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Ek Feb 9
Oh mother
oh, mother
tonight I saw
another close brother
**** his second first born

Oh mother
oh, mother
the hangman show
came rolling into my town
on a carpet of folds

They took off his shoes
they kneeled him on ground
then they aimed the bullet
'tween the temple of his eyes

Oh mother
oh, mother
my closest friend
turned rapid at sundown
and I struck her head

We'd walk past the flowers
and she breathed in the breeze
but she also breathes fresh air
that poisoned her dreams

I'm scared
I'm scared
my old white sheets
you gifted it to me
but now it just bleeds

Oh mother
oh, mother
I know you're here
I know you just bit me
but I feel you near
I am not a hero nor your savior.
Eclipsed eyes, I want to live. But only to die.
I am a lost cause, a unique disaster.
I don't plan to make it out alive.
Be the destroyer
     To the mirrors in my mind?

   Since you left,
I'm just shadows dancing on mesh,
Without your grip,
                       My World Bends.

When all our years draw their last breath —
Meet me where everything ends?

By: Ashton Conor Amstutz

How long wilt thou - this generation of deceit and joy – detain,
Starve, and defraud the people of our holiest reign?
Content ingloriously wasted to pass by as our falling days,
Like the flooding rains, as virtuous fools chase each other’s praise:
Till all thy fleshly allegories, now dimmed once shined so bright
As the multitudes grow stale - tarnished with each day’s new light.
Please believe me, ye youth by whose royal fruit thy must be
Gathered before ripened - else ye rot upon the tree.
Heaven itself must be sufficiently allotted, soon of late,
Like some unlucky youthful revolution born purely out of fate.
This false fate whose notions if we watch with skill,
For does not human good depend on human will?
Fortune rolls upward like lava, smoothly it does ascend,
From its first release, it takes not the bend.
But, if un-seized, it glides away like the wind
And leaves us - a late repenting fool far behind.
Now to meet with you, the you reading of this glorious prize,
As I spread these wisdom words before you as above you he flies.
Had thus Old Noah, from whose ***** we all offspring,
Not dared, when fortune called him to be the lead offering,
At the bottom of the ocean in exile he might still remain
And Heaven's sacred anointing oil would have been in vain.
Let Noah’s successional ages to your heart engage
And not shun the examples of this prophesized declining age.
For behold soon there comes three days of darkness to the skies,
As the shadows lengthen into the airs and then we slowly vaporize.

Watching the weather, all the earthquakes, the volcano eruptions, the crazy skies and all - well - if you haven't thought about some of the prophecy you've always heard then perhaps this poem makes very little sense to you. But on the off chance that while you read this piece you too have noticed the weird strangeness now enveloping the globe then maybe you can appreciate why I had to write this.
J Lynne Apr 2018
Is it bad that I think, think,
think about the way the end will come.

That I see the water flood the streets,
that I feel the fire burn inside me.

I can hear the animals charging down
roads and fields, as the earth cracks and crumbles.
The tips of my fingers turn cold and blue
as my mind freezes over, and volcanoes boom
under our feet as we bring the world to its end.

The thing we fear arrives at last
and we are all to blame.
I put my heart in quarantine
as pestilence sweeps the land.

War tares us apart as we try to lower our guns,
but we are compelled to do
the things we hate as we attempt to pursue peace.
We run and run and run and run
in search of life that has been trampled by our feet.

The conflict in our midst becomes obvious
as the dust clears but does not disappear.
Our friends beside us grow feral and hostile
as long, ****** fangs are bared.

As the fog rises and the clouds black out the sun,
it becomes clear to me that the end has been here,
but has not taken us all.

And we wait and wonder who goes next
as our comrades turn to competitors.

