Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poetic T May 17
If we were the mirror of our creation
                and not made in perfect silhouettes.

Then we aren't the creation of perfection,
                           as were flawed beyond our sell by date.

Then that which made us is imperfect in its design.
                  So not omnipotent,
  flawed in its own blueprint.

And so just another pebble in
A dry pond where wishes die.
Kivanc Dec 2019
One said a sentence:
"You won't get her heart back."
Knowing its truth made me
Godless and wretched.
I can't see behind or front
In my scattered life.
Help me, help me, help me!
Help me please Souleater.
What would I do
When things getting vicious?
Is giving up a choose?
Help me, help me, help me!
Help me please Souleater.
I never start and finish
I just watch dreamer.
Poetic T Jul 2019
Collapsing emotions
            corrode on my
          ****** perfection.

What was diminishing,
   now collecting in a cup
            of palmed hands collected.

I wanted to no that of your
                            that even
though tears fell,
you never turned

            those now memory to a wine
                         of hope...

Auschwitz was a million
                  tears choked,
but you never turned
a single tear
               to a vintage of peace.

We just choked on the tears,
     and we were a vineyard
                         of silence.

Each a grape that never reached

Instead we fell before we could become
              more that we were.
These tears are sour,
and the taste
                erodes every fallen tears morality.
Poetic T May 2019
I think the moulds were broken with humanity,
for if we were perfect
there wouldn't be so many faults
                                    in the mould.

But we learnt to smooth over the  cracks
                      and realise
                                            that we aren't perfect
but together we can mould a better future together.
Yvonne Nice Apr 2019
The Lady In Gold

She stood on my porch, the lady in gold
She stood there until I dared to open the door
She needed inside, but for what?

My lady in gold, she called towards me, but only pain could follow
My lady in gold, murmuring to herself, questioning her own philosophy
My lady in gold, wondering if I even cared enough about her to save her

And I, the heartless coward
And I, the spiritless shell of a man
And I, the miserable being killing the lady in gold

She held herself on a pedestal for the world to see
And when I doubted her, she fell from her self assumed grace
My lady in gold, now covered in soot from the earth below

Won't you join me once more?
Help me find her humanity.
Juho hankela Feb 2019
The dead and dying lie here in the thousands.

In rows they cry out to their supposed saviors in one last effort to believe. A choir of godless men howling toward the heavens, hoping to be heard.

The field upon which they cry has a foul stench to it. An all too familiar smell of blood, sweat and ignorance. In the distance a soldier crawls to find his foot and hugs it as if reunited with an old friend. Something resembling hope floats through the air, only to fly away and leave the poor soldier stranded in his solitude.

The real horror is what’s happening inside the minds of these petty little boys whom now realize they’ve been played. Inside their skulls they are experiencing the very last realization to hit a dying man before his downfall. The one that no living being has yet to escape from. Knowing that the clock has run its course and there is nothing behind the closed curtain. Nothing for the man who cannot convince himself that there is someone behind all this pain. Nothing for the poor soul who was never told there is an option. Nothing for us who want to believe but cannot.
Deep Thought Jul 2018
From the moment I walked in,
I felt the piercing eyes.
Same eyes that nailed Jesus to the wooden cross.

Jesus said, by this,
all man will know you are my disciples,
if you have love one to another.

Pharisees, Pharisees, Pharisees.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen into apostasy.
Like the Nephilim which came & has yet to come again.  
Surely heading back to the beginning, the Days of Noah.

The entire time I sat in those fold-up chairs,
my heart couldn't stop racing.
Perhaps it was the spirits aligning to seek whom they may devour.

Heard many vain repetitions today,
didn't Jesus say that's what heathens do?
For they think that they will be heard for their many words.

We all crucified the Lord Jesus Christ.
We have all blasphemed.

One perfect Godman died on our behalf,
then rose 3 days later to break the curse.
Sacrificial love.

Let us not break bread & drink grape juice.
Guess you never knew that's symbology for cannibalism.
In which He never commanded us to do.

Simply two commands were left.
Love God with all your heart,
with all your soul & with all your mind.
Secondly, love your neighbor as you love yourself.
This is for anyone who's been oppressed by churches.
tc Jan 2017
it's a melancholy sadness and it grips hold of my joints with steel chains and i am bolted
bound to internal torment like a sadist playing sadist tricks oh i am bemused
wrap me in cotton wool and sing to me
nursery rhymes or tragic blackened symphonies
melancholy melodies / mad and misused
play the piano on my ribcage and sing your sadist tunes
this little rib went crack crack crack
everything in the room faded to black, black, black
what a bitter hymn oh and there is nothing holy about this
beetroot is red because you beat the root of me dead so tell me
where is your god?
i think i set him on fire with the acid in my chest
my blood is scathing / possessed
i drew a cross on his forehead with what i had left
monsters are manufactured; a product, you see
a deformed social escapee
non-conformist unmoral idiosyncrasies

laboratory rats

setting the world on fire with gasoline and dynamite
study the ill mind of a structureless parasite
understand that monsters are manufactured,
and they were once
just like you
Ju Clear Dec 2016
Kind mass
When you are godless
It's a tricky time  of year
I like to celebrate earths trophy's
And bring light to the darkness
Meeting up with family and friends
Celebrating our year gone by
Being kind to one and all
Godless or not
A  mass of kindness
Is  spreading threw our world .
Habit forming win win with
Contagious joy of giving
Celebrate KIND MASS
KINDNESS RULEs every day
Working out family celebration  when you are godless .we are all HumanKIND
I pulled the flowers from their roots
letting the thorns dig into my flesh
that had grown rough
a hard shell
the thick blood was a blatant reminder of my mortality
something I could often forget these days
as I make my home in a house of shambles and rotting wood
numb and empty and forgotten
lost to those I once loved
my pleas for warmth fall on deaf ears
they couldn't carry the pain with me
they could smile in the midst of death
but I embraced the fact that this would all end
a curse for knowing the truth, I suppose
I plucked the petals of yellow roses
and mixed my blood with the soil full of decomposition
burying myself under the blanket of the earth
letting it swallow me
digest me
this blob of rock among stars will carry the pain of knowing the truth
that life does not last forever
that the heat of blackness was our home before our birth
a comfortable universe
so when we die we will return into the darkness
unaware of ourselves
Next page