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ibkreator Sep 29
We be given to you
a will in ancient way
slept to the memory of open mind
in the rush and temper of tongue and fire
we dwell in the heat of a white wolves cry
as lamb be's birth brazen and naked on the spit of life

gentle eyes pierce the sky within the fold of skin
collected to sight on the razor sharp ray of sun
coloured to the souls velvet underground
brittle to the bones burn
no turning away in the no return
Norman Crane Sep 19
The game is old
The tokens made of ice
From under folds of hooded cloaks
Flash the eyes of mice
But every thousand years
A human player appears
And in his hands
Our fate
               hangs
Like drops of blood
               on yellowed murine fangs
For it is said
By those long dead
That on the day he loses
We all melt away
We all melt away
Listen my friend,
This is the dream I dreamed last night after visiting the ruins of the Ancient Sumerians

I stood before an aweful being-A somber faced man/bird

He turned his face towards me and lead me to the temple of Akala-
The queen of darkenss

The house to which all who enter never returns...
Down the road from which there is no coming back

There is the house in which it's people sit in darkness
Dust is their food... Clay is their meat...

They are clothed like birds.
Their wings for covering their bodies
They see no light
They sit in darkness

I entered the house of dust...
I saw the kings of the earth
Their crowns put away for ever

All of the Rulers and Princes-All of whom once war Kingly crowns and ruled the world as in the days of old...

But now, they who stood in the place of the Gods now stand like servants

In the House Of Dust were High Priests of the incantation and ******

And there was the Queen of the Underworld
She who keeps the books of the dead...

She raised her head
She saw me and spoke...

Who has brought this one here?

Then I awoke... like a man drained of blood who wonders alone in a waste.
I didnt write this. I found it, edited it and added some. I thought it was an interesting write.
Maria Mitea Sep 12
A snake is born a snake,
a scorpion is born a scorpion.

We have no right to hate anybody!
The feeling of hatred denotes
that the mind is weak,
the heart is in suffering,
the voice of the soul is ignored!

Much Inner Work has to be done ...πŸ™
~

the flame holds all the cards
licking my legs with sultry tongues
cheshire cats watch me from afar
as the keres crushes my lungs.

i twist and turn like elastic
against the blazing stake of doom
i pray for one miracle, god's magic
to put out this inferno soon.

my skin burns to the bone, withers
away like skeletons in a sarcophagus
as smoke billows, peasants consider
going to mass after this wickedness.

innocent blood is on their hands
they dare to call themselves lambs?


~
Oof, that was spooky to write. A poetry writing prompt inspired me to write this. It had me use the words that are bolded. Let me tell you, it was challenging, but a fun exercise for the creative mind.

There is a language spoken
Between the leaves and the breeze
Peacefully green, the leaves
Ever changing the velocity of the breeze
Ancient and eternal their relationship



🌿🌿
Inspired by the weather in the evening :)
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