Come a little closer...


View the news and
gourge on the slide show
Pluck every strand that you
need from the rainbow:
Take away the voyeurs stance
and get up front and personal

In their face and just above
the bleeding cavity..

Now drink in the depravity

Bend down and peer inside
A beating heart did there reside
Collateral damage
She'll never clock eight

Nor any of nine
ten or eleven..

Stare into dilated eyes
to know these
acts of retribution
and feel aoerta showered
flower blossoms

Pool at your feet:

They're not yours to keep but
it won't be long before
you're knee deep in blame and

Reminiscing all the outrage
and the planes
and how those
Towers fell
The tracks of claret
on the Tube
And double deckered
burnt out shells
The back pack carnage
in Madrid
The ******* of
Islamists
Of course
you never
ever thought

Revenge
would only

lead to this..

You just need to
move those toes
and spy how she flows to
the rivers of many
to find out:

You're shrapnel.

A not so ******* smart bomb
who's been looking for a
victim, screaming

Faceless'll do fine...



Well not this time.



©HaroldRizla

The cracks.
They creep up the walls,
and with every bit a piece falls.
At first it appears harmless,
but now the damage is irreparable.
Like a broken promise.
No way to turn back.
It was there before we knew it.
Little by little we fell apart.
Little by little we broke our heart.
A family no more.
A family with no core.

The monster is out tonight,
And is ready to bite,
He is looking to fight,
He stands 7 feet in height,
Not one man nor knight,
Could take him down towards the light.

One terrible day,
A brave little man had something to say,
He declared he was going to slay
the big old beast within the month of May,
Everyone knew this man was just old prey,
As he was going to meet the highest price to pay,
When that beast came stomping his way.

That night the monster was hungry,
He was looking for something crunchy,
Something oh so yummy,

The air I breathe
is all the inspiration
I could ever need.

But loving you certainly helps.

The poetry of women
contain much more than just words.
The poems are about their hearts:
what's right, what's wrong,
what's inside, and what they're missing.

The poetry of women
is not merely love stories.
It's independence, it's liberty, and it's their freedom to tell us what they're feeling, whether we want to hear it or not.

The poetry of women
can be everything they wanted to tell you and more,
that she always wanted you, but never had you,
or how badly you ****** up when you lost her.

The poetry of women
is strong and does not require you to approve of it.
She's writing you off while she's writing it.

.   .   .

The poetry of women
is much different from the poetry of men.
'Tis no mere poem, but a tiny piece of her soul.