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David Hilburn Jul 2022
Bridge on fire
Flames noted for their honesty, justice
Given a stoic chance, the element of a sire
Waiting on the God given stir, of heaven to spice?

We walk with ourselves and a name
So allowed, so meticulously reasoned
By the tides of tomorrow, the edges of shame
Will us to life, the self and same, since seasoned

Rain may come, a harrowing guidance to destiny's future
Fortunes of simplicity and chaste, the gall
To step forward, and ask a land in all curiosity
Is a found and timid laugh, our only way to an answer's fall?

Succinctly the embittered path, with a rue
Time mushrooming into secrets and pains where with all
Hello, adding sincere to a bonfire of vanity's, a could
And a shoulder of compassion from here to sight eternal...

But the fire persists, the devotion of silence's choice
In the stir of accept, and where winds know a callous insist
The terror of a failing humanity, with a salt to its fame, if not voice
Where has irony and its conscience been, the eyes of hate we visit?

Little harmony, the stuff of patience and liberty's dreams
Still a hand to hold, when peace becomes a risen sort, to avid lead
Long in the truth to overwhelm a shadow, we all know and seem
Where presence of mind has a lover, somewhere sending a remorse's kiss, to me...
Ylzm Mar 2022
If you need dark to see light
   then you had never seen the light
If you need the grotesque to see beauty
   then in all likelihood you're the grotesque one
If you need death's sting to feel alive
   then you're already dead for life's contemptuous of death
If absence makes heart fonder
   then death's eternal separation
   compels love unto life resurrected
Yenson Dec 2021
Seven thousand mile away
I studied Shakespeare by candlelight
due to long and constant power cut
yet I still made A1 grade in English Literature

My friends grew up in Shakespeare country
they have electricity twenty-four sevenRed
all they can write is diss poetry
and act as useful idiots for thieves and loonies
they tell me I am suffering
and cancelled
I say
“You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue,
you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish
O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard,
you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!”

“Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.”

“Villain, I have done thy mother”

“Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell”

So we know why anarchists are dripping with envy and jealousy
about the man who read Shakespeare by candlelight
and yet bettered them all
so I say again

“You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! I’ll tickle your catastrophe!”
dark blue Aug 2021
i own you
when your **** is hard
throbbing in my hand
i love the power
i have over you
relish the control
of pleasure or pain
to make you *** or not
stop begging
quit whimpering
i’ll pump as i please
get you to the edge
remove my hand
watch you squirt
once twice
into nothingness
laughing at ruining
your ******
reminding you
you’ve been pwned
stupid little loser boy
annh Nov 2020

what you have;
the sticks and the stones,
the brittle bones and the names
you call yourself out of disappointment,
frustration and contempt. СНЕГІЅН it all; the
rituals and the struggles, the battles lost and won.
Eventually, those positions held so uncompromisingly
will be surrendered, by choice or by chance, to the
nothingness from whence
they came.
|          |          |          |          |  ­        Г          |          |          |          |          |
you are at one or at odds with yourself, whether you like it or not, they are a part of what has made you who you are - informed your choices, shaped your present. Return them to the bedrock of the earth, the ether, or the ocean, if you will; but do so with grace, fond remembrance, and a care for that which lives on within you.

‘I have had to experience so much stupidity, so many vices, so much error, so much nausea, disillusionment and sorrow, just in order to become
a child again and begin anew.’
- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
John McCafferty Jun 2020
An irreverent force
armed in localised wars
Flames of rage displayed in waves
Some strings attached
to bring about more force
Shattered glass and burnt bricks
won't fix what a voice is worth
But irrelevance when oppressed
blinded with contempt seeks to vent
So many mistakes are blamed to
create what is made of the states
Powers that be have a responsibility
to assist those in need without them bending the knee
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
a letter to each of my wraiths,
spirits of insidious intent.
to those who could not stomach
my tempestuous volatility,
the ones who grinned
and ran upon learning
I am a storm with skin.

the phantasms, loathsome and odious.
to the scorch marks you left upon
the deepest caverns of my soul.
melodious, vile, cloying, abysmal.

I drank every honeyed word like a promise:
yet it was naught but fermented love.
these are the odes for the ghosts
of my past mistakes.

