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Sketcher Nov 15
There once was a boy that felt kind of strange,
Everyone knew that this boy was deranged,
Out of his mind and that would never change,
All thoughts of success were far out of range,
But one day this boy felt a new feeling,
Something that felt like his mind was healing,
This was the first thing he found appealing,
This was love but sadly she was stealing,
The spirit that the boy couldn't get back,
He felt peace during her silent attack,
Felt stomach to stomach and chest to rack,
Then the ***** threw him out and stole a stack,
Now the boy was broke and left heartbroken,
Felt pain like never before and choking,
On tears from the heart, **** from the colon,
That is his life and that is his slogan,
He soothes the pain with drinking and smoking,
Passes the time by thinking and hoping,
That the ***** will drown in blood and soaking,
In memories of every dire moment,
She was gilded, thought she was pure golden,
Now I hope you know to never open,
Up to people because they're all just fake,
Treat you like a vampire and drive a stake,
Straight through your heart and your love they will take,
As they watch you sit in anguish and ache,
Don't fall in love if you don't want heartbreak.
Sorry for the negative message, but my poetry prompt was, "Negative Allegory" so this is what I made. Enjoy!
Adam Kinsley Sep 19
I forged my dreams in the mire of regret
The past had not passed me for long
The angel of Death awaits my plea of ignorance
While the sands of time bury my aspiration

I acknowledge my mistakes
Yet, do not learn from them--
Walking backward with Epimetheus off the cliff
My disdain surmounts my discerning heart's integrity

Between me, myself, and I
We produce the same Lie
Gouging out my eyes to spite my mind
I am solely affixed to its lack of fervor

My descent into dissent imprisons me
This island is no longer a paradise
I cannot run from my own mind
But, I can turn down the volume, just for tonight...
This poem is about not learning from your mistakes. I use Epimethius as a metaphor, because, in Greek mythology Epimethius
Christopher Sep 3
It's memorizing what's in you that bugs me.

Everyday just to start the shift and Remember where you are in my mind.

Just remember what they meant and you'll have no problem.
My mind isn't safe and at this rate, let's hope I become big one day.
The old *** sings for vengeance. The heir, a son, cries
A martial song, and is vanquished. New Lord, new age, time
Still passes. Generations sweep out over the land.
The plough and anchor search out again the old depths,
                                                                       Forever and ever.
Adam Kinsley Jul 25
The depths of my depravity sink
My cruel and careless mind is aligned
With eyes affixed on all I've solely lost:
I dance with my scapegoating ghosts

Yearning to turn the page:
My hands are cut off by Hammurabi--
To keep from gouging Oedipus' eyes:
I am written out of the story

Ambition does not **** after me
I am forgotten in Dante's Inferno
My hands have denied any involvement--
They cite my brain for a lack-of-character(s)

Volition is cemented in the mire of Regret
Yet, She still screams to me:
"'Out ****'d spot! Out, I say!'"
So, we bury my tell-tale heart under the floor...
I mix several historical references with historical literature, spanning around 3,500 years, with my modern-day interpretation of my own mind.
A Yorks May 11
The tide wages war;
Gallant waves go crashing forth
To die on the sand.
Ormond May 3
Lovers entered a forbidden forest bower,
And as they stalked that range, with eyes glazed,
She offered up her hind. Now, with doe eyes,
Deep as his, deep in arousal's sleep, heels fell,
As he knocked and pulled her dark honey hair
And whispered, surrender, into wanting ears,
Softly he drove his hunting command, homing
To his huntress.

Her body braced, yet bade, with heat and vibrance.
Ruthlessly, he ****** his arrow deeper and then
Once more and then again.  She bucked fiercely
And defiant, goading his prodding lance ever more
Ever longer, and parting the pink lines of her white
Rose, he was, and once again, Prince to the dark
Dominion of her quarters.

In the middle of this carnal match they paused.
And looking into the forest beyond they saw
A yearling fawn, a feral Goddess, grazing still,
Bathing in a vale, virginal, wholly unmoved
By their act of venery, lustfully playing, in the innocent
Leaves.  It was as if they were among her kin, a gentle
Doe and a noble stag. From that moment on
The human hunters did not speak.

Falling, again, rolling eyes were deep in arousal's sleep.
Her back was a crescent moon pocked and wet with dew.
He could feel her heart beating in time with his piercing
Prong, her arching back glistened in the suns spittle
As it broke through the dark and vernal ceiling wood.

In the final shot her quivering buck lowered and broke
And a sound not heard, made a scene, a sweet murmuring
Shuddered and sank onto the floor of the forest leaves
With her tale, taken and told, her breathless breath,
Her nostrils cold and her heated and lanced openings
Dripping, draining; here was a New World’s beginning.

Sated, solemn and softly quaking, his woman sweetly laid,
And now, doomed with her doe eyes, two lovers, fated, made;
She glowed, divine, like the rolling brook that mellowed
Slow, in the vine-dark and golden forest stable,
In Artemis’s wood.
In the classical period of Greek mythology, Artemis was often described as the daughter of Zeus and Leto, and the twin sister of Apollo. She was the Hellenic goddess of the hunt, wild animals, wilderness, childbirth, virginity and protector of young girls, bringing and relieving disease in women; she often was depicted as a huntress carrying a bow and arrows. The deer and the cypress were sacred to her.
bakunawa Apr 21
Have you ever felt
Like you've gone too far to stop?
What if you're falling?

When you fall deeply
Quickly descending so bleak
Would you climb back up?

Have you ever tried
Climbing atop a mountain
And then miss the ground?

When you are falling
It's not the fall that kills you
It's the sudden stop.
Blanche is the man protagonist of the play A Streetcar Named Desire and a woman who lived in her delusions of reality. She continued to fall deeper into her dreams until a taste of reality made her snap to insanity in the end--- It was her fantasies that kept her sane.

Blanche is also close to the Blanca or Blancé meaning white or pure, basically empty.
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