed me down? when i was the mesmerising aura everyone wanted to be around? or when i am cornered like a dark grey shadow of misfortune? when my hands quivered with excitement? or now, from the ghosts of trauma? when my laughter would fill the room and i would not hesitate? or now, when i suffocate myself with my hands and hide my thoughts on sheets of papers to find some solace? when i did not have to seek reasons to be content? or now, when i have to calm my poor soul and trick it into believing that my mind is not weathering, it's not out of control, and i won’t be the mad king in history? when mothers used to adore me? or now, when mothers in hospital corridors drag their kids out of my reach? when i wrote because i couldn't measure the love pouring out of my veins? or now, when my eyes cannot contain the tears they have long beheld? is the poet in me just sprouting? or has its bones too dissolved in the soil it is buried in?

It's a desperate surrender to grasp love before pain ever touched your heart but in order for that to be possible, we have to say goodbye while looking back into our own eyes.

I’ve wrote so many poems about people, but I feel like no writes poems about me. I don’t even write poems about me.

“I want to be with you. It's as simple, and as complicated as that.” - Bukowski Thank you for lovely music

This music is so beautiful, it centers me and helps me write. I keep getting told that I have“an old soul” while still being in the spring of my life. My hairdresser specifically tells me this every time I see her. I laugh along and brush it off in confusion, but tonight I really understand what she means. Since we’re both very spiritual, we discuss things like rebirth and dreams being a gateway to lost memories. Oftentimes I think back on the dreams I have, the people I see and interact with and love in my dreams are people who I don’t know while awake, yet it feels like I’ve known them for a lifetime. Oftentimes I’ll remember something that never happened, reading a letter in neat cursive while sitting on a beach on a gloomy morning or icy cold water as I struggle to breathe. At this point in my life, I now have a whole cardboard box filled with poetry and short stories, most about these lost people and memories, that I’ve typed out on my grandfather’s typewriter.

I love this kind of playlists, I love people in the comments of this kind of playlists even more

This playlist awakened some sort of story in me, and I decided to capture that in a poem! Here it is. :) The Poet - (roughly) a Kyrielle To pick my pen is but a chore; to set my lamp and write words bores The yellow-tinted light reflects on Always the poet, never the poem What I long for: a poetic partner One who writes of me as I write of departure. But newly, not nearly as ho-hum Always the poet, never the poem Shall I write for loved ones or foes? Or a note of what stands me on my toes? I ponder, there, in the glow of the lamp. Always the poet, never the poem Life: living, breathing, leaving When shall I write a thanksgiving, a letter, to that person-the one Always the poet, never the poem I shall meet, someday, thee beneath a grand willow tree The one who writes of me; always the poet, never the poem. Note: It's from the perspective of a poet who is kaput because other poets admire them, but never write about or appreciate them enough. The narrator (poet) longs for a partner to write with, but there are grim chances of that happening. By the way, (if you read to the very end) thank you so much, beautiful soul!! I know the poem is kind of long and not that well-written, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

When listening to your playlists I find my peace, it allows my mind to quiet and focus on what needs to get done. Thank you for giving me a space to do this

This playlist is amazing. I'm listening to it while writing and nothing can distract me.

Always the poet, never the poem.. Personally, I prefer to be the one that made someone the art they already were, I'd want for them to last longer. In the same manner, I'd much rather prefer to watch the moon twirl and stars dance from within the reflection of someone else's eyes, they tend to shine brighter there. I mean.. Anyway, lovely playlist

Only found your channel within the last week, just wanted to say thank you for bringing peace to a soul wanting for more x

Beautiful as always! Thank you! ❤

Yet another beautiful piece of art to listen to on repeat while studying. Thank you!

"Your words are filled with such authenticity" that's what happens when you are forced to sit with hurricanes in times of loneliness. They forge such a deep feel of grave to everything around you. Your words start to sound poetic that people tend to miss the sharpness around it. They swoon and remark your pen skills yet the delight to your words is not what you wanted them to see. Like a fool who remarks a renoir fragment because its really defined, they fail to hear the silent cries and tears behind the art. You say you have an eye for art, leisurely you pick at people who feel deeply for simple things and can't even feel a thing towards your own self. Aesthetically you are pleased and the void in you screams at the lack of understanding of what's before you. I am not just a poet, I rage the lines of different worlds and bring them together for those who relate.

Always glad to see new videos on your channel

I can't let gang know I fw this 🫱🏾🫲🏾

I don't feel sadness anymore I only sense peace of mind

Lovely playlist! Inspiring.

why is it that I'm always the poet but never the poem; when I looked in your eyes I thought I was home. is it really love when all I did was give? you made me feel loved at least I thought you did. I was afraid that all you would do was take, I was afraid of our love and what we could make. I wanted to protect you from everything. my sadness, my sorrows, my suffering. I wonder what do I look like in your eyes, Am I the villain who always will be no matter what could arise? yes I still love you but that's why I'm gone, you deserve more than this heart full of thorns. Why am I so fascinated by you? "he's just a boy." how I wish that were true. he was my first love, woven together with those amber eyes. he's calm and serene. Damnit why do you still care when I've been nothing but mean?! How do I love you when you've been such a stranger? I try to get to know you but all you do is linger. I loved you the way I wanted to be loved but I never told you did I Aaden? A man of little words who was only ever nice to me. but I was the one to break it. - H.J

Gracias desde el corazón ❤

Juzto cuando la nesecitaba...✍🏻

La belleza, la armonía y la tranquilidad que me transmite el percibir esta particular música, me genera naturalmente un sentimiento de gratitud, me inspira a escribir este comentario con el objetivo de agradecer al canal por el hecho de compartirlo. El Poema puede ser de quien lo necesite, en cambio, el Poeta es y será de su sentir.

HELDER .... GRACIAS POR TUS OBRAS,INSPIRAN A CREER A SENTIR SOÑAR...LEER Y ESCRIBIR EL AMOR SIEMPRE....✍️🎶🤍

I'm thinking about that title, brother or sister. really makes me think, Idk...and whatever you mean by it, there is a sense of not wanting to *be* (or end up) as one of my songs or poems in me. on a few levels actually. for one, poems are lying on the road of life, while you keep driving. I wouldn't wanna lay there, too. thrown out the window. secondly, not just looking at how you'll move on, the stories that those poems tell may be of scenarios you wouldn't wanna be imprisoned in forever anyway. not even the rather sweet ones. an endless vacation of bittersweet joy, cakes, candles, daisy chains and laughs would make you miss the other facets of your longings, your sorrows, your memories, your hopes. you'll always wanna miss someone, you'll need to weep now and then. and thirdly I wouldn't want to be abandoned in a shelf by the loving hand that made me. so, I guess there's a few reasons to be disconnected from one's poetry...and now's the part where I feel like I sould say "but there's more reasons not to", but this isn't a story, it's me, typing along to your playlist after being moved by your video's title and subsequently being drawn in completely by the great tracks you chose. this video ran for almost half its runtime now and those were thoughts that your title made me think, just let go. thank you for making me feel this way and for causing me to think these thoughts, much love from Kiel in northern Germany ❤

Trust me. Being the poet saves you much trouble. Be glad

This is not really related to the title or anything... I just thought I'd share this while listening to this music. Last year I met the most wonderful girl. Funny, beautiful, kind, with similar interests as mine. she was kinda perfect. (She had her flaws of course but everyone has them, it's what makes us human. But she was still perfect to me.) the last year was just amazing. we were spending most of our time together: doing our hobbies together, talking for hours until one of us fell asleep (her most times haha), we knew each other like we were literally the same person. A month ago, she broke up with me. Not because she doesn't love me anymore, or she found someone better, no. She broke up with me because she and her family are moving out of state and she is too fucking afraid to even try long-distance relationship! No matter how hard I tried to make her realize "we can make this work!" she wouldn't listen. Now she's not here anymore, and I'm broken. I miss her so fucking much. I miss her touch, I miss her scent, I miss listening to records together in my bed, I miss watching my favorite movies with her. I'm depressed. I stopped crying after about a week but I can't stop thinking about her. I go to sleep hugging my pillow and just thinking about her and our conversations trying to remember her voice. I started to think about killing myself a couple days ago... I just can't really go on like this. I know that "it'll get better", and "time heals all wounds" - that's what everyone's been telling me. But she was perfect! It's so hard to find someone who's perfect for you these days in this mad world... and I found it and she fucking gave it up. I'm doing my best to keep going but I continue to imagine myself going one night to the sea and just swim as far as I'm able to. Sorry if I ruined someone's day haha just wanted to share this.

