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Tensei Oct 3
Heaven clears its coward clouds
crows ascend and ravens caw
as a man unfazed and proud
greets aloud the Devil's maw

the land trembles at his spear
sunlight screaming on his shield
as his roar defeats the fear
and vibrates far into the field

the coming shadow of his foes
stretches further than he sees
so his gaze begins to glow
for he is where he's meant to be

a growl of courage and respect
rises from one hundred men
their lives ready to neglect
for those they'll never see again

the Earth quakes with endless herds
the burning sky begins to fall
his throat bulges its last words
and they bellow, "SHIELD WALL"

spears are laid their final hands
the heavy metal claps together
as brothers like their fathers stand
their mortal souls obtain forever.

In the veins where honor churns
the pulse of rage begins to tear
for the men who won't return
there is not a life to spare

and so it is

on a rock an ocean crashes
today men, tomorrow ashes
spear thrusts and shield smashes
for the lakes and for the grasses
for the name that never passes
and the star that always shines
their motherland, asleep behind
with the old and with the blind
with the children and the wives
the very womb that gave them lives

faces crack against their steel
footmen cry and captains kneel
a line of slaughter walled by zeal
brings each wave of slaves to heel
while the vultures praise their meal
the blade is swung, the pain ignored
necks are slit and skulls are gored
legs are worn and arms are sore
as fervor beats the chest's encore
like thunder drums the hum of war

blood with sweat in dust is bathed
no son is spared, no farewell bade
no grave is made, no boatman paid
a god was deaf when mothers prayed
alone they march the death parade
as the birds consume their spleens
all that's left is silent trees
who as tombs attend the scene
to absorb unto their gleam
what it's like to have been free

over yonder, in freedom somewhere
a daughter's silent cry implores
for her seesaw is still there
but its maker is no more.
Carmen in honorem - honor's song (Latin)
sanchit mehta May 25
What does the Quran say, to love,
but not to hate,
the people come on earth according to his will,
no one has the right to make them pay,
for their sins.
self destruction, mass collapse, this is not what Quran teaches us, it teaches us to love,
but not to hate,
the path taken by one, cannot define a group,
as all they want is peace, i know we want too.
a man goes so deep trying to achieve his Allah,
so unknowingly he becomes blind in his path,
and creates a deadly scar,
Quran doesnt teach us that,
i say Quran is in everyone's heart and in brain,
as for it teaches us to love but not to hate.
so i am not a muslim! but first of all i am a human!so i dedicate this poem to all my muslim bros and sis on this day of EID and hope that you all have a prosperous life ahead. Happy Eid! and yeah i have made an insta acc biohazard_poems  i will often post poems! do support and follow!
annh Apr 7
Do not deny me,
The lines between us read;
A footnote of a smile

A miniature novella
Cradled in my palm;
Your hand held

Written in our familiar aspect
An epic journey of the soul;
A quiet collision
Of two still quieter gestures.

'There is more to hear in what is not said.'
- Rachelle Joyce
This dog of a sun
And how it remains
As it stains the hole
Of larklights in blue
Obstinate nuns in the hold
As they fold on forever

What a blessing, Sue
To see vicious sounds
In the halls of commotion
Now we surround
With our teeth, amber glow
As it sows a piece of forever

Fever, fever honey
You know what begets
The regret that you feel
Dance in the garret
Now, I hear in my fear
The hounds of forever

Think of what will never come
And it breaks the hollow sound
Of sweet repetition
Where pain is not mentioned
Hold your lover sweet
And you will fall, complete

See, hear, taste that sibilance eye
I shan't cry, nor state why
For freedom, despite its size
Will fail me in time

Wallace, come here
See the face I faithfully
Made in the image of you
I hope you find
The beauty that you
Have lost to old forever

Goddess, be soft
Know you're not known
By the people that hurt you
Stay in your loft
And let the lamp resound
The drums of forever

Don't fall to greed
By planning for fates
That are best left forgotten
Knowledge will wait
Unlike the sun or the moon
For they deny forever

Think of what will never come
And it breaks the hollow wound
Of sweet repetition
Where pain is not mentioned
Hold your lover sweet
And you will fall, complete

Strenuous, this malarkey eye
Waning clock in tentative sky
Do not take life for granted
Even when not wanted

Strong Héloise
Lay upon me
With your shackled aroma
Let it release
And scatter away
In your piercing gaze of forever

Héloise, come to me, see
That I haven't stopped
My attempts to capture you
On a damp canvas
Of trickling hues
That dare to uproot forever

I'll start with your nose
And give you a pose
That mimics your stature
Rock in your chair
As shadows deface
Your grace, lasting and tethered

Think of what will never come
And it breaks the hollow wound
A sophomore face
With sweet ******'s gaze
These gibbous hours cease
As the day finds peace

Your fur shambles so
Your fingers corrode
As the deluge below
Now blows us into forever
EP Robles Mar 2
MY adventure began no less than upon this chilling night when homes of many lower their shades and **** the light. As sullen souls lay down for bed and fall into their dreams some common sense was telling me I ought to follow;  but my heart stood firm and I – in place of fear!

