Today upon these very fields
Meadows of green and flowers yield
As breeze stops dead and from the leaves
Comes a young girl in khaki green.
Her dress is light, and her song is sweet
As she picks her way on dainty feet.
But she is not the first to trek
Through fresh-scented woods with curling breath
In khaki green amidst the sea
Of indigo and white and brightest green.
For as she scrabbles amongst dirt and stone
She finds in her hand to be a bone.
Unknowing of the man that shed it like
A moulting woodlark born for flight.
Unknowing too is she of the dew
That clings to blades of grass as slew
Were brothers of flesh and blood and heart.
What once was clouded red is glass.
She rises as the night descends,
Skips home with grubby hands and dress
But she is the only one in khaki green
Whom after those woods was ever seen.
The forest left to whistle and sway
Waits for the girl tomorrow-day
When she will escape its clutches once more
Dancing on the graves of twenty-four.
A very belated Remembrance Day poem.
On a Wednesday morning, clear and calm,
I went to Astor Place
and had a gypsy read my palm
or maybe just my face.
She said my heart was heavy
and my head was stuffed with lies.
But things like that weren't on my hand,
they hid behind my eyes.
The room is dull and dank and cold but at
least I have a hand to hold.
I know I'm ******* wrong
I'm the sickness in the poor man's bones.
Parasytical, I move in you
I drive your desire,
Feed you fire
Slip away when I'm overthrown.
Face your fears
In the mirror
You know you crave Death's chase.
I can touch your face.
Baby you're bold,
You don't flinch away.
I enter through a single sin
Slipping underneath your skin
I am here to stay.
What even is this?
Flaunts her darkness, dutiful
All her frills of sin
All her laces of evil.
Seethes like lightning
Lethal to touch
She’s scorching, Excruciating, blinding.
Red dresses with hems alight
Fire-laden wings aflight
Collect, sinners unite
Bow to her to live
Endure her to survive.
If Satan was a woman
Forged in fire
his tainted smile
carved by deft hands of deceit.
Along this narrow passage
the walls fold in.
He lurks at the end
But a blank face
But a pair of hunched shoulders.
We know of his
We feel his pull
like burning chains
lodged under our ribs,
reminding us of our fragility
as we break
like a dying tree.
Flaked away has our innocence
for right before our bloodshot irises
are the twisted, tarnished roots of the thorns
that seek to uproot us,
snake around our ankles,
and rub our flesh to raw crimson
as they drag us into their jaws of crushing teeth.
A flood of acid,
eating at our spines,
warping our faces
beyond the point of recognition.
And then they break us.
Wow, this is random. What does it mean to you?
We need it like this to show ur support n repost
There is a little flower
Sat in front of me
Purple and delicate
It tilts its head in pity
As it watches in forever silence
At my scarily endless tears
At my gagging devastation.
The realisation of my fears.
I'm thinking of my only Daughter
The very light of my being
That lost her life last night
A sudden, unjust reckoning.
This flower in front of me
Has a note attached to its stem.
It says "I'm sorry you lost Her"
But Her life meant nothing to them.
This beautiful, wilting creature
is meant to replace Her
As if a pathetic flower
Could ease these crippling burns.
This single papery display of nature
Is just as temporary as She.
In a few weeks it'll be dead like her
Tell me flower - was she robbed of life,
or is she free?!
Is this some kind of cruel joke?
They feel my pain "like an ache in their heart"
But as if to remind me of what I just went through
They give a grieving mother a dying plant.
Its beauty reminds me of Her...
Its delicate movements in the breeze
Its quiet solitude and sophistication...
Colour of the deepest seas.
I'll enjoy it while I can
The lift before the fall
I'll give this flower a chance because
maybe it's not so bad after all...
I don't think this is very good, it just needed to be written after I got inspired.