I'll paint you all in a ravenously
meticulous light. you will have
your fifteen minutes in the sun,
before I set you all ablaze.


you need no title, you deserve no name.
if you ever read this, harbor no doubts
that this is your trial.

you make me wish for an exorcism.
after all these years, your demon still sleeps within the marrow of my bones.

you are nothing more than a disease.

by some act of paradoxical cruelty,
I am unable to hate you. you deserve
it, but it is out of my capabilities.

you were poison.
you whispered sweet promises
that you didn't,
couldn't understand.
you tasted like pomegranates
and original sin.
you held me up when I
couldn't breathe, believe
in anything, or even stand.

thrice you sent me back
to the abyss.
in the end, we ascended
the throne as rightful heirs.

did you know what
you were doing?
did it even matter?
did you happen to care?

I'd like nothing more than to burn
every inch of you from my memory.

I dream of you on your birthday.
on days and dates of significance
that you have long forgotten.

you are a parasite. you were my muse.
I cannot help but wonder if you
understand what you truly are.
you have done that which is
unforgivable: I hope it corrupts you.
hate yourself for me, as I am unable to.

pray to whatever gods you hold
that you never cross my path.
I will annihilate you with a single glance.
encase you in ice so you may rule
the underworld alone.
I am your captive no longer.

I see you fully, in inscrutable detail.
I want to be the one holding the mirror,
all too happy to show you exactly
what you have always been. let it destroy
you: yet even that is too kind a fate.

your abhorrence festers within yourself,
your diseased and poisoned soul
eating away at the facade you built.
I'm tearing it down and exposing
your darkest fears and sins.


you are a brazen ballad of
burning bravado.

I'm done purging and
dissecting my soul for you.

you are not an enigma.
you are no daughter of the sun.
you are transparent.
you paint yourself in ashes;
desperate for resplendence.
I cannot stop you, darling.
just remember: I am the one
who taught you how to shine.

yes, it is true: I burnt you
with hands of unintentional
volatility. since my
transgressions; I have fasted,
wept, and atoned my sins.
yet desipte agreements,
promises of your forgiveness;
I have all but brought you
my head upon a platter.

I weigh my words upon a scale.
I do not wish to harm you again.
I am Atlas, pirouetting across
an endless sea of ice.
I dare not shatter you
with thoughtless words.
yet you have become a
threat to my own health.

I want nothing more than to repair
the frayed edges, yet I cannot
sew the tatters of fifteen years
with a single spool of thread.
restoration is not a one way street.

two weeks ago I bore my soul:
the fragility, voracity, my
undiltuted truth.
I forgave myself for what
I did in days past, at your behest.

it is, and shall never be enough.
no. not for the opulence
of a goddess. yet you are not
made of fire. you are ice.


you have been nothing more
than a mirage. at least the truly
deceased only visit twice a year.
they don't leave unhinged promises.

“we could rebuild, recreate,”
and other half truths
you weave and sell.

you know just as well as I do, honey:
words are wind.
they do not bring warmth;
foster naught but sweet sighs
that shall never come to light.

your translucency is a beacon,
and you are the only one
unaware of how easy it is
to see through you.

I am truly sorry.
I am finished ripping open
the lining of my bones
to the lamenting cries
of unanswered echoes.

if ever your luster returns,
bringing substantial proof of
warmth, commitment; your needles
and thread: perhaps we can
recreate our tapestry.

until then, the silk shall remain
as it is: ravelled, fading,
matching your soul in every
transparent, powdery aspect.
October 23rd, 2018.

read this not with malice or cruelty, but instead as a torch song.
i am purging all of the darkness and decay in a blazon of ephemeral light. From the ashes I rise anew, knowing that no inch of my soul has been tainted by you.

kalica delphine ©
Ptax Kuro Jan 2020
The city of Korosten burned out,
burned from head to bottom.
Spoiled wild birds flew away
scared. No more deer left,
only people died.
All the houses were cindered.
There’s no stone left to turn
and break your ******* face.
Sean Thienpont Nov 2019
He stole my sight
Away through cleaves
Her freckled hair lost among leaves
A wit, a fancy unbecoming of us
No sword or arrow could ever become thus
No just
This man trampled what belonged to us
His heart,
A link
To the Past
Contempt for videogames?
Misplaced feelings for the heroine?

Who knows??

Hate, anger,
Contempt and loathing.
They're all building up,
I feel like exploding.

I have no release.
I have no relief.
The water is rising,
The tide is coming in.

Losing space,
Losing ground,
Losing face,
All around.

I can't explain.
I can't deny.
I can't confirm.

Copyright From A Poet's Heart
I stayed angry and hateful during the majority of my marriage to my ex husband. This is just another example. The poems i have posted so far are my earliest writings.
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