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Chit Mar 30
Walking down the aisle fascinates me
Where it always felt
Like my wedding day
Where I will be dressed in white
With tulips in my hand
Eyes fixed to the man
Waiting at the altar
Serenading by the choir
And the groom was half naked
Hanging on the cross
M Solav Mar 28
So this is how it feels
To be nailed to a cross
On a backdrop of pillows.

That mattress on which we lie...
The bedsheets are like the wind
Floating amidst your thundering sighs;

Yes, they are hammering me down
As you hold me there with your thighs
Beneath mine.

I am powerless,
I am breathless
As I tread upon the night sky
And the echoes of your sighs.

There is a crossroad as I follow the path:

One to sorrow,
One to hopelessness,
One to indifference
And one to the divine.

And now at last there's a silence
That may linger til the morn.

We’re all prepared for renewal
From a past that won’t be left behind.
Written on January 7th, 2021.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Maria Mitea Apr 5
Today I want to draw you
(Yes, I can draw you. It's all about starting.)

With the black pencil, I draw a cross on the white,
I cut the white, you're done, you're not white,
You would have been a bride dressed in white,
but you are not,
Then I wonder, what another colour,
I jump joyfully and choose the yellow pencil,

I draw your eyes with yellow, you start shouting at me,
The black cross is cutting the white of the paper
from one end to the other,
again, you are screaming out your lungs,
your screaming energizes the colour,
yellow comes out on the lips, on the nose,
it brightens the thickness of the eyes.

The room is full of golden light
fighting with monochromatic egotism.

Your yellow is absorbed in me,
I become a dandelion that draws you în autumn leaves,
jasmine, chrysanthemums, butterflies, bees,
all small insects invade the room, the paper,
my eyes enter your eyes.

You scream at me ”stop! it hurts”

Greedily I consume all the yellow from the sun,
You keep screaming at me  ”do not **** me in flowers”
I  get more excited
and I move with the joy of a child who discovered the pleasure of scribbling,

The yellow from the drawing grows your head big like an asteraceae,
I start seeing a smoky red, invasively yellow navigates towards red,
red is growing in an orange,

The orange rolls under the golden layer, it touches the cross.
The cross gives birth to multicoloured roads,
gardens and orange orchards are growing  from the desire to shape your face,

You stopped shouting. I sketch your profile.
With a husky voice, you ask me if I can draw an orange,
I draw an orange.
Tell me, who doesn't like oranges.
Alex Gifford Dec 2020
Bound and led the quiet man,
delivered up to me.
"Put him to death, the blasphemer",
was the people's plea.

My wife sent word to wash my hands,
she suffered in a dream.
I tried with water before the mob,
it didn't make me clean.

I put a sign above the cross,
the one I made him bring.
I killed a greater man than I,
he truly was the king.
This is about Pontius Pilots internal conflict when he sent Jesus to be crucified.
Poetic T Nov 2020
What made me an atheist!!

I get the question a lot!!

And my reply isn't for the
                               faint-hearted

Giving back in return what the
         the priest gave me but in return.


                            Over the alter,
all you heard from his lips where
             profanities!!!

Oh Jesus,
          ****** it!!

holy mother of god!!

    He took the bread and his ****

drank the wine...

And I thought if a man of the cloth could
           say the lord's name in vain so much
how could there be a lord if

he was blasphemous to such a degree...

I left him tied to the alter, a cross down
his throat... swallowing his faith,
             but his god couldn't save him...

I did the sign of the ******* as I left....
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
I love when I look at my footprints and see that I've moved forward

I may not have arrived at the other side yet
At least I am not stuck standing still in the middle of the road like I was before

I break when I glimpse the light breaching asphalt from oncoming headlights
Crumple to the ground

Because today for the first time the distance completed has been greater than the distance left to travel
Because it was shaped like a T
Ace Nov 2020
here lies the girl who gave too much,
the girl that could have been someone’s princess,
in another life,
in another world,
on your throne made
of thin glass.
your silver medal is the chain around your neck,
it’s crucifixion,
standing trial by fire,
rosaries and scars, and ashes, ashes, we all fall down,
we’ve all got rotten posies in our pockets.
you fell from grace when you least expected it,
a sinner and a heartbreaker,
instead of the saint and healer you wanted to be.
with a soul in your hand and a smirk on your lips,
you held me close with no idea how to love.
but you wanted to, oh, I know you did, you ached for it,
felt It in your bones,
and your heart,
and your beautiful mind.
you built your love on lies and texts and late-night calls,
your calculated chaos too thin to hold your weight
and mine.
the third time I lost you, I was gone before I could finish the story.
hahah this is based off a really sad ******* poem i read off tumblr at three am and loved
Dylan McFadden Oct 2020
That fateful day, It slipperily slunk,
The shrewd and crafty Beast

And with Its slithery tongue It struck
Two hearts, and hell released

A fateful day! A fateful dint!
…The Fall of the Beloved

But then and there One gave the hint
Of rescue from Above

---

That fateful day the Beast would bite
The heel of The Great King

But He, in turn, would crush Its head –
Death’s prisoners would sing:

“The fateful Day eternity told,  
Foreknown before the world!


The Lion came, brave and bold –
The Lamb slain from of old!”


---

And so, that fateful day was but
A part in the Grand Scheme

One fateful Day He’d come indeed
To ransom and redeem

That fateful Day upon a cross
He breathed His final breath:

“It is finished!” was His cry;
The death of death in death.

.
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