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I S A A C May 19
king of rats
mediumship, situationships
dreams showing me your daily slips
your kiss with her, your lips on his
your hands on him, your striptease
pretty please you begged me
pretty please you strung me along
all along, declined your calls
thank god, he had some sense
thank god, I never sent that text
thank god, I let it drift off into the ocean
nature will take its course, I will heal my corpse
writing stories until my dreams show me
the next thing, my next path
I will align, I build an altar, a waft
crossing the waters, no knife in my back
Sa Weol May Apr 2021
I pray for a lucid dream tonight,
In a sky colored carpet floor,
Seasoned with bluish tulips
on the ground,
In a pure white long dress,
decorated with pearls,
with happy people beside,
Seeing tall pine trees,
With a calming cloudy weather,
Bits of sunshine
that balances the mood of the setting,
Singing behind the white cottony curtain,
Someone's listening
and waiting for me,
Curtain opens,
Ended the song,
Take down the microphone,
I see someone from a bit distance,
A sudden music played,
That made everyones happy tears fell
and touched,
I walk towards where the man is,
Blurred, but as I go forth to him,
Little by little,
He is getting clearer
From afar, I know
That it is you,
Waiting,
At the end
Of the altar.


-A.M.
alyssum withers Dec 2020
i think the worst thing you can be
is afraid
worshipping at the altar of fear
is how man is ruined day after day
locking hearts in cages
is the act of a coward
and yet...
and yet.
everyday i am afraid
of society
of the facts about myself i bury and suppress
i kneel before the thundering clouds of fear
and submit to them
but one day soon
i think i may
stumble on
even as anxious lightning
strikes me at my core

i'm trying not to be afraid
and maybe you could call that bravery
Kitten Yvad Jun 2020
shower water trickles
reassuringly through the roots
of my hair, i have an agenda.

well in my heart there is an alter
never empty; i go
to
pray there
my body is sacred, never falters,
accepts with joy, the warmth of water

the depth of my heart
there is an alter, i am glowing
i’ve come to pray here
i decorate my body in flowers
and lace

gentle, i am softer
than i ever knew


i warm up and all the sternness
makes me feel silly
i know i’m playful
i laugh at myself and use words like

pretty, dreamy, forgiving
                     creative, giving, fair, determined

hold them to my skin
      i am a goddess to be placated
where the lightness of the rain
on my skin
and mirth in sparkling laughter
   make me less serious
more urgent

in the love; torrents on my body

in Myself I am at My Altar
save room for yourself<3 save room for peaceful assumptions, save room for what makes you ok, save room for yourself
Dylan McFadden May 2020
Behold the dreadful Horns of Red
The Beasts who trample o’er the dead
Who roar and gore and raise their heads
In challenge to the One who bled –

The One who willfully was pierced
Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce
Who crushes Altars men revere
That they may see through their veneer

.
Keith Strand Feb 2020
Colloquially bent
With a positive alignment

Breath without falter
That’s what I put at the altar

Visions of what I wish I could be
But that isn’t me

I’m sorry
And for what I may never know
This was the first poem I ever wrote. It stuck in my head for hours until I wrote it down.
That was four years ago.

I am still able to recite it from memory.

KK

X
nja Aug 2019
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
Higher.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Criticisms of the Church.
annh May 2019
Sleep stands at the altar of today’s sacrifice,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised...
‘I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.’
- David Benioff, City of Thieves
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