On a path where arteries will meet scythe
suffocating, with silhouettes deceased in defeat.
A spark struggles to illuminate before the feet.
cloaked in fading shadows, conversing with grief.
Handed daggers with orders to stab and flee
however pierced the allies still search for peace.
Climbing an empty ladder, dreams clustered beyond reach
with worn bones aiming to reach beyond the known peek.
Throat slit life pouring through pale hands.
The songs of shinigamis perpetually melancholy.
Ever shallow breaths, no escape. Rumba with death the floor a canvas for the evening's Mural.
This is dark poem don't lose hope though. When you're at a loss there's always hope remember that and you can walk any path.
I charged at the enemy, slashed,cracked,pierced wounded and killed.
The ecstasy of fleeting lives, still stale eyes, a ****** reached.
***** mingled with feces, kidneys cooked by grenades, a scent
of the battlefield.
I am in diapers my ***** now mingled with feces faces of nurses
scowling. Words abandoned the mind, my skin a wrinkled cloth.
Scars of a warriors pride long faded. I can taste no more, my sight
a sea of shadows, whispers cling to my ears. I long for battle cries.
I use to breathe now I'm bedridden with tubes and diapers.
no sleep no rest no peace nor death.
I wrote a poem called the old lady, this one is about an old man.
Deep wounds on my back, I'm a gallery of scars. Take a gander feast your eyes, a tarnished heart is my signature.
Vistiges of my soul dangling on toothpicks, dinner well relished by friends foes glimmer with empathy. Malice pleased, who is my enemy?
The excrement of animals drowning in the sewers, is that the existence the best of self I can only persue huh?
A warrior's last breath asking for help. Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand,
Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand?
With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?
Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.
Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?
Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.
Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?
Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.
Inspired by Doyin
metals collide the face
splashed with guts of the
masses Massacras being
routines in all routes the
scenes are blinding
as light flashes
before the eyes
like angry skies
in darker nights
The day is reborn
the face wiped with
cloths of sorrow black
bags already gone but
not forgotten, pardoned
only when the bones have
cracked and the body
can no longer stand the
pain, with holes deep
enough to be filled
by the rain.
So there I was walking on the road and I'm thinking what does it feel like for people to step on you and walk all over you at every turn in your life.. and so I wrote this poem
jungle of affairs
cheaters run the fastest.
The wind is left flustered.
Dears become prey as their
tales are painted in pane,
while the hungry eyes peek
Pieces of a heart shaped
by the bleeding vane,
There, the blind ******
scene on the road to heal again.
broken Hearts and healing souls sometimes the healing souls are the heartbreakers
# double entendre # triple entendre