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Dylan McFadden Oct 2019
Listen, my son…

From the womb every man
Builds his cities and towers
From the strength of his hand
And a will that devours

But his kingdom’s a breath,
And his rule, an illusion,
Disappearing in death –
The revealing conclusion...

Man is "king" of a land
Between his right and left ears!
He thinks: "my throne is grand!"
But his decrees, no one hears!

He will gather great treasures,
But will never have any;
Will pursue many pleasures,
But will always feel empty…

Always longing for more,
Never having enough;
He’s a slave and a *****
To his master: his stuff
Oh, may The King set him free!
He alone holds the power!
And may all bend the knee,
For, we need Him each hour!

Leal Knowone Mar 2019
The things she says in her sorrow stretch on till morrow.
Emotions bend, bow, and break, shaking her to the core.
She says love is lost, but she loves everyday.
She says love is an elusory thing, but she long to grasp it, and hold it close, close to her heart she feels is blackened with decay, yet it pump blood through her beautiful veins.
Yes in the poem I wanted to use elusory not illusory in this poem
Mara W Kayh Sep 2017
As late summer
is pregnant with promise of change,
so I shed illusions
to meet your gaze
once again,
in the purer light of fall.
A new piece of writing, after a long hiatus due to busy-ness on the farm.... harvesting garlic.  Appropriate for the fall equinox yesterday as I left canada for LA to see my family..
Lust For Life Vampire Love - Poem
(Part 1)

At dusk I heard a meadowlark
then saw you lurking in the dark.
I turned to dash and tried to flee
and failed to utter one last plea.

With piercing eyes you mesmerized
transfixed I lay there hypnotized
enraptured by the spell you cast
flashed images of life that passed.

You tasted blood and I outgrew
my need to live the life I knew.
As I lay limp my life force waned
while faint my heart the blood soon drained.

Confined to darkness of the night
I wander without feeling light.
You claim your thirst did justify
your lust for life was reason why

You took my life to be as one
then vanished like the setting sun.
I have no life and feel no pain
without a heart to love again.

What You Did Cannot Be Undone - Poem
(Part 2)

Alone I am now cursed to roam
What you did cannot be undone
I can not hope to have a home
or gaze upon the rising sun

You rashly chose to trade your life
for death not immortality
Still now I see your blood lust rife
as when you took the life from me

You say you cannot ever die
but fail to see you do not live
Your life through death is but a lie
That blinds you to the truth I give

Life is too short to care so much
for one that only hunts to ****
And though my heart you cannot touch
The memories may linger still

You thought that I should be as you
but I will not your folly make
to live your lie and think it true
so through my heart I drive a stake.
Knights Aug 2015
Like vanilla spice
And as sweet as chocolate
Her lips were nice
But the rest was poison
She'll be plotting your demise
As you're hypnotized
Jaime Nautte Jun 2015
We're all dead here, so go ahead
and smoke. Have a drink. Play a game.
Sleep, or don't.

Go! Tear yourself apart living,
if only just to spite the bored
and the apathetic.

Outside is warm and trees
or cold and grey.
It's nice, enjoy.

I'll sit here and wait quietly.
Not just bored. Not only
apathetic, but made up.

A reflection in tinted glass,
waiting for something interesting
to happen.
Mamdouh K J Feb 2014
The sketch of my son now done, though he neither fine nor free.
She peers 'quisitively over mine to pun and 'quire: "Woo, such a fire!
How is it, my Captain?" It is with tears milady. I didn't think
It would happen. Those burns on my hand have a lifelong span,
not worth my loved ones' dip in the sun. The photos of my dearest
hang on shattered walls, their lives lurking only within. The fires
I recall so tall and looming, dim my days to nights so slim.
She muttered: "'Tis the fault of thieves and men, so bitter of
your services against them." They set their flame to our land,
It whips its tips to eye's white my arm my final closest,
concealed by flashes: the blast had hurled me South back then.
Her eyes aglisten. "Must you take blame for warranted migration?"
-- Our train to a halt had come, both awaited and un- . She bid
adieu and tipped to her toes. But something's amiss: Her pupils in
subtle ocean perish and her legs left marked by a sordid scald.
My hand about her arm then wrapped tight. I pulled her near; she
slapped and I seized. I asked: Who might you truly be? She
whispered: "What, is it chivalry to forget a daughter?"
My poem depicts an old Captain and that lady who apparently happens to be seated next to him on the train ride to his destination. He doesn't recognize who she is but engages in conversation that speeds the trip's progression. He notices burns on her legs visible to the naked eye after spotting tears in her eyes. Suspicion she arouses in him, forcing his latch onto her arm and pull towards him. In disbelief, he inquires who she may be. To our Captain's surprise, 'tis his daughter, a daughter part of a family long taken by the fire set to his house in the South, from which he could not save those he now mourns. There lies a deeper meaning within the poem but only if one desires to see it.

— The End —