Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Laokos Sep 28
what we become in
    rejection to the templates
        we succumb to
a positive negation of what
we once believed to be our
being
cast aside even the idea
of a revelatory rebirth
silence and space do not
    describe it
emptiness, void - they too fail
the more i write about it,
the less i say about it
Bhill Sep 18
It is a new day
Today will always be fresh
What is on your mind

Assume that today will be
Will be the start of something
Something unlike yesterday

Take hold of these times
Times can not be repeated
Forge new memories

Brian Hill - # 234
Have a great NEW day!
LeoH Aug 26
Being rescued
At the eleventh hour
Is not for
The faint of heart

Looking doom
Straight in the eye
Knowing I could be taken down
At any moment

Letting go
And holding on
All in the same moment
Getting to rock bottom

This is my journey
How I get to my truth
For only through
The heat of the forge
Am I made whole
I guess no one said this journey of transformation was going to be easy.
Fọlá Apr 14
The birthplace of weapons.
The backbone of wars.
No sound but the throes of steel.
In fires that burn, unending.

Shaped by the beating of the blacksmith.
Each stroke, manifesting his will.
To forge the weapon of prophecy;
The sword to lead us to victory.
Bathed in the blood of its enemies.
PoserPersona Dec 2018
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword
torn from the comforts of an idle home
Against both will and wish into the forge

Mere foot to pedal unshackles the horde
onto that which was ****** into the dome
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword

Crude earth melts into an effulgent form
that once cooled will become harder than stone
Against both will and wish into the forge

Burning is sequestered by drowning boards
that go unnoticed but for hissing moan
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword

New pain begins despite what came before
anvil and hammer fashion the unknown
Against both will and wish into the forge

Those who endure will still need to be honed,
to be, of their own soul, the highest lord.
Iron and coal fused into a steel sword,
against both will and wish into the forge
“Mastering others requires strength. Mastering yourself is true power.” -Lao Tzu
Dean Russell Oct 2018
This is the biggest lie
                                           The mirror told me;

Don't speak.
                                                          ­                                                   Why?
People can hurt you when they
know too much.
                                                           ­                                           Will they?
Can they?
                                                           ­                                         Yes, when?
Yesterday.
                                                ­                                I don't remember that.
Because you think you know it
all, stupid boy.
                                                            ­                                               I don't.
Good, because you don't, you're
wrong. That's right.
                                                          ­ I think I need to speak to someone
But you have me; I know
everything


                                             Mirror, mirror
                                On the – communal - wall
                            Where strangers **** and ****
                             And always avoid eye contact


There's power in silence
                                                    But then how will I find things out for
                                                                ­     myself, if I am quiet always?
Know the power of knowledge,
ledge of knowing
                                                         ­                What if I fall off this ledge?
You think too highly of yourself,
you're shallow it won't hurt.
                                                           ­                                                  Right.
Or is it wrong, I told you to be quiet and you still speak.

                                  Nobody listens to silence
                                                - Quiet **** -
                                      Tie the noose for one's
                                               - Own neck -
                                Maybe the small knife from
                                              - The kitchen -
                              To carve on flesh, escape from
                                              - My skin -
                            I want to keep it safe, not scarred
                                            - Not always -
                                         Fatal, just curious.
                                  -Does that make sense?-
                        It's not real. Let me ask someone I think
                                                -I trust-

Stop dreaming!
                                                       ­                                I can't control that.
You said this was your body,
you're control?
                                                        ­                              But that's different.
See, you're not always right!
                                                          ­                   It's not bad to be wrong,
                                                                ­                                    sometimes.
Then why are you still speaking?
                                                       ­                      I'd like to lie down now.
Okay.

                              What sacrifice will I leave to the beast?
                    “Kind can be the inflicted, and also the ignorant.
                       Gracious can be the dark; or else too the light.
                              Afraid are the lost, and so too the able.
                                                        Bli­ss is real”.

But you aren't kind!
                                                           ­                                Neither are you.
Gracious? Look at your posture.
                                                        ­                                           I'm looking.
Are you telling me I am old?
                                                            ­                                       Sometimes.
Filth. You are ignorant.
                                                       ­       I am going to light a candle now.

There is a church I walk past everyday. It is orange, not like the fruit, but like the sand when the sun is half way between this land and another. When the skin of water is cool, and not blue like the crayon drawings' of a child. Sometimes I want to knock on the heavy, mahogany door of the church. Not for permission to enter; I want to know how thick the door is. Orange with dark spots, that is how I remember the church. Points to the sky, and I would need to take a detour to see it close. I am always late, maybe one day I will be later. You said I could just wake up earlier; I told you I will not do that.

You must love yourself,
look how many mirrors are in
here, ha! Just kidding. This is cool.
                                                        Ha,­ I know. I love and hate mirrors.
Really?
                                                ­        They're tender and tough. Depends
                                                        who's looking. Does that make
                                                         sense? I want to
                                                        say more about them, but there's
                                                        not enough words.
I've never thought of a mirror
like that before.
                                                         And I've never thought that I can
                                                         stop thinking that way about
                                                         mirrors.
Do you want some more water?
                                                         There's no more in the fridge, but
                                                         let me get some from the bathroom
                                                         sink. It's better from there.
Don't worry, I'll go. You're tired.

Neither quick or slow, but delicately, he walks to the bathroom. I hear the door open, the light switch on, a pause. He walks, runs the sink; I can hear the glass filling. It is a small apartment, and the walls are weak. He turns the tap off, the flick of darkness and I can hear his footprints returning. He hands me the glass; I know it is cold before I touch the glass because of the condensation. His fingerprints are there, and so too are mine. He relaxes his shoulder against mine, presses his lip to my ear. His breathing is calm, like the water at the beach. Then that small chuckle, I hear him, exhale. Hard and protective, like the door of the church. Stable and seductive, I know he is going to tell me his witness, or a joke.

                     You don't have mirrors in your bathroom.
Vexren4000 Sep 2017
The flames,
Erupting from the maw,
Of a stone tower,
Billowing smoke,
And consuming things that cant be just tossed away,
The incinerator,
Brings all to nothing but ash,
And billowing smoke.

©BAS
The mists that part,
  By Bride's Day light,
Are mists between the worlds,
They open wide,
  The gates of night,
And allow things to pass both ways,
What died before,
  Comes forth once more,
The serpent's wings are spread,
On Hallow's Eve,
  That sacrifice,
Begins the year again,
Forth from the well,
  Between the worlds,
Scaled form returns once more,
A new year dawns,
  In dark moon light,
And all begins once more,
Upon her forge,
  New year is wrought,
By hammer and by flame,
The raven's call,
  The hope of all,
As she forges the year again,
Now the births,
  In springtime snows,
In cold and solemn moons,
Keeper of Ways,
  Builder of Paths,
Takes now the regency,
Misrule is done,
  That tide is turned,
Bride's Time has come again,
The Trouble Moon,
  It parts and passes,
The Lost Moon begins again.
And awakened now,
  The serpent old,
Begins a journey home,
As they open wide,
  The gates of night,
And allow things to pass both ways,
For the mists that part,
  By Bride's Day light,
Are mists between the worlds.
~Mists Between the Worlds, a Candlemas poem by Lorekeeper, February 3, 2017
Lark Train Sep 2016
the life you have hitherto Refined
whence love shall wax and wane
cannot know Hephaestus's grief
for you and he are not the same.

now Steel your restless heart,
and from it, Forge the demon's bane
lest your senseless grief, in Fires
of boldest Mettle, wrong you all the same.
Next page