Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CMXIClement Apr 28
One click, two clicks as they are locked within the chamber.
Trapped within themselves, stoking coals red hot with anger.

Because...

Kindness is a trinket, and people value it as much.
An ornament worth a look, but seldom worth a touch.

And now...

Sitting in this chamber, who I am remains unseen.
I could not cut enough to show what lies beneath.

And still...

I am who I am, and this world will not change me.
I will be who I am, this pain will not derange me.

And I wish...

I wish that all they saw was the color of my soul.
I wish my story mattered to them a bit more.

But now...

One click, two clicks with a hollow point in the chamber.
Freedom from myself, soaking walls blood red with anger.
To anyone that may read this, it's not a suicide note, just an "expressive" moment.
karly codr Jan 16
tea leaves
sink to the bottom of the mug
escaping from
the metal chamber
that holds them
becoming a layer
of grit
waiting to be found
Andrew Layman Oct 2020
Strange rhythm
beating behind the wall
so many chambers
fast footsteps
slow breathing
nothing can mute this music
since I hardly know you at all.
Chris Jun 2020
Hello?
Can you hear me?

Do you feel the same?
You do?

Hello?
Can you repeat me?

Hello?
Can you give me my opinion?

Hello?
Should we silence all disagreement?
I find that we all like being in an echo chamber, at least from time to time.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Cleansings
by Michael R. Burch

Walk here among the walking specters. Learn
inhuman patience. Flesh can only cleave
to bone this tightly if their hearts believe
that God is good, and never mind the Urn.

A lentil and a bean might plump their skin
with mothers’ bounteous, soft-dimpled fat
(and call it “health”), might quickly build again
the muscles of dead menfolk. Dream, like that,

and call it courage. Cry, and be deceived,
and so endure. Or burn, made wholly pure.
One’s prayer is answered,
“god” thus unbelieved.

No holy pyre this—death’s hissing chamber.
Two thousand years ago—a starlit manger,
weird Herod’s cries for vengeance on the meek,
the children slaughtered. Fear, when angels speak,

the prophesies of man.
Do what you "can,"
not what you must, or should.
They call you “good,”

dead eyes devoid of tears; how shall they speak
except in blankness? Fear, then, how they weep.
Escape the gentle clutching stickfolk. Creep
away in shame to retch and flush away

your ***** from their ashes. Learn to pray.

Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, ashes, crematorium, chimney, smoke, gas, chamber, Auschwitz, starvation, walking dead, mass graves, genocide, ethnic cleansing, racism, antisemitism, fascism, cruelty, brutality, inhumanity, horror
quiel Oct 2019
i.
every night
i
sit in the same place and
i
think of things
i
wish i could tell you;
i
am pounding on the chambers of your heart
i
am shouting these words and
i
don't know if you're listening but
i
hope you hear the echoes.
18/100
Tatiana Feb 2019
Locked in the cradle of influence.
Rocked back and forth with songs not your own.
Speak their minds
all the time.

Push against the rails of innocence.
Hear your cries return to your own mouth.
Choke on it
echo it.

Poison your mind with your need to please.
Fight them and yourself to be yourself.
See the world
hear its hurt.

Crawl to the door try to open it.
It yields some, but not always enough.
"Let me out!"
let me out

"Let me out!"
let me out
"Let me out!"
let me out

let me out
.
..
...
When did you come to the realization that you were just echoing what other people said and not really thinking for yourself? Or when did you stop trying to please others by yielding to their beliefs over your own? I realized when I turned 19.
Badshah Khan Feb 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust) – 32

BismillahIr RahmanIr Raheem

The mighty king is always been a slave,

And the Dearly Queen is always be doxy’

In their private chamber!

Nor the Royalty or Nobility matters,

When its comes to their unquenchable thirst!

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

Ummah Thurab – Badshah Khan.
©UT-BK 2019
Rubayiat Al Thurab (Verses of the Dust)
Irina BBota Sep 2018
Reach out your hand, take me into your palms
for one second or a minute of the leaking time,
listen to the rhythm of my heart from reckless Brahms
losing me in the labyrinth that touches me with its eye.

Open my heart's buttons to see its full nakedness,
loving me as if tomorrow morning you would lose the bets,
give him a spark, for his passion to reanimate, making us
forget about you, about me, about all our regrets.

Take me into that chamber bathing in the nuances of fire,
take the body that now is incapable of self-control,
let the music in the background comfort my hearing and inspire,
waiting until the ice melts in my heart and my soul.

Love me with a body that no longer thinks of anything new
bearing the mark of an acute and fine sensuality of a dove,
enveloped by the appetizing flavour that worries you
in this ritual of the pantomime from the game of love.

Dare me with your fingers that traces on my shoulders
lines that for a few moments are burning me, consuming me
with the intensity of the eye that fixes me, it marks me,
making me lose the last morsel of my mind, foolishly.

I would not resist your spontaneous urge to touch my bust
with your penetrating glance or emotions, awakening, letting me be,
with a burning temptation that's not extinguishing that crazy lust,
nor under the breath of night that would sneak in unconsciously.
Anya Aug 2018
The size of our suffer
Is relative to each other
Like gas between walls
It evenly falls
What fills our breath
Doesn’t seem to matter
Because between sickness and death
We choose the latter
Next page