Yes, we wait and wonder,
as we see the end has come,

but still, it is not here.
feel free to make comments or edits...
Cazandra Leia Oh Feb 2018
We never got to see the place they told us could be ours.
Till this very day, arms sore and feet calloused
I reap no harvest, no achievement, just a huge world, a insignificant wanderer
Even when I slip there's no choice for me but to stand once again
Not tall or proud,  nothing majestic, just barely balancing
Walking a tightrope with my heart on the line,  doubts crowding my mind and my sanity under
Well, they used to say the world could be ours
They said if we worked hard enough
"The reward would be nothing short of splendor and grandiose! Trust us! "
They doled out with those words and such confidence, our naivete led us to believe
Led us into our own labyrinth of madness
Darkness ascended without a warning,
Without a sound, no warnings, no sirens
We had no where to run, no where to hide
It was worst than hurricane Katrina
Worst than the ruins carved out by lava
A natural disaster doesn't even to begin to cover what this could be
Its a catastrophic apocalyptic tragedy that words couldn't begin to explain
Seanathon Dec 2017
It was better before the stars burned out

Before the clouds dispersed and deserted our dreams

Before the oceans turned

It was better then

When you could dance in the rain and hear yourself

Before the mountainous trees had all burned down

And the gas clouds escaped the hollowed ground

When your mother and I would walk the earth

And sing until the words fell out of our open mouths

It was a different place to live and be

It was different world than what we know now
God bless The Road
a crock behind scot
is disheveled music
thus do The Philippines
in a discordant ritual of précis
entire fabulous Manilla today
a kind of music that is different
It takes a lot to say nothing
I'm coming to find that my soul has been screaming my whole life
And I am just now able to translate its tongues
Into some sort of verbal *****
That a human could possibly understand
I have never felt like a true part of this socially structured civilization
I have never felt like a homosapien shaped by its surroundings, its perception
Instead I have felt like a source of energy that flows without molecular or even atomic ties to this universe
Confined to a physical form in a four dimensional realm
If you cleave away the ego, you can feel the infinite
I have so much more to say,
And I have struggled my whole life in finding things to say
That matter, that are relevant
And I've come to realize that my soul has been screaming my entire life
And I am finally able to translate the tongues
Into something meaningful to say.
You may not hear the divinity in the language I use
You may not feel the sincerity in my soliloquies
But I do, and my perception is what shapes my reality
And only I can save me, now
The selfishness in the selfless
And the hollowed out remains of the empath
I can't be the only one who hears this piercing noise?
And this sickness that runs through the planets veins?
The agonized cry of every species on the earth harmonized into the humming vibration some call the will of god
Our pain is ricocheting through the void we reside within
An echo chamber of screams
I do not believe in **** because it cannot get worse than this.
No, not this moment, you may have misunderstood
The progression of these moments will lead to an inevitable end
An end to end every beginning
I am not the only one who knows that the dead are just no longer physically present
I am not the only one who knows that humans are parasites
I am not the only one who can feel the agony of someone I have never come across
Simply because
Our souls all scream on a frequency
That only those who truly listen can hear.
Kyle Land Sep 2017
Blissfully wading, anxiously waiting
for gentle waves to lay in each other’s lap.
I swirl my finger in playful circles; the water
softly grips, an infant’s hand that *****
with a toothless grin.  

I peer through ripples at the skyscrapers
below, stretching to feel the warm air blow
against their brittle faces. Why did they make them so
tall? The towers then fall, two by two, gradually drifting
besides those who once leapt with terror in their eyes.

Lying back, I witness the ground and the sky become
one ocean, an azure canyon with no walls. I fear if I stand up it
would hit me like the deepest note on a piano, leaving me to drown. I reside myself to a life spent on my stomach, greeted only by the water that kicks me in its sleep.

A beam of light shoots up across the way, like the dawn
breaks the day, like memories distort my reality. Could this be
someone like me? Someone desperate for the touch of flesh, to
remind them how easy it used to be. Back when the sun tickled your nose and the grass stained my skin a sickly green.

No, maybe just a mirror, a reflection. A window to a universe where I am just as lonely; lonely and tired. What would I do if this
was the case? I’d tightly smush my face against the cool glass.
I’d see myself wave goodbye and dive beneath the foamy tide, where I search for a sandy beach to hack up my sodden lungs.
luq Sep 2017
The mountains of glory block the sun's rays
from lighting the aftermath
of a stormy situation
that wreaks the emotions of the weak
Death has taken his toll
and souls of the decapitated roam free
as the earth rumbles and spits fire
while the wind hustles and spins
Engulfing everything in sight,
the nigh apocalypse commenced.

Leaves rustle, trees begin to brittle.
Little by little shall the earth be acquittal.
The end was near,
The end is here.
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