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The mirror can no longer bear to shatter at my reflection.
I have become something more than glass.
My hair is healthy for the first time in years,
and so, too, is my heart.
No fighter will ever again tread these trails.
I search for my Dionysus,
And leave my wars behind.
I have earned my peace.
how far would you let me go? how
deeply would you let me delve?

you might be tempted but
you don’t know
the thoughts i have
about you and the tip of
my very sharpest knife

and how pretty you
would look in red

how flush my
would make your cheeks and
your veins and
your heart

the woe that is sleek inside the
softer parts of my skill
and the gorgeous, most sacred
metallic inner parts of you

you are bleeding on
porcelain statues of gods
and somehow that
seems nothing
short of completely appropriate

zeus and i share a bottle of
wine in your memory
Di Verce Oct 11
"Going against God's pride."

That's an interesting remark.
"Blasphemy" could make one think.

I thought subversives were cool,
For a good cause,
But all they do is **** out flowers
For applause.

Game players,
No noble souls,
Just pompous dictators
Who use every name in vain.

That's the real sin, of dogmatic harlots.
Mark 'em for the fire,
for they violate the first rule of god club.
Multi meaning on last line per us'

If only I could share my eyes
ghivashel Oct 5
with each caress
and with each kiss,
even Hera and Zeus
grow jealous
of the passion
between us.
* excerpt from a lengthier poem I'm currently putting together.
JP Goss Sep 29
In long cemetery rows
We broke our backs to sow these tilling fields—

Nourishing them with rivulets of blood,
And panicked sweat—

Gun shells sprouting nooses
Make hardened, apathetic blooms—

And we wonder why the fruit is poison—
Giving seeds room to germinate,

In the name of individualism
In the name of industry,

In the name of law,
In the name of order—

In long cemetery rows
We broke our back to sow the killing fields—

To drown out the pain
As weakness leaving having over stayed—

Asking what’s wrong with me
As the lines get deeper,

On foreheads and wrists,
In unemployment offices and churches

We still spit on charity
Ever feeding the sodden ground,

Weakness does not ask control
But only respite

Strength asks for status quo
To overcome and fight,

A test for the True American,
Whatever face becomes this myth,

To be born classless into this stratum of wealth
To indulge humanly and face the consequences

To chase desire and be punished for it
To be the casualty of ideologies

So far removed from what belly and skin want
To ignore the rumblings and twitching—

Who does till these killing fields
But those meant to die there?

While the quartermaster, on hills
Where treaties are to be drawn,

Strips away the olive branch,
Tween him and the planters,

As he waits for the whites of their eyes
To collide as the unthinkable:

An unmanageable force of nature,
The hatred sowed in those killing fields.

But, until then, we drain every last bit
From ourselves, fighting over a dying earth.

Roll out all the fuel we need let’s burn the machine
That could have brought peace.
Di Verce Sep 25
Odin is angry
You keep producing your trash
Calling it candy
Parasitic gnats
Too many of you
******* up O2
Mindless generators
Of useless waste
Polluting the environment
Toxifying the atmosphere
Suffocating the noble
With your ***** pampers
Thus you are thieves
And guilty to please
Committed the crime
Doubled down on your grime
Compounding your sentence
Torturing innocents
Blaming the blameless
Soon you'll be armless
You shouldn't have taken
From the clean and good
Nor named them ****
Or left them without wood
Danny Sep 16
Was just a kid with no silver spoon
Yet didn't see the world in black and white instead as colourful
Thought of the gods as super heroes
So waited earnestly for them to come to his aid

Like the periwinkles by the ocean
Get washed by the tides in any direction
So it was with him, poor kid
Yet days went by everyday with no greetings from his adored

So many questions he needed answers
No one could or would give because nobody knew any better
Who would put an innocent kid in this cruel world?
Was he a criminal of the hardened type in his previous life?

Got tired of waiting on the edges of miracles, been doing that all his life
Cursing under his breath threw his chill pills into a flowing river Nile
Stopped asking the day what Providence had for him
Started believing in himself soon as he stopped believing in them

Lost his wrong convictions when he broke free
His words were "***** destiny the partial queen
I had all in on inception so I'd rather put my luck on my inside
Than put my faith in the hands of fate

I know that no one would take me to El Dorado
Only i can take me to where me wants to go
I'm not an architect but i design the life I love and see
Nor am i a builder but i build my own world in this world
Believe in yourself
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