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Barbed words
arsenic laced
draw blood from the fickle,
cracked and flayed
this brittle heart
cries out as mercy weeps.
Flaws once endearing
bring disgust
as contempt marches in
to dispel the myth we created.
A return to walls,
my worth reflected
within the safety of mirrors
as beauty hides decay
beneath radiant dishonesty.
Solace will not be found within the dawn.
Painted and smiling
I will become the lie you chose.

*listen to the silence of the breaking of my heart
Lyrics in italics - Black Mountain Mist by The Mission.
 May 2015
Poetic T
-Life-

Was the *cruellest
of gifts It gave us
Hope, but it is a coin tossed too often,
For within moments
Breath,
Beats,
Blood
Coursing through this vessel
To keep it upright, motions of every fibre
Never one without the other. But *breath
is
Fleeting, one stops then another moments
Now becoming less time life now evicted stops.


-Reaper-

That exhalation that signalled the end, taken
From you, stolen by this hand of bone
And kept like a trinket, something
That he has held to many times,
Lost,
Forgotten,
Dammed
Ones who he misplaced in that darkened place.
He was just one of the keepers charged with
But the flow from their to here. but all
Things have a purpose and so
This existence now claimed by another.

-Soul Keeper-

Was the cleaner of what was  before,
Life's distractions, deaths fingerprints,
Where cleansed from this orb of
Thought,
Conciseness,
Essence
Of what was, two shades spiral,
One white one like a smear, some where
More of one, never one purest
Pearl or charcoal . There was always a
Hint of light or dark in every orb held.

-Scales Of Judgement-

We are weighted not by the flesh or the bone,
As they are nothing once the soul is gone
Life,
Death,
Rebirth,
Are the ever moving cogs, but some
Are broken to be put in a place
Where the broken things
Live,
Rot,
Decay,
In that place never to be reborn, this is
There end place of limbos playground.
All are judged on the scales showing
the aura of there lifes deeds
Be they heaven worthy or to the pit
There moments burn, but some are
To far gone, and in limbo they stay.
The scales are the defining moment of four stages
Life,
Death,
Energy,
Judgment
On this final journey, are you worthy, to be
In the light or darkness, to be reborn or
To the nether place of broken toys.
Live your life, but remember judgement
Is only three steps from life away.
 May 2015
Poetic T
In the motionless water it
Is static, carried from edge
To far by the whispers of
Breeze. It is transfixed
Between two realms, both
Transparent upon the eye.

It was motion but no more,
Life was lived but only floats
No more. Like a plastic bottle
With a hole, It takes its fill,
Slower than a stone it sinks
Like a leaf falling from a tree.

It is stillness upon the ground
And eyes are open, gentle
Stillness no noise just the
Gentleness of surroundings.
There is no breath, no life
Only motionless swaying as
What now lies at the bottom
Of this pool.
 May 2015
Trā
scars of a past I wanted nothing to do with
led me to handcuff myself
to a lampole for security.

I had reached my consensus.

I threw the keys to these cuffs
in mental portals where I thought
no one would dare to ever travel.

Many tried searching
but I intentionally
obstructed access
with deceptive rants of fear and caution.

By then
I was sure
that I had thoroughly built walls of security;
I was safe
...but who would've thought
my aesthetically intellectual design
had a weakness?

The enemy came just as they all did,
hoping to be let in...
but this one reacted differently when the ranting came;
I was now at a disadvantage
because I had no other alternatives for defense.

The enemy showed no care for my security;
It was attractive
And I succumbed while
Never forgetting my plan
Although it seemed my design was nugatory.

My mental lampole and cuffs,
gone.

I was left subjugated
at the feet of a queen
who carried an aura
with the most beautiful spectrum.

Like a bull snake,
promises of security
grappled my core,
draining it of all fear
leaving behind no traces
of deception.

Although defeated,
she still remains my enemy
because serendipity
never seems to stick around.
Random Thoughts - I know my poetry isn't as pellucid so you can just ask me what it's about or ask me to clarify anything that may not be understood.
 May 2015
Molly
DO YOU REMEMBER THE NIGHT I HAD SIX DRINKS AND YOU HAD NONE

BECAUSE I DON'T
 May 2015
Et cetera
As the night falls dark, my heart beats hard,
for without you, love,
the demons are free to feast upon me

Come you and your sword,
come you and your strength,
come you and shield me,
from demons around and demons about,
from demons that feast upon me

As the sun sank deep,
and the stars shone bright,
the moon became sinister
and the demons were let out the night before

Came you with your vorpal sword,
loved me and kept all harm away,
the sun came back, the stars smiled,
the moon grew gentle,
and the demons turned angels

But tonight, my love, the demons are free to feast upon me.
Come you and take me away, I cry...
Come you, and bring the sun again.
Come you, and shoo the demons away.
Come you and kiss these tears dry.
Come you, oh. Come you, again.
Written on Thursday, 29th January 2015 at 2.08 am
 May 2015
irinia
His severe face in a cloud over the waters of childhood
he rarely held my warm head
inclined to the presumption of guilt unforgiving
he uprooted forests straightened paths
carried the lantern high when we entered the night

I thought I would be sitting at his right hand
we would be dividing darkness from light
and judging the living
what really happened was different

a peddler of second-hand goods carted off his throne
and the mortgage record the map of our domain

he was born a second time slight very frail
with a transparent skin almost non-existent bones
he kept diminishing his body that I might receive it

in an unimportant place in the shadow of a stone

he grows within me we eat our defeats
we burst out laughing
when they say how little
it takes to be reconciled

Zbigniew Herbert
translation by Oriana Ivy
 May 2015
Craig Verlin
If you are not dead
you are far from me.
If you are not dead
you are knocking on
some other sucker’s
door. Perhaps he is
in debt and in love,
cursed in similar
afflictions. Perhaps he is
up to the eyes in hedge funds
and stock investments,
his symmetric face smiling
down his checkbook at you,
attracting you in ways
mine never could.

If you are not dead
than perhaps you
are happy.
If you are not dead
than perhaps
you are sad. I certainly
will never know.
Do wedding bells ring already?
Do the long nights of love
break bones in bitter morning?

For a long time this imagination
proved worse than any reality
could have possibly been;
I lay in fevered dreams,
praying for answers,
only hoping to find
where love had been lain to rest.
Now, it is just nice to be rid
of the whole deal.

The universe makes
a lot more sense
without you.
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