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Their voice rapped the portals
and from the dim smoke
a white pigeon sprung
and followed the trail downwards

The crests of the churches,
sharp shelters for the wounded
that come from above
and from below

Are the firmaments raining fire?
For my eyes have filled with tears of black
and my soul's purified

Is this your delivering message?
For lakes, mountains,
beasts and humans are waiting,
and we shall always do


Will the Theatre of Pain
be utterly empty one day?

We are actors that do not dare
to read the elder lines
Nomads amidst the sandstorm
in our sinful minds

Shall I drink my animal's blood?
For my people's thirsty for salvation
in this deserted land
and I only saw once a roaming scrap
from your royal garments

Faith is hanging from a thread
And only in the night-praying hours
the poetry's lines true shine

Do not be the actor
that turns his back
on the crowd's clapping


Everything is appointed
the prophets have spoken

Will, you always love
those who betray?
Spreading words of hope
to the humble with burned faces

The needy have already
flooded the empty rivers
and Pharaoh's wrath is not well locked

I know not how many
are living up there
but I do know how many
are building the realm of Hades

The flame shall kneel before you
and oceans will be divided into two
Once the ominous words
are heard inside your Temple again
This poem is influenced by the sacred music of Father Serafim and his chants from Georgia. I cite the link below
Maya 2d
For Stephen

The wind teases the curls in my hair
Sultry breezes soak my silk shirt, causing  
the cloth to cling to my chest. As I grip  
my skirt, we slip into the plum blackness  
of the night sky. Your breath cools my neck as  
we watch moths disappear into the dark.  
The smoked ash of Georgia fogs coats us-  
scattering the lights of streetlamps. The entire
world is void and you and I are the only ones
in it. Your palm in my palm. Your eyes watch
my eyes as they drift over our silhouettes.
Our shadows dance on the pavements. We laugh-
thinking of ourselves catching moths in our hands.
Feeling their bodies pulsate in our grasp.
Emilienne 09 Feb 12
i can't decide if you are my home or my prison.
i was thinking about you just last night
when i was sitting in my back yard.
evening fell and streaks of neon pink painted the sky
and god, she's so lovely.

i was in coastal harbor for 5 days
and i wasn't threatening to **** myself
it wasn't a threat.
but my parents put me on drugs so i'd stop being different.

and it wasn't your fault.
not my visit to the hospital.
or my second. or any of the other ****.

but you are the birthplace of my trauma. i'm sorry i've hated you after the good things you've given me.

so now i'm sitting on the floor in my room
burning so much incense the room looks foggy
and i'm moving on.
this isn't really poetic or whatever. but it's honest
It's been forty three years since that night
when i went out to do what's right
Something that I've kept inside since then

People searched but never found
They followed my prints on the ground
Never looking for anyone else, but men

I'm the one who shot him dead
Two bullets shot, and then I fled
Now it's time to tell my tale 'bout then

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands

They looked high, and they looked low
followed my prints in the snow
Never caring if he did the crime

They hung my brother from a tree
The one who should have died was me
I've never left, I've been here all the time

I guess what goes around comes around
The judge is now dust in the ground
The sheriff, he is also long time dead

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands

It's been a long, long time since Andy died
Rivers of tears that I have cried
But in the end I can' change what was done

Cause Andy's cheating wife never left town
And her body has never been found
Cause this little sister don't miss when she aims her gun

It was the night the lights went out in Georgia
It was the night that they hung an innocent man
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the town's got blood stains on his hands
May Elizabeth Jul 2018
You pushed.
You pushed me too far.
Too far I fell.
I fell down the hill.
The hill you built,
And then I stop.
I stop rolling and
I stop crying.
It's dark.

But I am safe here,
Comfortable in the ditch,
Comfortable in the rut
That you placed me in.
One big eye watching me.
One force keeping me
From the unknown.
One push and I roll down.
I roll down into dark oblivion
And absolute uncertainty.
But one push and you’re
I literally wrote this an hour ago. I based it on Georgia O'Keeffe's painting "Black Abstraction." I went to an exhibit at the Ashmolean Museum earlier and was given the prompt and wrote the poem based on her painting.
Jessica Jarvis Feb 2018
It shook me.
Like the buzzing of an early morning alarm, I was awoken from my sleep.
Into reality, I was thrown, and into the mini-van, I was packed away.
I didn’t want to leave, but I left with my family
And, by the grace of God, a fourteen hour drive landed us safely in Georgia.
Georgia… Ah, Georgia.
It had been a while since my last visit, though every previous time was voluntary.
In Georgia, they cancel school over a little rain,
While the eye of the storm hovers its dreadful head over my home,
As if to see what it could devour.
But it didn’t.
It didn’t succeed.
It didn’t quench its thirst.
It couldn’t devour.
It barely left a mark on my home, but the mark on the community was much larger.
This was a wake-up call to that community to commune, to partake in its purpose.
It was a call to me to partake in mine.
My calling, like a dream from a deep sleep,
Was awoken… and
It shook me.

Written about a particularly annoying event of nature.
CEFord Jan 2018
It’s that time of year
when the air is unseasonably warm,
summer’s last push,
last bounce
on the trampoline,
before the street lights
come on
and her mother
tells her it’s time
to come inside.  

I tilt my head
and lean it back,
closing my eyes,
allowing the mixed smell
of tide water
and seat leather
to drive me elsewhere,
back to the river streets
and cobblestone houses
of South Georgia
where my journey began.

The warm night air
fills my lungs
with longing
and nostalgia
more than smoke,
and for a split second,
I’m there:

With the crickets singing,
and the salty spray of the ocean
from the thunderbolt islands
filling my empty places,
in ways
that no other person
ever could.

And I don’t feel
or powerful,
or even beautiful,
I just feel
in control,
and that’s
enough for

There is no wishing,
no hoping,
no dreaming
for a better tomorrow.

Just the contentment
of not knowing
which direction I face,
but the
that I am going
I wrote a poem, once, called "Passenger Seat" when I was 18 and completely in love with everything around me and the people who were taking me there.

Now, almost 5 years later, that poem has been rewritten. And I have, too.
Elkhan Asgarov Sep 2017
I sit, I glare and patiently wait,
I’m angry and tense, I warn you, mate!
Back off! Beware! Don’t push your fate,
One more step, and it will be late!

I don’t fancy blocking yer road,
No, just protecting my abode.
Walk your way now, I’ll walk mine,
Respect my fences and you’ll be fine!
stephanie Jul 2017
The air is thick and heavy here
I've lost the familiar feeling
Of cold, wet moss under my
Bare feet.

My lungs are full.
There are no clear signs of a storm,
The leaves haven't exposed their
Light backs,
And the clouds remain white, pure, and puffy.

Cicadas wind up and scream their song
Under the blazing southern sun.

When I look towards the horizon
The mountains have faded out of view.
I'm no longer enclosed by miles and miles of appalachia.
Instead all I see is sky ---

The soft blue tint of Georgia.
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