revin - Hello Poetry

Huddled within boundaries highlighted by the craftier. Stubbornly, yet unwillingly willing, escorted to the connoisseurs of morality. Structured, consistent, but reembodied into randomness, the more the merrier. Spoiled, unripened, famished and fat. Pleasant, fresh, fit, chubby and… adolescent. In the name of manipulation, and its ***** messengers, we honour the catalogued pious. To Venus; the untrue, the shameful, the blasphemous. We serve peace and love, abandon the lies of Gods, join your cherished sisters below.

0

Nov 21, 2014

Nov 21, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC

vase

Huddled within boundaries highlighted by the craftier. Stubbornly, yet unwillingly willing, escorted to the connoisseurs of morality. Structured, consistent, but reembodied into randomness, the more the merrier. Spoiled, unripened, famished and fat. Pleasant, fresh, fit, chubby and… adolescent. In the name of manipulation, and its ***** messengers, we honour the catalogued pious. To Venus; the untrue, the shameful, the blasphemous. We serve peace and love, abandon the lies of Gods, join your cherished sisters below.

4

Holy, we are born. Holy, is our lives. Holy, is our love. Holy, is our sins. Holy, is our suffering. Holy, is our salivation. Graced Mother bestow us with suffering, cleanse us of divinity.

0

May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC

She, hers.

Holy, we are born. Holy, is our lives. Holy, is our love. Holy, is our sins. Holy, is our suffering. Holy, is our salivation. Graced Mother bestow us with suffering, cleanse us of divinity.

1

Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on. Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce. Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief. Belief is six feet below. Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths. Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.

0

May 20, 2014

May 20, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC

Antidepressants

Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on. Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce. Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief. Belief is six feet below. Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths. Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.

6

The words caged within are not to be discussed. Our minds and hearts are heard and seen through these words, by the deafened and the blind. No one dares to intrude with caged words. If set free, they're personal and presumptuousness alluring.. The dilemma still unsolved.

0

May 16, 2014

May 16, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC

Quotation Marks

The words caged within are not to be discussed. Our minds and hearts are heard and seen through these words, by the deafened and the blind. No one dares to intrude with caged words. If set free, they're personal and presumptuousness alluring.. The dilemma still unsolved.

5

How long must I carry on this charade?! I could end it now! My brain chooses not to... I'm torn apart between this unclear prideful life, and what lies behind the doors. I knock and knock and knock endlessly, and not a clue still of what lies behind a single door. There's a gate, a gate wide open and unguarded, but it's so far beyond lines and lines of closed doors.. Yet so apparent to the naked mind, all naked minds!

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC

The Charade

How long must I carry on this charade?! I could end it now! My brain chooses not to... I'm torn apart between this unclear prideful life, and what lies behind the doors. I knock and knock and knock endlessly, and not a clue still of what lies behind a single door. There's a gate, a gate wide open and unguarded, but it's so far beyond lines and lines of closed doors.. Yet so apparent to the naked mind, all naked minds!

3

For I only know God, believe in God, and beseech God, through you, and to you. For you beam and emit holiness, and sin. For all the sins I commit in and to your name, will proudly shine. For I will strangulate your sins to disintegration. I dub your sins and morality as mirrors of faith. For divinity, is yours alone.

0

Apr 24, 2014

Apr 24, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC

God

For I only know God, believe in God, and beseech God, through you, and to you. For you beam and emit holiness, and sin. For all the sins I commit in and to your name, will proudly shine. For I will strangulate your sins to disintegration. I dub your sins and morality as mirrors of faith. For divinity, is yours alone.

6

I loathe the possibilities. I loathe the known and unknown circumstances. I loathe the reasons. I loathe the conclusions. I loathe the recurring scenarios. I loathe the bottomless hell pits. I have yet to learn to loathe the consequences. I loathe you, Anxiety, and I loathe your comrades.

0

Apr 2, 2014

Apr 2, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC

cowardice

I loathe the possibilities. I loathe the known and unknown circumstances. I loathe the reasons. I loathe the conclusions. I loathe the recurring scenarios. I loathe the bottomless hell pits. I have yet to learn to loathe the consequences. I loathe you, Anxiety, and I loathe your comrades.

1

I would love to release whatever unspecified mess, and display whatever inexplicable emotions erupting within my chest.. I would love to be carried away by the eerie winds of despair, whistling throughout the weathered bones of mine. I would love to erase and disintegrate the haunting memories of past and present times. I would love to regain innocence, and tackle the constantly inconstant clockwork of my mind. I would love to embrace the abyss tailing the lightened end of a tunnel, leading to the lightened tunnel beyond the abyss.

0

Mar 22, 2014

Mar 22, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC

Untitled

I would love to release whatever unspecified mess, and display whatever inexplicable emotions erupting within my chest.. I would love to be carried away by the eerie winds of despair, whistling throughout the weathered bones of mine. I would love to erase and disintegrate the haunting memories of past and present times. I would love to regain innocence, and tackle the constantly inconstant clockwork of my mind. I would love to embrace the abyss tailing the lightened end of a tunnel, leading to the lightened tunnel beyond the abyss.

5

In my mind, I'm chained to the bed. The bed rests on the gallows pole. The gallows pole adjacent to temples of merciful Gods. Gods nowhere to be seen, heard, or felt. The senses numb and rust. The rust dulls the chains, I break free. I leap faithless off the gallows pole, uncertain of how high it sat on bigots' lap. I pass by the temples as I dive, no mercy to be found. Idolised figures, sanctified mortals and no sacred Gods. I'm descending aimlessly.. No ground to be found. Until I feel that skinful ground, until I see the two starry skies and until I hear the heartbeats of mercy, I'm unable to land.

0

Mar 16, 2014

Mar 16, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC

Hopelessly Anxious

In my mind, I'm chained to the bed. The bed rests on the gallows pole. The gallows pole adjacent to temples of merciful Gods. Gods nowhere to be seen, heard, or felt. The senses numb and rust. The rust dulls the chains, I break free. I leap faithless off the gallows pole, uncertain of how high it sat on bigots' lap. I pass by the temples as I dive, no mercy to be found. Idolised figures, sanctified mortals and no sacred Gods. I'm descending aimlessly.. No ground to be found. Until I feel that skinful ground, until I see the two starry skies and until I hear the heartbeats of mercy, I'm unable to land.

8

In night, day, morning and imperfect comas. Recurring three figures of one sole meaning. Each day, its variety of clouds casts different states of mind. The unrhythmic, unkind and overwhelmingly melancholic. The pleasant, warm and astonishingly beautiful. The timing and place of its occurring, determines whether to reminisce and moisturise one's skin, or to wander through rainy forests of what-ifs, and waterlog one's skin.

0

Feb 18, 2014

Feb 18, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC

Digits

In night, day, morning and imperfect comas. Recurring three figures of one sole meaning. Each day, its variety of clouds casts different states of mind. The unrhythmic, unkind and overwhelmingly melancholic. The pleasant, warm and astonishingly beautiful. The timing and place of its occurring, determines whether to reminisce and moisturise one's skin, or to wander through rainy forests of what-ifs, and waterlog one's skin.

6