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Ell R Sep 2020
Truth is good
Truth is accurate
Truth is right

but Truth
it is a blade
it cuts
it opens old wounds

The Truth
it is final
Hermes Varini Jul 2020
Thou, dishonorable Highlan' skellum,
Thy dreary whunstane shall not see again!
Nor thy unworthy Clan Banner,
Yet my Blade!
Yet my Blade!
Gleaming here, owre,
At auld Stirling Bridge,
Wi' fiery bluid imbued,
Graving still deep mirk stane,
Under yon Steel Glare
Ne'er to wane!
Another poem of mine, still in a medieval Scottish tone, and mentioning the great battle of Stirling Bridge in AD 1297. There is a semiotic variant of this martial-philosophical composition.
“i love your neck,” he whispers as his hand curls around the pale flesh delicately. careful not to bruise in places easily seen.
      “i love your neck,” he whispers kissing the bruises he left behind. red, purple, yellow decorating it like a necklace.
      “i love your neck,” he says gripping it tightly as he thrusts deeper in your body. your breath is caught in your throat, you struggle to breathe.
      “i love your neck,” he says pushing you against the wall- bruises are a normal sight, it doesn’t scare you anymore, not to breathe.
     “i love your neck” he says as he leads you to the scaffold. you think of the blade at your neck and wonder if it loves yours too.
16. julliet 2020
3:44 am.
Left Foot Poet Jul 2020
She,
my cutter,
my body, her cutting board

sliced by tongue and fingernail,
any handy human implement,
she sculpts me to
her eye's reconfiguring delight

she,
grabs my wrist,
and my face
in her hands grasp-embraced

unblemished once,
now becomes all scarred tissued,
no guise, no lies, no bearded mask,
no disguise - all forsaken

hidden hardened skin,
speckled red/white translucent,
she kisses with adoration her
heart designed
objet d'art

no better blade than she,
with every cut,
transformed, she becomes
my devotee,
I, her escapee,
I am her, she is me,
inseparable, my every command,
she obeys

for our love
cuts both ways
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020
Bells sing at death's dance
Cloak of galaxies vapors
A scythe of petals
Just a short haiku I wrote based on a dream I had
of a sword with charms and bells.
Tommorow, I'll be dropping a third letter of my six part letter series!
It was so sad for me to write, but it will add another layer to the growing story
Heres a link to the three that I have written already:
The Screen [Intro]: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2667918/the-screen/
Meihua's Message: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2681085/meihuas-message/
Yuyan's Message: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3919420/yuyans-message/
will Jun 2020
we were like a switchblade
sometimes a smooth surface
with pain on the inside
sharp edges hidden away

but we flicked out sometimes
taking it all out on the world
nothing deserves to feel the kiss
of our mind's rusty blades

She would hold us by the tips
polishing away the old blood
and revealing a dull blade
that never wanted to hurt anyone
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020
Blade of Heaven's rain
Misfortune has left its mark
Dew sings songs of grief
338 followers, *** thank you all so so much!
This haiku was dedicated to me watching the grass blades in my garden as it's been raining.
Usually I feel so tired around rain but today, I feel so energized! I've got a new project in tow - a new free verse collection in the works! ^-^
I've got alot of research to do for it but itll be worth it!
Stay safe and well everyone,
Much love,
Lyn 💜
TyeniWrites Jun 2020
The pain kept getting unbearable
As the blade slit her wrist deep
But she didn't stop cutting
With tear filled eyes
she screamed "I just want to feel if I'm still alive."
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