While conviction (that solid and shiny compass) melted color-pale and heavy fright that night my plan was nothing more than this: to find the house of EROS to cure my heart of alder blight! After Chaos, Gaia, and Tartarus he was born but for I — as I for him this night, my ambition over fear.

EROS, the God of Love and sexuality could show the path for that enduring love of my bride to be … my writ of right! Nothing more to keep me still so I fled into the frozen hills upon a whirlwind. Yes, me the mere mortal like EROS I sped beating glittering golden wings upon my hidden fear.

Heavy a burden of knowing what must be, that fate of me. As my beast passed through the mist and soared in height she bravely carried on across barren wasteland and icy bog as sad and frozen waters gravely sang to me, “CHAOS …” and my eyes were slightly hidden – Monmouth and fear.

And it seemed to me that humanity might have just begun as we moved by wood and sullen hill surging forth in might. Oh! Pity us as EROS must feel the greater that his bride was no less than CHAOS!

Soon I came upon a chasm which has no name but keeps a flame the light of Luna burned – to see the truth of life this night.
The dance of light upon the night stirred a feeling within my soul.
Soothing my beast I released the burden of my weight and there she fled into the night like burning crystal – who eased my fear.

And within the gaping chasm of this slightly twisted **** of soil I faced my future fate by gently carefully moving forward into that dim light.  And into the night like oil each footstep soaked inside my soul; the fear within this slice of time grabbing my throat so fierce and I, like EROS, felt as one with love, less that burning fear.

My mind a fever beating like a raging river I slowly seeped into the porous night like some hungry ravenous creature who only wishes blood and bite.  But soon that moment of decision as I met that ancient door of lore.  And with my hand so cold and gray I took to knock upon the legend no less EROS.  In retrospect I must confess: seconds felt as minutes – minutes like hours, all in fear!

The sane and stable heart might wish to judge the fool I am but the need for love is stronger than the shame of fools or mortal smite.  To those who know the pain and silence of an empty life tonight compels the heart to find one’s lover and to face one’s fear and fright!

:: || ::
I must finish this.
Since then
No two souls
Are the same

In every verses
You exist
I exist
We will continue to
No matter what
Now and always
Genre: Autobiography
Theme: Writing is being
September Roses Jun 2019
Strangers on the subway
Who I never met and never will
Say, "hey, martha", like they're hailing a taxi
And I say, "hey" back, because, I am martha.
The lights go out in the tunnels, because, the conductor thinks it's funny and,
Three murders happened in that time but, no one cared
And the conductor still does it.
That train after 1 am
The grey and green one that smokes and used to have a future,
That was, good at writing or something in high school, but, never made it to college, you know the one.
That train rolls up and its five minutes late, but it's always five minutes late so no one complains,
And I stub my toe on the way in, I forgot to, mind the gap, and
A strange stranger bumps into me,
They say, "watch where you're going Sal"
And I say
Because, I'm Sal,
And we all get on and no one says a word, and most of the passengers are rodents
But maybe some are marsupials
I dont know the difference.
And we sit in there for ten minutes maybe, avoiding eye contact like it's the plague,
Excepting, of course, those few that make eye contact the whole ride, like you're interesting or, appetising, or, they're blind and those are actually glass eyes that just happen to be looking your way.
And, when the train starts it lurches, it belches down the cars, because it, doesnt think anyone can hear it because its five meters underground and, no one could hear anything from down there.
And as we sit and we ride the silence turns to music, like the lack of even rustling, or bustling, or conversation to a friend, becomes the sound of collective recognition, often purposefully ignored, that no one on that train is going.
The train moves, but they dont, and, even though their stop is right around the corner, no one on that bench will ever find their corner piece, or land that gig, or get the girl, or save the day
Because in the looming washed out morning,
They're all just, simply, nothing more than, strangers, on the subway.
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
Novelty means new
A Poetic Novelty?
Explain this to me!
A Poetic Novelty? Can anyone explain what this mean?
Yue Wang Yitkbel Oct 2019
The Death of Time: Chronothánatos


Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL

For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief


Even Desires for possession

What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear

In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams


It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls

Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition

But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness

Situated between a Spinning Black Hole

And two colliding neutron stars

Etahphh, where, as it spins

Time is being pulled towards

Either the Night of the Black Hole

Or Day of the Twin Stars

Is about to undergo



The Great Sleep of Time

And Consciousness

The measurement of time

Is rather like the measurement

Of the length of the river itself:

Being divided into fixed increments

You’d expect it to take the same amount

Of time through each circulation

But the flow is never consistent

And more importantly

The viscosity is changing

Time is slowing down

And the planet is getting hotter

For the land roamers of this realm

This means a great change is coming

Though change has been in effect

Since The Great Flood, also known as

The Birth of Time

For in the Olden Days, it seemed like

The ancestors lived forever, or at least

Much, much longer

In reality

It is rather that time used to flow

Much, much quicker

And each Sigh, or each increment

Passed in at least tenth of the present


While aging remained the same pace

In the same breath or meter of time

The same generation lived,

In the past, through a thousand sighs

Or a thousand waves

And in the present, as the flow slowed,

Through only a hundred

To the rich and powerful

And creatures beneath the waves

The direction and speed of the flow

Matter much less than to those

Without vessels, or the ability to

Wade and swim freely through the waves

However, that is only if the waves does flow

What happens when the ‘Chronothánatos“

Does finally occur?

Does everything stand still?

Even aging and atrophy?

But surely, not the subconscious, the soul

And since sand must return to sand

Does that happen the moment of thánatos?

And are we therefore instantly released from

Our ****** confinement?

Do we roam free as spectres in a waking dream?

Without temporal consciousness,

What remains of thoughts?

It might still be unfathomable

For beings confined to travel

Linearly in spacetime

Some no matter what direction

Or speed

To truly grasp the reality

Of an existence of

What would seem like

All that would happen

Would happen all at the same instant

The same exact indivisible moment

Much like life on the planet of

Phahrah, where all of its history

Happen in a single moment

Ever closer to eternity for its citizens

But next to nonexistent

For distant observers:

In the moment

Its whole cradle Nebula

Was destroyed and swallowed

By a gigantic black hole-The Thánatos-

Life was created

As it’s waters dispersed

And land was slowly exposed

For the powerless among us

The freedom of pure soul

Its twinges of love and joy

Without loss, without pain

Is ever freeing and welcoming

And as the planet is becoming

Hotter and hotter

The Death of Time seems like

The perfect paradise

But for the Rich and Powerful

Who has for countless generations

Used observers and other means

To ensure their life is lived to the

Most prosperous outcome

Being so powerful for a long time

Is perhaps more tempting than

Being eternally powerless

They might be able to set up

Minions at fixed points in

History of the Present, Past, and Future

To ensure all possible outcome

Of each action is reported back to all

Previous points no matter what

Can they be so powerful to

Stop, rather in this case

Revive Time itself?




How convenient it is that

Time is a river and there are

Stillwaters of inconsequential events

The general plan is thus:

To use ‘unused’ time

To prolong time

To use wasted water

To replenish the rivers

And continue and repeat

Forever forward

And so

The observers became gathers

And unworthy streams

Will make its sacrifice for the

Greater good

But the lever of the Time Reserve

Was not to be pulled until

The very last moment

And the most ruthless of

The Clockwork Regime

Is set to pull it

For even lives barely lived

Still lived

And death is always unwanted

By the sufferer

And any measure to prolong

The Status Quo when there is

Hope for a much much more desirable


Is always met with





How do you rebel against

Those who could see through

All of time, albeit through

The Gathering Observers

Their minions at hand?

They must be the key

These Reporters of Time

Surely not everyone of them

Is as devoted as the rest

And surely, not all of the

Rich and powerful

Is against this welcoming


Elimination of all of them

Is not only impossible

But also impossibly cruel

Just certain calculated altering

Of pinpoint events could in theory

Alter the course of that one specific

Event, even if ever so slightly

Only a thought need be erased

Or even just unnoticeably delayed

By just one indivisible moment

To end their reign of eternity

And let time meet its natural end

In a world where if there is

No one coming back in time

To stop you is a literal

Indication of everything

Going exactly as it should be

Perhaps, just a confused distraction

Is enough to terminate a timed action

We could find points in history

Where by slightly altering

The outcome of certain elections

We could end up exchanging

One key decision maker for the other

From one for the Revival

To one for the Death

Or a simpler and more likely


We just need a rogue agent

To delay the inevitable revival

By one second, or just, again

By one indivisible moment

Beyond the point of no return

The seed, the idea of his betrayal

Must be planted at birth

Unbeknownst to even himself

By people’s subtle mentions

All throughout his life

Till his final act is without premonition

And completely sudden and unstoppable

Out of

Perhaps, yes, wrath of revenge?

