Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The-empty-cupboardPoems
We are born not of flesh carved from the visage of mother and father, We are born of nebulae, of a symphony in the snow and the seeking of knowledge we never acquire. We are birthed for good. We are grown in evil. Our lives nothing more than the squealing of wheels as they spin in our sempiternal filth, a footprint in the dust since God said "Let there be fear and malice". Faces of dead, liquored men, shovels in our piracy digging for hidden treasure in the graveyard. So we crawl in the holes and cover each other up. Insulting the demons who pull us through, blessing them with good tidings. We go at our passing, to face the Devil. God as our jury, your hamartia plays witness. I am driven only by my fantasy of tomorrow. What a way to live. What a way to die.
0
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Please Ignore the Intoxicated Rambling of an Underage Girl
We are born not of flesh carved from the visage of mother and father, We are born of nebulae, of a symphony in the snow and the seeking of knowledge we never acquire. We are birthed for good. We are grown in evil. Our lives nothing more than the squealing of wheels as they spin in our sempiternal filth, a footprint in the dust since God said "Let there be fear and malice". Faces of dead, liquored men, shovels in our piracy digging for hidden treasure in the graveyard. So we crawl in the holes and cover each other up. Insulting the demons who pull us through, blessing them with good tidings. We go at our passing, to face the Devil. God as our jury, your hamartia plays witness. I am driven only by my fantasy of tomorrow. What a way to live. What a way to die.
The-empty-cupboard
Written by
The-empty-cupboard
20/American
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem