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Chris Saitta Jul 24
Therein lies the fur, filled with running wind,
Milkweed in the scruff, the scent of wild-wood,
Some mystery-hearted forest where pulse begins.
Therein lies the Centaur, satyr, and god-disguised swan,
Ageless wonders prowled upon by an age-old Parthenon.
You broke your wolf’s tooth through those haunches of lore.

Therein lies the fur, filled with barking dust and dandelion war,
With a spine that stretched back to the she-wolf and city-birth,
The peeled nerve of a howl once tremored your Aurelian lips.
Therein lies the serf, hunter, fairer hand, and lord,
From wattles and daub, the wandering-sands of Saracen, or Crusader’s moor.
You kept the path beside to remind that instinct shines as the holiest earth.

Therein lies the fur, the warm, ungovernable peasant of sleep,
Ever prophetic in your skies by eyeshut-trace of the hunting moon,
Twitching at the day’s thousand faces, all asleep in themselves.
Therein lies the soldier, nurse, chaplain, and fell-prayer,
Mange-like war is the whimpering season with its flea-bitten welts of stars.
You struck blind but true at the throat of gas-hissing war.

Therein lies the fur, outracing the rain and the spout,
Nested with more birds and Autumn song than rain,
Your sleeping ear pooled like cool eaves of the barn.

I sing once more like a boy into your unfolded ear.
Listen always for my ancient, choral voice and your chores of play,
And race earback to the sun in the belly-grass of your free-eyed fields.
Leave your last paw mark, torn on the red clay of my hand.
You are forever wrapped in human touch, ageless and aged,
And if ever the dark in madder darkness encroaches,
Leave black eternity to my faithful eyes.
For Dingo, dog of war.
evita Apr 21
we are gathered here today
for a dry-eyed affair.

there is no need for candles—
phones light up this room.

peanuts and candy wrappers
are scattered on the floor,

and the gaudy matrons
glint and gossip in the pews.

let the adults brag
about scholarships and diplomas,

let the relatives unearth
tension and deception

while the dead lies
surrounded by white flowers.

is there even room for mourning
when we are all so busy talking?
just got back from a week-long writing workshop in the mountains. today is the last day of my aunt's wake. the heat in the province is unbearable.
Badshah Khan Apr 14
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 87

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

Oh my Beloved!
With your divine presence’
In the barren garden’
Whole garden started to flourish.

When I naturally suspect,’
The divine presence of you’
I am universally seeing the gazing light’
All over the barren garden.

Oh my Beloved!
This minute, I rest peacefully’
Within your divine presence.

In my sacred burial ground
Which is correctly located
At this barren garden!

Allah Khair….. Khairul Rabul Alameen Yah Arrahmanur Yah Raheem

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Over Dec 2018
Confined within for seventeen never-ending years
Greeted every morning by its hollow disgusting sneer
Cutting fingers trying to peel off the layers of this theater
Getting stabbed and kicked in the head again, death is near

Another day, lost in the space
Feeling more and more alien
Piercing the days like a warrior
Have my head cut off a thousand times
Another day, losing my own face
Smells more and more my carrion
Peering through this barrier
Have my body buried a thousand miles down the earth

Existence does not mean belongingness
Dedicated to Per "Dead" Ohlin
Sharon Talbot Nov 2018
He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.
Based on a silly advert for perfume, with Johnny as a superstitious rebel! I had to make a "story" of it, just for laughs.
Anine Oct 2018
The day has come, I was left alone,
But my commitment has yet to be done.
I have not claimed our infinity, I have had not shown my sincerity.
I shan't be ignorant before my soul and body be gone.

I would come for her lying grave-
Each day with flowers to bring.
Open field, warm breeze, an almost perfect scenery.
As I sat and looked down in melancholy.
The tears were still to fall, the things I recall,
Until I touched the glass over you, I became lifeless too.

I will stay just as we had promised.
More than the vow we created together.
Though, my dear, you've gone home before  me,
I'll wait for my time to be with you again, forever.
It just popped into my mind after seeing this old man visiting his wife's grave.

He just died last month
Anna Oct 2018
The noose around your neck
Is around ours
Necks warped and twisted
By pools of molten tears
Erupting without warning

She was an infected bullet wound
Giving you tetanus
A black line that raced to your mind
Reddening your eyes
So you only saw death

You burned in the fire of Hades
Capricious flames dancing
A witch burning alive
Found guilty of being human
A verdict you couldn’t live with

They can't point fingers now
At the void where you were
And their fingers are lost
In old handkerchiefs
Saturated with their tears

Flowers replace you
Where you once stood
White when they should be black
You choke on religion
Even now

We pull back the soil
Tucking you up with the earth
Kissing you with impotent words
Burying you under the rope
You carried so diligently in life
Trigger warning: suicide. This was written about suicide after my boyfriend at the time's brother killed himself. It explores his pain and the pain of those left behind.
21 gun salute;
Another mother
©2018 VenjencieArnold
6-word story; brevity. WAR is our governments answer all over the world, why? War isn't peace nor does it bring Peace unless you mean, REST IN PEACE? Peace isn't peace if it's forced. Peace isn't peace if it isn't free!
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