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I bat both eyelids.
She attributes motive and winks.
The right moment to think!
On banana flower's *******
Three avaricious bats suckle.
Above, few still circle.
Poetress2 Apr 2019
It was early in the Morning,
when he strolled through the door;
She hit him with her baseball bat,
and he landed on the floor.
"How dare he do this to me,"
she uttered, 'neath her breath;
"I'll fix his little wagon,
and he'll ne'er do this again."
She stared down at her husband,
whom she could not live with;
Just knowing that he was cheating,
made her troubled heart go limp.
When at last his Funeral ended,
she cried as she walked away;
The guilt that she was feeling,
was more then she could take.
Yet still no one e'er knew,
it was her that welded the bat;
Home was peaceful and quiet,
something she never did have.
Oculi Mar 2019
The sun in the sky of an eternal night
The tractor swings and misses today
The drums are hit every day in anticipation
The butterfly's wings torn off and put on
The daily struggle of a pastor in modernity
Dying to go back to how life used to be

A monolith opened from dying sheep
A droning, long, darkened figure came
He took all the belongings of modern man
And left as quickly as he came, leaving ruination
The ruination spread through the world
And as the figure left, all our souls did, too

The pastor had prepared for this day, though
As all his sheep gathered into a herd...
He saw what had to be done and took off
The sheep, cried after their owner that night
But the man could not be swayed anymore
He took his gun and his scythe and his armor

In a world ever so confused, the pastor stuck out
Looking for something that wasn't there.
He saw gates of elected darkness and phantoms
He saw drops of rain be every color and none
He saw man become animal and **** one another
He saw buildings morph into pure liquid LSD

The bat wings on his back grew bigger evermore
And his eyes kept getting darker and darker
His head kept singing in liturgical Latin
And the grasp on his scythe kept getting weaker
But that was all okay, because he still had a goal
And once he found the Gate, it would all be fine

It went like that for what seemed like years
But in reality it was just a few days, maybe a week
His feet got more and more tired by the day
And by the fourth day, all he saw was the night
The prophet's words rang in his head forevermore
"Where is the night? Where is the Gate? Where, oh?"

By the time he'd reached the other world, too late
He had become a creature of darkness, himself
Ruining the world in his path step by step, he did
And when he stopped to take a breath, he felt weak
Little did he know, he was in fact stopping forever
And that he wouldn't find the man, but vica versa

On the 21st of June, an bystander found an old man
Breathing heavily, desperately looking all over
The old man seemed like he was 200 or more
His speech was slurred and hard to understand
The bystander took him to a hospital, where he spoke
Out loud, he said "I forgive you, brother."
S Nirmal Kumar Nov 2018
Blinded by familiarity
Veer through the darkness
Nocturnal bat
S Nirmal Kumar Oct 2018
Trapeze artists
Swinging on a denuded branch
Colony of bats
Outside Words Sep 2018
Someone watched from below at a crooked angle,
As I carried a metal baseball bat through the parking lot.

In tattered, blood stained clothes, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt,
I continued forward, ready to do what I intended.

Through the door and up a dark, black stairwell I strode…

In a midnight rage, I shattered glass, busted walls and tables,
And growled as I felt my weapon vibrate against wood and plaster.

I demolished computers, tipped over desks
And knocked out windows, spewing glass down below.

I smiled a gritty smirk as I progressed
through my night of destruction…

I poured gasoline and lit a match,
As I walked back out into that heavy night.

With a steady stride, I left with my bat,
And from behind, felt a soothing, comforting warmth.
© Outside Words
Blade Maiden Sep 2018
I know some things about dirt
I shed my feathers many times just like a bird

Always daring
never preparing
for the fall
I fly
bold with a certain confidence
but so very shy
hold a truth to obedience
when the voice tells me to abide
holding evidence of bloodlust at night

Maybe not a bird then
but a bat when
feeling a strong hunger
for your crimson liquor
in the dark I reach out to my monger
won't you be my cherry picker
I'll draw the night out and make the darkness stay longer
I'll bite you and make your blood run thicker

See me still hiding a diffidence
under this bold confidence
But I'm not about pretense
bird and bat, all the same
I feel so very tense
as it seems either I can tame
Though I don't need defense
and as you will see, I got no shame
Specs Aug 2018
I know I'm not a morning person
Not am I one at night
I'm not quite sure just what I am,
'Cause nothing feels quite right.

The night-time makes my eyelids droop
The mornings seem to crawl.
Not a morning or a night person–
I don't think I'm a person at all.

/\   /\
(  •w•  )
\        /
I'm secretly a bat
this is the result of poorly organized and divided notes and doodles

Happy Halloween!
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