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Croon thy words
In a tune loud.
Wrap me ****
In a white shroud.

Yell thy whine
for my chained soul,
What shall determine
The dead one's parole?

Solace me dear
For death I Fear.
Strange is yet
That All I hear!

Dead one fears
As corse is hurried.
Don't haste to the yard
Where bones are buried!

Since I hear,
Speak to me dear.
As far I am unalive
Azrael won't arrive
And
Speak to me a lie
Until I die.
Monologue of a corse, hearing people's elegies for his death.
Moth Oct 4
I sit alone on the floor,
the light blinks in and out.
...or perhaps it is my eyes?
that I cast now over leftwards
to look at the doorway.
Empty, as it always is,
or is now? as it should be.

I feel as though I am floating,
no, I am grounded now.
Chained here to the floor.
My body lays like bones in the ground,
unmoving and crushed by dirt.
heavy and cloying, the smell of earth.
worms dig under my skin,
wriggling parasites in my skull.

Am I decaying? like I once wished.
my thoughts like rot, what else...
but to deteriorate into darkness.
My body lays on the floor,
a useless cadaver as it always was.
I am strung to it by some means,
my ghost lingering on the dead.
Have I not moved on yet?
J J Jun 17
Comatosed with open gaze insinuating
Morphine daydreams,
With bristling hairs along arms
Before she had the chance to shave
and the folicles deactivated;
It is her womb she has devoted
For the public eye;
How it slowly rots, from incarnadine
-as the historical pictures aside her show-
To it's current viridian swelter;
Like an ugly robust bruise too tough to die.

Rupturing outward a torridness
Of legs and crooked fingers stuck to half-grip,
Scanning southly one notes globules of goosebumps
Haunting up her thighs,
Pricking cloudward and shivering implying that,atleast,
For a second whilst living she was aware of this—
Her impending fate.

Red,red,red lips
bud close to form a cute,poppish image,
Honouring those photographers who come and go—
Her tiny hands are posited to corner her tiny *******
As not to stir any further controversy.
The lady in the jar awaits the usuals,while blind
to her own doing so,

Mind overrun and on display like a faulty calculator
Via that dull, happy, gaze.

She smells up the room of exquisite perfume and
Quixotic trees and fields and roads and too much more to mention...

The fee these stranger's would scavage from their pockets
Just to be awarded a chance to touch
The fair lady’s skin and determine a better verdict
As to whether or not she meant all that much to the world
at all.
kevin wright May 18
Introspective
retrace our steps
take a chance
by what means
holy sum

       going back
       our design
       choose the options
       a designers jeans
       a healthy reward

in the moment
the world over
cutting the cloth
wherefore
the selling concept

      thinking out a loud
      in a tube
      opening expo 2020
      it matters to me
      eternal life

futuristic
interjection
prerequisite
whose WHO

      another generation
      a genetic double
     100 perfect
     facsimile & co


                              Introspective back going
                              steps retrace our design
                              take a chance choose the options
                              by what means a designers jeans
                              holy sum a healthy reward
                              in the moment thinking out a loud
                              the world over in a tube
                              cutting the cloth opening expo 2020
                              wherefore it matters to me
                              the selling concept, eternal life
                              futuristic another generation
                              interjection a genetic double
                              prerequisite 99.9% perfect
                              whose WHO, Facsimile & co.
'Designer' poem that mimics the experimentation process that occurs in genetics
Poetic T May 17
Death is beauty,
               as the rose atop of death
feeds on the nourishment of
                                   an empty shell.


Even though its petals decay,
                              its reaches higher

than the tomb
                      to bring life crimson to the surface.
Kindred (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Rise, pale disastrous moon!
What is love, but a heightened effect
of time, light and distance?

Did you burn once,
before you became
so remote, so detached,

so coldly, inhumanly lustrous,
before you were able to assume
the very pallor of love itself?

What is the dawn now, to you or to me?
We are as one,
out of favor with the sun.

We would exhume
the white corpse of love
for a last dance,

and yet we will not.
We will let her be,
let her abide,

for she is nothing now,
to you
or to me.

Published by Songs of Innocence. Keywords/Tags: moon, pale, disastrous, remote, detached, cold, inhuman, lustrous, pallor, love, itself, white, corpse
Dust
by Michael R. Burch

Flame within flame,
  we burned and burned relentlessly
    till there was nothing left to be consumed.
    Only ash remained, the smoke plumed
  like a spirit leaving its corpse, and we
were left with only a name
ever common between us.
  We had thought to love “eternally,”
    but the wick sputtered, the candle swooned,
    the flame subsided, the smoke ballooned,
  and our communal thought was: flee, flee, flee
the choking dust.

Keywords/Tags: dust, ash, spent flame, smoke, spirit, corpse, common, name, divorce, separation, parting
MEERA SURESH Mar 29
SOULS CAN EASILY SWAP SIDES
AND DRIFT AWAY LIKE TIDES
LEAVING A CORPSE AT THE BEACH
SOLITARY ENOUGH FOR IT TO PREACH
"LET THE WAVE ERODE THE SHORE
INSTEAD FOR IT TO CORRODE MORE"
BUT,
THE SEA CAN ROB ITS TEARS
**** OUT ALL EMOTIONAL GEARS
FILL ITS LIFE WITH GLEE
AND ALLOW DARK MEMORIES TO FLEE
"AS WAVES CAN CLEAR THE SHORE
INSTEAD FOR IT TO CORRODE MORE
at times,when a friend of you back stabs you.you literally feel like you could quit life,or be a cruel heartless person.....its the  same way for me now
N Mar 21
My eyes has been
wide open all night
like a corpse’s eyes

Would you come and
gently close them for
me so I can finally sleep?
I wanted to write a poem about how much I’ve missed her, and I guess this is my way of saying it.
N Nov 2019
The unspoken words
grew in my veins till
they intoxicated my mind

A deadly psyche planted inside
a breathing corpse
that’s perpetually dying
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