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Luke Feb 26
In the desperate times I hear it call my name
No, not again please spare me
The horrible, haunting horrors
Like a leech, draining me leaving me with despair
Who is he or she that calls my name
I dare not say, for it haunts me
Lurking in the depths of mind, oh how awful
I could live my life forever in glee,
but when the light fades I’d rather die
Oh God please have mercy, I beg and plead
It begins to attach to me
To my mind sinking to my heart spreading to my limbs
Im hopeless, how can i get rid of this burden
Antagonizing, the pain is physical you can see it in my eyes
Listen carefully making no mistake and you can hear it in my voice
The darkness leers leaving me with tears of sadness
I wouldn't dare wish for it on any innocent soul
For let it devour me after all I must deserve it
For it is a monster that I have created and it only seeks for me
This is my first dark poem.
Sasha Raven Feb 2
"Have You ever noticed, that in the words a poem - Poe(m), a poet - Poe(t), poetry - Poe(try), a poetess - Poe(tess) is hidden the last name of the mighty poet and writer Edgar Allan Poe? So, He has to be the greatest master of poetry?" - ©Copyright: Sasha Raven
Let et Scar Nov 2018

Don't shake my hand,
Don't bump into me,
For every touch is a hurtful reminder,
Every sound becomes a hightened panic attack,
Just don't touch me.
For every graze of the fingers is a stinging ache,
Every flinch a silent reminder....
Of helplessness,
Every stare becomes a question of:
Do they know?
Can they smell him on me?...
Who told?
Who knows?
The shame bestowed upon me... .. .
Don't look at me!
Or in my direction... In fact do not acknowledge me,
I'd like to remain invisible for now,
Don't hug me for embrace is no longer a comfort,
Just what feels like a forced entrapment,
Don't you look at me, for it feels like nausea and a razor's edge that cuts thru and thru,
For I am not yours to touch,
and NO.... you are not welcomed,
That's for ANYONE that seeks me,
Just don't touch me,
For every touch is just another agonizing miserable moment I could not escape even if I wanted to...
And the human touch has become now my biggest FEAR.
Autumn Fyre Jun 2018
I've never been great at poetry;
The process always fails for me.
While mister Poe and Shakespeare last,
My writing ends up in the trash.

Their writing style, lost with age,
Their wisdom hid in ev'ry page,
The glory given where it's due -
These are things I cannot do.

My writing's forced; theirs doth flow.
I say it blunt; they say it slow.
Those areas that bless and move
Are places where I can't improve.

So why, with my lack of skill,
Do I keep on writing still?
With such a hopeless case as this,
You'd think I would already quit!

There was a time when I did -
My desk was shut; my pen was hid.
Then something occurred to me
Which changed it all instantly.

If Dr. Seuss had Shakespeare tried,
And Mr. Poe glorified,
And given up in dismay,
We wouldn't have his books today.

So keep on writing how you do
With that style unique to you.
Put your mind into use
(You just might be another Seuss)!
zebra Nov 2017
two ladies
dressed to ****
give me a shiver
give me a thrill

they kiss each other
their mouths pink and bright
tender and cruel
a kiss then a bite

******* brush soft
*****'s get wet
hands ***** *******
drools like a pet

******* explode
spasms and creams
hands touching thighs
sizzling dreams

oh they love
all candy and ***
shadowed eyes
lips like ***

ones a slave
the other her queen
then they switch
kiss and scream

its hotter then hot
a burning **** sun
melting butter slits
a tempest of fun

doing the rumba
pretty dance feet
swaying hips
gawd its sweet

lovely behinds
moving in place
what i want always
is ***** mouth face
There came a love of truest and fair,
In a town I came to know,
A girl my heart she did bear
With a love that filled my soul;
To her, I would give my life
Without a single doubt be told.

She sat gracefully upon a lonely bench
In this town I came to know,
I adored her more than life itself
As her beauty lit a-glow;
And her essence came from a heavenly place
As she laced her grace of snow.

Her beauty spreads across the skies,
In this town I came to know,
Spreading love about her goes,
To nurture my love and grow;
So that the abundance of my burning passion
Can murmur and run, just as the rivers flow;
And to an end my dream will come
In this town I’ve come to know.

Her raging light, blazing bright,
Lit my heart a-glow,
For its power completes the monarchy
In this town I came to know,
And binges across the galaxies, spreading love,
To and fro.

I call to her spirit beckoning songs,
For my love to her I must show,
And my passion I must show,
Before my dream is just a dream
And my soul sinks below;
She is the dream of love I dream
In this town I came to know.

She too knows of me and the love inside that grows,
In this town I’ve come to know,
The sun never settles caressing the red rose peddles,
In this town I’ve come to know,
The birds will chirp a sounding song of mirth,
To the heavens above till love gives birth
To a love packed passion as all men know
The love that was found
In the town I came to know.
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
A simple gleam in the sky
Doesn’t seem to be enough light;
Especially when the darkness overcomes
This world of quickly fading love.

Why is it that they provide hellfire
Instead of holy water?
Do you believe for a second
That anything will quench the thirst
Of Satan’s sons and daughters?

A light in the blazing sky,
But it seems that the still wind
Never whispers goodbye.
Rolling tide and a blood-soaked sea,
We’re only left to reminisce
Of what used to be.
Partially inspired by Edgar A. Poe's "Annabel Lee" and partially inspired by Donald Trump's America of anarchy.
Mikayla Smith Jan 2017
I’d imagine if ever found,
He’d hang around
A ****** pub
Right smack in the middle
Of town.

Perhaps he’d nearly burn
Off his throat from
Straight tonic and
Gin or
Maybe he’d have a
Conversation with
The raven; the
Sardonic chant of
“Nevermore” echoing the
Walls as he’d drunkenly
Hit the floor.

Stifling an intoxicated
Giggle or
Two, I’d ask him
What Annabel Lee would
Do once the demons
In the sea threatened
Her love or if
The evil eye was eyeing
Him from above.

I’d ask all things, up
And down and
Why a man of
His genius still
Lingered in this sleepy
Old town.

Perhaps before I
Depart, I’ll pluck a
Feather right from his
Raven’s wing and leave
Mr. Poe to bask
In the sweet
Sound of silence
As the pendulum
I am very passionate about the works of Edgar Allan Poe and I wrote my love for said works through my own poetic mastery. I hope you enjoy reading a little snippet of how I imagine meeting our beloved Poe would be. I sure enjoyed writing it!
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