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 Nov 2015 pariah
Carla
December
 Jun 2015 pariah
Ernest Hemingway
"                        "
      !            :                  ,                .
              ,            ,            ,                .
      ,              ;                              !
                    ,
 Apr 2015 pariah
Pranav kastury
His feet scorched on the burning embers, treaded,
As he sifted through the Nightmares he dreaded.
Weaving his way in and out through the debris,
Cutting himself as he raced for the ferry.
He paused, panting to catch his breath,
And let his eyes sink in the surrounding death.

And behold, what a sight he saw,
Human flesh cut, bleeding and raw.
Mountains of  bodies piled up with Sin
Naked and writhing amidst the splitting din.
And the gong of the bells from the deep chasms,
Resonating with the screams of the dyings' spasm.
Screaming and kicking they went up in flames,
Beggars and kings, lads and dames.

Stumbling he began to brave the road,
Hoping and praying he would reach the ford.
With each step his strong virility,
Started showing signs of debility.
Urging himself to reach the ford,
Where waited the ferryman on his ferry aboard.
He purged all the sinned who embarked,
The magnificent ship on the banks, parked.
Leading them on the infernal waves,
Over the lofty hills and the deepest caves.
Until they reached heavens door,
Freeing them from the sights of blood and gore.

As he ran, he saw high atop a tree
Whose branches were stripped off leaves, free.
A large bird with molten black eyes,
Gorging on both men and mice.
He saw that it was a vulture
Tearing a man and leaving his lungs rupture',
Quickening his pace he crept away from the bird,
Camouflaging himself with the dying herd.
Thinking he had passed the demonic beast,
Who was busy helping itself to its feast,
He slowed down and moved with care,
Only to be stopped by a shriek high in the air.

He looked up with great unease,
With sweaty eyes and shaky knees.
The vulture jumped up with a great swoop,
And circled the man in a closed loop.
"My, my," it cried, landing next to its target,
"Are you trying to escape my food market?"
"No, no!" He whimpered and crowed in fear.
"You will not reach the ford, my dear."
Said the vulture in a pitched cacophony,
"you will not hear the heavenly symphony,
As one draws close to one's destiny,
For the feral beast in me,
Will not allow you to let it be."
"Please," he cried. "Let me see,
What is meant for me."

The vulture roared in laughter,
Cawing and rocking faster.
So much it was immersed in mirth,
That it didn't see its prey of large girth,
Try to slip away precariously,
From the gaze of the bird which was nefariously,
Waiting for the moment to take the plunge
And drive its beak through the man with a lunge.

With a shriek, it jumped up in flight,
Spreading its demonic wings blocking the light.
Swooped down at the man and spread its wings,
Opening its beak as it sings,
The death hymn that flowed from his beak crescent
Echoing through the emptiness as it made its descent.
The man gazed in fear at the looming death,
With unblinking eyes and taut chest held with breath.
Looked up to the heavens and screamed "God!"
The vulture chuckled and reached its prey, with eyes agog.
Covered the man with its monstrous plumes,
With its beak dripping of drool, in flumes.
Drove it deep into the mans heart,
And made him part of its food mart.
this is the first poem I have penned and I hope its appealing to all sorts of viewers, as it is very brutal and gory
 Feb 2015 pariah
Selene
Thin Line
 Feb 2015 pariah
Selene
A thin line between dreams and reality
A thin line to draw to tell between truth and fantasy
A thin line it is....
But where to draw?

We're touching but never holding
Looking but quickly hiding
Feeling but never showing
Which one I assume, which is true?

In my dreams, you're holding me close
In my dreams you're not letting me go
In my dreams, I can look through you
So tell me, can you blame me if I just dream instead?

A thin line indeed but I dont wanna draw it.
 Jan 2015 pariah
Jamie King
The Songs of old birds in cold worlds warm hearts of women where men have left.

Past wars still brewing in the brain making stews of despair he shares only with himself suffocating without breath his heart
infested with death as
The blood of foes
Is still staining
his hands

She holds him
as though an infant
trembling in fear of his
own ghost she assures him
with a kiss of hope that life is
still worth living and all else is
forgiven and all else is forgiven
Grand dad used to talk about the war when I was very young this one is for him and others like him
 Nov 2014 pariah
Selene
What is love that it could inspire people
Wake in the morning with a sweet smile
And lay in bed at night dreamy-eyed

It gives such a hard drive to go beyond one's limits
Soar to higher heights
All just to show and prove such love

It makes one dive deeper into understanding
To give beyond the usual bounds
Be braver than the newly annointed knight
Though ******, wont give up the fight
'Till it seems like death could give more life

But then, what is love that it could hurt much
Once innocence is broken, it could taint one's soul
Then pain, misery, despair, all these.. Will be surely known

Revenge will always be bitter-sweet
Like forcing poison to another's mouth with one's own lips
The ranging fury inside is easily embraced
Anger, hatred, turning into evil is a bliss

One descends into hell without dying
Life is gradually escaping, though still breathing
And then death, death is not even enough

And so, what is love truly?
Ahhhh, i can hardly tell..
Perhaps, a double-edged blade..
Or a two-sided coin?..
But it will always be a Mystery.
 Jun 2014 pariah
J.R.R. Tolkien
All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.
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