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Mark Toney Mar 2020
undocumented lies exhumed - unmitigated truth entombed

© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved
1/4/2019 - Poetry form: Monoku - A type of poem which is made up of a single horizontal line consisting of seventeen syllables or less. Traditionally considered as a haiku writing, Monoku appeared as an independent style of poetry in the 1970s. The first letter should not be capitalized. - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Mark Toney Oct 2019
unmitigated lies exhumed - undocumented truth entombed
1/4/2019 - Poetry form: Monoku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Gadreel darchangel
source of truth and light
your seal shines
in the firmament
It's witnessed
every single night.

You nudged the quills
of scribes inspired....
who took your
nom de plume,
unwittingly applied it
to His word ...
had the Maker's own

Your master plan
to strike his name
and substitute your own
is working Prince....
everyone says "Gad"....
by Jove your name
has grown.
Another hymn from - Hems Heard in Heaven & Haws Heard in Hell

                         B   R   A   I   N

             ­                                shake
                                                      this    ­        
                                                        ­   feeling
                                                       ­    That  
                                                      ­       the      
                                                     Infected sickness
                                                Covered with dull pain
                                         A rabid                          werewolf
                         ­             I’m trying                             to tame
                                     Almost off                              the leash
                                    I tug at                                    the reigns
                                    Hold              on  ­       with       sheer will
                                    Have          nothing   ­    to                 gain
                           ­        My                       efforts;                  A joke
                                   Fighting               a freight                   train
                                    Through              gr­it teeth             I smile
                                      Demeanor             ­                       I feign
                                          Failure          ­    coming            soon
                                      ­       My life,         one more        stain

                                             ­                    Lost
                                                          ­         sight
                                                                ­      of
                                                                ­      it
                                                                ­        all
                                                   ­               To
                                                            ­ it
       ­                                            Spinning in
                                       the drain
           ­                             Forever
                           ­  Of

            No                   longer                    I’m                   sane………

Written: May 1, 2018 (finished June 27, 2018)

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Pentameter format]
Poetic T Mar 2018
Abstraction of every glimpse,
                     woven within closed views.
But still they gaze on the entombed caskets,
       that have never been looked upon.

And within there is only broken reflections,
          that collect mute on the screams
of reverberated white room.
                            Where every thing is silence.
Poetic T Nov 2017
Would I dream of you,
  Your face entomed within
Me, like a bird caged but free.

I dream of you,
But the emotional turmoil
Leaves you blurry within.

I never wished to lumber upon
       You, better that I let this
Dream do as others, fade away.
Alan S Bailey Nov 2016
Life and death...
The endless cycle
This is what we both fear and love,
It's pain that brought you future pleasure
And it's pleasure which brought you future pain,
Don't run from yourself when push comes to shove,
Here I am, still before you. All washes away with rain.
Nature shall be the universal anointment upon your head,
It will become your honest everlasting saviour,
It will make certain that you in spirit live forever after
Once you overcome fate, entombed by your fears no more.
Poetic T May 2016
The door never relinquished its grip,
baneful whispers knocked endlessly
non where heard but some screamed.

Clamouring upon senses worth, edging
them towards deliriums shade. Wishing
to open lingering to be again rebirthed.

But wood inscribed knots hidden where
eyes did not linger, few could see what it
forcibly entombed, kept forever concealed.

There are many bushes that linger outside
its view, these are the souls that dared to
knock once now obscured.

It will keep knocking on the veil, waiting
for it true intent now cunningly revealed. 
Who will be its bearer, who will keep it entombed.

*"Can you hear the door knocking will you
seek its shrouded truths,
Don't seek what other do not hear, for what lingers behind this place will be your downfall
Poetic T May 2016
I took it in hand it bled my pain, crimson ink
was entombed on each stroke my torment spilt
with ever increasing momentum.

But you can only bleed so much before you run
dry and emaciated your mind slowly puts that
red inked pen down, you bled enough on the page.

But now the thoughts have died, your wanting
to bury this that was ill conceived. Truths that
your mind thanks but your eyes cant handle truth.
A series of 3 this is pain there is also, Depression,  Darkness  all about inking out thoughts
You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just

— The End —