Siempre el poema. "El poeta es un fingidor" (Pessoa)

He is speed I am balance - Forest Beware of what you heed, Choose wisely the thoughts you feed, There is no bad in your darkest wraith, Nor goodness in your deepest faith, But are you certain of the freedom you think, Is it putting you high, or making you sink, Are you losing your mind on your funeral wreath, Or rather aware of what's on your breath, Every thought in your mind is kind of a seed, Have you assured the roots of all of your needs ? With certainty can you claim fatherhood, Or comes it certainly from all other woods. A lifetime is barely enough, To fathom how truth is fair as is rough, Hence subtle, complex and deep, Layers after layers endlessly indeed, The devil is not only a foe, It's also a guide who should not be followed, He lies in blood he lies in fame, Thirst and greed bezels of its flame, The bird of Hermes is one of his name, Eating his wings to make evil tame... When we dislike the taste of our fruits, We should be brave to follow the roots. The truth seeker must be agile, Not with his head, within his mind, Should asks his heart if he's fragile, And be prepared to what he might find... He is speed I am balance - Yggdrasil Sour seems to taste some of Her kisses, Sharp as a knife to shorten Her own pieces, Poor feelings yet rely on Her wisdom, Finding in Life a tool to sharpen our freedom. Overcome Life without any pain, Does not ensure the fastest lane, Resistance leads to strength and glory, Without it could we say «Now I'm happy» ? Declining gloom and sorrow Does not make the path less narrow, Well and wrong are only matter of perceptions, As any song has up and down for vibrations, Denying doom and shadows Withhold Gardens bloom in meadows, Have you played and drew the best from your cards, In a landscape game inside your yards, Even the greatest bird Comes from a nest, Now free in wind's Verb Mother tree was also a test, As well as the prettiest flower Dwelling with dirt and worms, It is terms of power To blossom first through storms. There is no line you cannot cross, To reach despair or pursue bliss, Are you choosing to feed your loss, Rather than fight for inner peace, Neither mean, or shy, Your true nature is kind, An eye for an eye, and the whole world goes blind. He is speed I am balance - Bird Only real eyes witness true dies, And realize weakness through lies, Behold on what you idealize, Brittle's the home from other's tiles, It is easy to wear a disguise, To be lazy, and mesmerized, It'll suits you sunset to sunrise, Here is a clue, it is not at your size, Fooled when too large but comfortable, When very small you won't be able To grow your own way, original skin, No better or worst than one of your kin, Remove the mud you've kept in your glass, You're not a slug crawling in grass, But a flourishing bud, fresh and green, Delighted to hug to dispel the spleen, Under The Light, His Presence within, Walking bare feet would be wiser, Son Is stillness, the Father Is moving, Accepting you're lost to finally find Her, Whether on Earth or lost in the void, Hide in the heart, must be unfolded, The sleeping sprout in every Man's chest, More than a quest His plan is a fest ! Moving forward, learn and laugh, then take action, Here, request has never been for high perfection, Though, «You won't seek...« once said Rumi, «If you would have not already found me.» He is speed I am balance - Akasha Dust, made of Silver Lights, Lust, one of your inner fights, Trust, ruled by a Golden Star Must to fly high, jump and dive far, But there is no space and there is no time, Follow your pace, dime after dime, The sum is in your mirror reflection, One takes you in cosmic affection, Beyond sounds and human's words, Father and Sons wield the same sword, You need no ears even less books, Life gives you more than what really took, Its name is Always, Its birthday never, Without It within you, you won't be clever, Its address nowhere, yet in each atom, The realm of a smile and you will feel at home, Candles on the shelf, It's always Its birthday, You might find Yourself, Following Its birds way

i noticed that everybody's sharing their poems, and i have nowhere to put mine, so i hope it's ok: i just can't imagine, how you could be so okay, that i'm gone? even though it is a lie and you will always be the one i sit and stare at you at us at our photo why do i care so much when it was supposed to be for fun? though is it just me? who cries all night writing poetry? it's sad and confusing if i should wait and hope for you to see that i'm still here or just to forget you, knowing how impossible that would be the person who seemed as the worst option "not my type" turned out to be the only one i wanted near myself to see it's crazy how i have to love you in silence, cuz i only hear the voices in my head how i was wrong, it's all my fault, all of that was me

What if you’re the poem but they never tell you about it so you never find out 😢😭💔❤️‍🩹

Damn! The caption hit me like a truck. Beautiful playlist though.

♥

The Totured Poets Department

10 45

the ad skip doesn't work anymore :-(

hi helder! do you happen to know where your colleague “nobody” has disappeared to? for some reason I'm worried about him :( p.s. thanks for the wonderful music

Can you put the songs somewhere

Will you put this playlist on your Spotify?

what is the name of the first painting please?

does anyone know what song starts at 6:41? would be much appreciated

what is the name of the piece at 4.45?

Ads= money

Nice grammar. Even though as a grammar nazi I’m sure those brackets are being misused *cough* cough*

Not rlly a poem but enjoy For once, what if I was the one on paper? The one that gave the paper meaning. The ink words written in cursive letters. What if I was the one directed to those words? For once, what if I were the poem?