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My form obeys my wants,
My mind obeys my will.
Hear me now and listen, my steeling soul.
I see my destination;
A path, I design.
For this task, my own strength will suffice.
Within my chest, my lungs strain and struggle,
But they breathe the air in the highest, thinnest skies—they struggle,
          and I grow stronger.
This poem is written in "Galdralag" (lit. "the meter of magic spells), which harkens back to the cultural magic of the Ancient Germanic and Norse peoples. This is part of my poetry series called "Galdrbook."
Mike Virgl Jun 2017
What kind of fool am I?
One that shows no motion
Even though he thinks himself alone

What kind of fool is that?
A soul searching blind man
Who converts sight of facts to fiction

What does he perceive then?
He sees something in nothing
As a fanatical zealot would

What does he believe in?
Nothing, but he still looks
Remnants of God are still with him

Well then he is crazy, insane, a madman even
To search for something he knows isn't there

Yes,
He is only human
This was just on my mind and I needed to get it out
Elemenohp Nov 2016
The unworded truth lay twisted,
Where teething creatures stir.
Caught in the cobs of forgotten crevasse,
The doomed but dormant menace.

Thy beast shall be relieved of such burden,
Set free to light all darkness in flame
To extinguish all, til no brightness remains.

Putrid air from foul corpses, permeate the living.
Forsaking unfit, weak forces; creating a race of productive courses.
I believe in humanity.
I worship at the altar of peace.
I pray for salvation from within.

I have no faith in human gods;
Just the minds
That dreamt them up from nothing.

Yet I falter, and I doubt
And even if it’s just for tonight,
I admit my gods are as false as any other.

I am a heathen.
You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com
Sethnicity Aug 2015
when I say the wind blows
you already know
but how do the leaves portend
emerald on the end
or grasping to the limb?

If the Love is Lost, when?
feelings were ample
yet, when unplugged they limp lame
sentiment in lieu of visceral slanguage;
Who needs a Heart when a record can be Broken?


i think therefor iThoughts
Depress into cracked lead
and bled red into inkwell;
gun shots have more potent stocks
tragically hip to be so square ingots

what gracious melodies and languid lives
battered idioms with only one just is to bear
how Sad their flirtatious Ness affair
with Pain must fin' ish  and putrefy,
those believers in Death will die

hail a Hashtag worthy of
Octothorp
for phoenixes are found everyday
prostrate your Poetry for posthumous
consumption
apply the alembic of alteration
and
Heal our Hashtag heathen history
or
**** It
Hate the Hashtag
that's Life!

#love   #life   #sad   #pain   #depression   #thoughts   #death   #sadness   #heartbreak   #lost
You already Know what I'm getting at...
Prabhu Iyer May 2014
The peace pipe that has
two sides -

zoom the monsoon clouds,
summertime-bizarre.

Choices,
pieces of the peace puzzle:

Biblical, them both.

Pasts alive in
binocular introspection.

Smoking the hashtag#, now:

A hundred colour
abominations around.

Comrade, policeman,

look, our
daughters go abducted.

The last rain is dying
and the heat soars again:

Wand-love or rod-fear:

It's a battle of the faithful
in a heathen heathen world.

*#hash's so-sixties.
Now very political here: shouldn't we bury our petty enmities and focus on the common evils of our civilization? I'm Blaired, for once :)

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