The one to pull the lever

Will not be without enemies

So our hero must be close to

One of his previous victims

Take heed of the target’s every word

Especially his very last

For that will be the Trigger:

Our hero's very first word


His love’s very last word

For revenge must be buried

Deep in his heart




Rebirth, Erahkhu

The General’s last word was

Echoed through the Time Reserve

And entered into Erahkhu’s

Stream of consciousness

It became his first thought

It became his first word

It became his name

Erahkhu loved Thaehrah

And when she was killed

By a bandit within the rebels

It became her last word

As falling into the river

She called out to him

Erahkhu thought he was

Destined to help revive

And rebirth the dying

River of time

As did the General

For it was he who ordered

The killing of Thaehrah

To ensure Erahkhu left

His home at the riverside

To become the destined

Final observer and witness

As witnessed and observed

By Reporters of his time

But as the General’s last words

To begin the rebirth echoed

In unison with the voice

In his stream of consciousness

As it did when he was born

As it did when she died

Erahkhu’s last indivisible moment

Was never intended for birth

Or Rebirth of any kind-

It was the General’s last word

It was our hero’s first word

It was his love’s last word-

So it was to ensure death

The death of the General

And the death of time

Perhaps, without it

Without prolonging of life

They may once again





We succeeded and time died

But we were not reborn as

Timeless beings

Or reunited with our ancestors

Or Erahkhu with the love of his life

In that better kingdom

We can now faintly see

But never reach

Where Thaehrah and the General


We are destined to roam forever

As aimless spectres, for we never

Crossed the threshold of True death

But became The Ghosts of Ennui

Our home was eventually plundered

Turned to ruins and then finally

Taken over by a nautical race of

Time creatures in the shape of waters

And in effect, ironically, revived the river

The River of Time
All of my poems are written on a impulse in a stream of consciousness, even when they are structured or follows a narrative, no matter how many lines or words, I write them all at once. So I do not know if this even makes sense.
By: Yue Xing **** (Yitkbel)
Wednesday, May 29, 2019

I wrote this quite spontaneously, and heavily influenced by Doctor Who and Fringe, if you're a fan of the two shows.
I composed the entire nine page poem in one day, and:

I have come to wanting to ‘disown’ this piece of narrative poetry. The poem is completely original of course, in some parts you can’t even find lines identical to it; it came to me in an uninterrupted stream of consciousness. I wrote it within one day, edited mere letters within it, left it alone, and was satisfied. But the ideas within it, or even the narrative structure, and the storyline is far from original. In fact, I could say, it is quite cliched. I was heavily, heavily influenced by what little science fiction, and popular astrophysics for the layman books I have read or watched: from  books by Stephen Hawkings to Kip Thorne, from HG Wells, to countless Doctor Who novels, and as for television and film, from Doctor Who itself, to Fringe, to even Interstellar. It troubles me to think the poem is merely the result of recycled ideas, for it is still thoroughly my creation, however unoriginal the core ideas and symbolisms within are. Like all that suffers from imposter syndrome, I have a deep rooted insecurity of being seen as a fraud, a mere thief of ideas. Thus, I must explain myself, explain all the thoughts that flowed through my mind when composing this piece of poetry:
(I am not a student of science, so please excuse the possible complete nonsense of this work, if it is not fit to be a science fiction poem, then please view it as a fantasy.)

Through thought experiments, before reading up on it, I have concluded that the illusion of time stems from the awareness of it, from our consciousness. Apparently St.Augustine was the first to ever question the entity of time, and resolve on time being of the mind and not of the physical. (

Thus, the creation of the land in my poem of the river of time, river of conscious awareness of the passing and coming of change. Time is conscious awareness, as is birth, as is death. Therefore the river divides into streams of consciousness.

What is then core to the story of the death of time, is that, although the length of the circulation of time never changes; time, being a body of water, alters its viscosity. Time slows down, time freezes over, time stops, and time dies in a sense. (In my mind, this started as a metaphorically attempt to explain the differences in ages of human beings in the bible.)

When time mets its ultimate end, what comes of us?  Do we rejoice in eternity for the end of loss and sorrow? Or do we become the ghosts of ennui, ever away from true everlasting joy that must only exist beyond the threshold, unable to be reached without divine intervention.
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