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Brynn S Nov 2018
A small note attached to the small toe of the not yet dead woman
It read of sorrow and peace as she lay there still breathing
To why was she spread upon the iron table with eyes the color of coins
Displayed, surrounded by mirrors and windows ***** and unbreakable
Not a whimper slipped from her mouth as the small knife slit into her
Tearing the silk gown with precision of an artist,
the butcher masqueraded itself as husband
Emerald eyes shed no tears, reflexes halt to an end, an acceptance was reached
In her hands held a relic, one of the past and future. The piece was a watch
Ticking, counting down each second of breath. Belief in release the ******* death
Feeling of pleasure with each cut, the teasing texture of blood cascading downwards
How tantalizingly horrific the scene of sacrifice; a modern day alter
Rested upon rusted roses and sweet thorns the alive child laid
Silence for she has given voice to the goddess and the body to the God
Neroxes Zephyrus Nov 2018
The truest darkness,
The darkest night,
Is not a place without light,
But where light will never return.

Darkness cannot roam without light,
And light cannot grow without darkness.
Forever in a tug of war,
But neither side can win.

From the co-existence of light and dark,
Both live, and both die.
They are tied to one another,
Simply two sides of a coin.

Do not try to rid of darkness,
And let light roam free.
Neither let darkness consume,
And fall into the endless void.

I envy you,
I’ve seen too much, heard too much.
People trying to tip the careful balance of light and dark,
But the forces always turn back to square one.

Don’t say I did not warn you,
Don’t say you didn’t know.
Neither can win, and neither can lose.
Interfering with the game,
And chaos will ensure.
exist Oct 2018
either i have butter fingers
or happiness is coated in butter
because i can’t seem
to hold on to it
sad “happy” sad “happy”
de Negre Oct 2018
in a moment of childish insurrection,
          i folded a coin in half.
using the godly, hulking, still-sitting vice,
          i placed the quarter into its cold palms

with each turn of the rod,
          the coin bent.
it rotated, the crushing iron force,
          the vice had no emotion, only strength

the coin warped, fighting, a steel bone structure
          pushing up against the silent jaws.
i kept turning, changing that reflection of george washington
          into an irregular, uneven, foul little thing.

it had lost its value, the quarter
          going from the 'almost half a dollar' state
into nothing.
          a strange, bent, dismembered corpse

a serial ******, with the body sent to the state
          this coin, bent. it had no value
a few cents in nickel or copper, (at most)
          but it didn't have any value before;

before it lost its sole purpose,
          its existence taken in (george washington's) its eye.
other than the fact that we gave it what it held important
          its 'purpose', its 'value'

so much for that
nihilistic (unlike critical theory) abt a coin i crushed. true story, ooh gory, too boring
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018

The destiny of madness and greatness
is printed and flipped on the Gods'
coin. It has shadowed the
silver-haired, violet-eyed
beauty from the storm
of her birth

Feeling a little better today.
Nausea still lingers but it wasnt as overwhelming as yesterday!
Freeverse is coming out soon! ^~^
Thank you guys so much for your kind messages! Truly, I'm humbled.
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Isaac Aug 2018
A coin is
A simple thing
Not much more than
A filled in ring
But it carries power
To make humans sour
So make sure
To avoid its sting!
Written 12 August 2018
Ashari Ty Aug 2018
The deafening clangs of a silver coin
On concrete as deep as a crying prose
Among others' silver, my gold shall join
For my wish is as precious, I suppose

Yes, I am aware; I am not alone
Who wishes for that element of love
Dug deep from the caverns of your rib bone
Or from treasures of the giants above
Sally A Bayan Jul 2018
The pile is ever ready
whatever type of music we dig...a ditty,
old songs, contemporary...all in a jiffy,
instruments will be playing
words, vocalizing all feelings
maybe, a song of calm
coming before, or after the storm...
Notes hover above the piled 45s
look closely...find your desired jive,
let's find our favorite tunes
and take turns in  dropping coins,
record is pulled out...shortly, our song will play
hold disruptive elements at bay and i, we're gonna sway
as a full moon....rises from the bay
allow our feelings to speak
while we're cheek to cheek,
as much as we want, we may croon,
after we dance, maybe we'll swoon
the world is ours...we'll be alright
"there'll more lonely nights!"


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 4, 2017
(recapturing memories of the's a feel good poem,
esp. when paired with Paul McCartney's
  No More Lonely Nights...)
Charlie Gnarly May 2018
Sometimes I wish I really was a bin.
Trash could fill my surrounds, and in.
******* would be in my mind,
I sometimes I could hope,
that a coin
might land
A graphically pleasing poem written about embodying my alter-ego transformation.
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