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looking d
                 o
                   w
                      n on this earth,
the moon sheds iridescent liquid pearl gems,  
Lamenting FOR EARTH,
                             a earth that's pregnant
                                            with
                               sorrowful burdens,
how must I not feel despair,
feeling the moon's magnificent repercussions of sudden eruption,
feeling of sheer dread,
tearfully pleading for it to end,


In shock, for a moment,
muted are my words,
my tongue asleep,
Fingers crave, mind agonized...
martyred for words.

My pen bleeds ink,
innovating a remdesivir,
to cure the world,
if only there were a cure for
ONE
   &
ALL!

To cure the world of the pandemic burdens of HATE, INJUSTICE and VIOLENCE,
but until then,
we must not dabble in silence!
~SacredInkedBlood
In light of these recent events I feel that we should stand up boldly and not be silenced. We should stand united. It never had to come to any of this if it had of never been started by Racist Americans. It should've been nipped in the bud 400 years ago. Equality and all of mankind should've been treated with the same respect. But 1 group of people or 1 bad apple can ruin it for so many. Anytime you  have people who believe that they are better than other's and should have more rights then as you see everyone is at each other. Even friends & family become divided on these controversial topics. Are there any fair leaders out there ready to step up that are humane, intelligent, reasonable, mature and compassionate? Or is it too late for this world today? Is it all bases on dollar signs, power and greed from here on put until the end? Either way speak up against injustice. Thank you. .
#AuthorVenJArnold #SacredInkedBlood #VenjencieCliftonArnold https://m.facebook.com/VenjencieCliftonArnold  The Cure written on the 8th day of June in the year of 2020.Be blessed in this crazy world🙏
Tryniti Jun 3
Abandoned under the guise of self-sacrifice
How many times have you told these lies

A wonder to behold in your own right
Latching on, holding tight
I was lost the moment I got in your sights

A silver tongue with unmatched wit
Even the most dominant would submit
To your linguistic lashings

Skilled in verbal maneuvers and molding minds
You reveled in being one of a kind

Sly, and slick, smooth and quick
Your trick was finding what made me tick

You made me yours, then slipped away
I was your toy, begging to play

But then you were done; tired I suppose
You disappeared, to where..god only knows

You played the martyr, a victim, a pawn
Suddenly all of your power was gone

I know better, but I still feel incomplete
The flavor of erasure is so bittersweet
05.31.2020
AceLione Jun 2
A knight’s honor is filled with injustice
The Martyr’s wounds are made by Martyrs
The traitor’s betrayal came from let down
A Ruler’s demise is to create a new Ruler
To Win, there has to be lost
Growth is stimulated by death
Happiness from someone else causes another’s wrath
Tryniti May 30
Am I offering myself a knife to the heart?
Have I unsheathed my dagger?
I think not, I think not
Have you accepted your role, your part?
Would you admit your weakness, your stagger?
I think not, I think not

Deprecate my sense of taste and saunter away
Did you think I'd lay down and take it?
I think not, I think not
Putting my life on hold every single day
Did you think I could fake it?
I think not, I think not

My soul is music, and my heart is sound
Could you feel my past haunting your remark?
I think not, I think not
I looked for your empathy, it couldn't be found
Did you care if your words were stark?
I think not, I think not

Let me tell you this one time
Will you listen to such a girl?
I think not, I think not
What's been taken, was always mine
Did you notice when you broke my world?
I think not, I think not...
Written 05/22/2020
Songstress
by Michael R. Burch

for Nadia Anjuman

Within its starkwhite ribcage, how the heart
must flutter wildly, O, and always sing
against the pressing darkness: all it knows
until at last it feels the numbing sting
of death. Then life’s brief vision swiftly passes,
imposing night on one who clearly saw.

Death held your bright heart tightly, till its maw—
envenomed, fanged—could swallow, whole, your Awe.

And yet it was not death so much as you
who sealed your doom; you could not help but sing
and not be silenced. Here, behold your tomb’s
white alabaster cage: pale, wretched thing!

But you’ll not be imprisoned here, wise wren!
Your words soar free; rise, sing, fly, live again

Keywords/Tags: Nadia Anjuman, Afghanistan, Afghani poet, poetess, death, martyr, hero, heroine, voice, freedom, equality, justice
Wonderland
by Michael R. Burch

We stood, kids of the Lamb, to put to test
the beatific anthems of the blessed,
the sentence of the martyr, and the pen’s
sincere religion. Magnified, the lens
shot back absurd reflections of each face—
a carnival-like mirror. In the space
between the silver backing and the glass,
we caught a glimpse of Joan, a frumpy lass
who never brushed her hair or teeth, and failed
to pass on GO, and frequently was jailed
for awe’s beliefs. Like Alice, she grew wee
to fit the door, then couldn’t lift the key.
We failed the test, and so the jury’s hung.
In Oz, “The Witch is Dead” ranks number one.

Keywords/Tags: Alice, Wonderland, Joan, Arc, martyr, blessed, beatific, religion, witch, Oz, carnival, mirror, lens, jury, kids, lamb, beliefs, faith, sonnet
nja Aug 2019
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
Higher.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Criticisms of the Church.
Nolan Willett Jun 2019
In ancient unenlightened days,
There came a man whose triumph would’ve laid
Foundations for a better world,
Our inner compassions unfurled.
For we thought we found a holy seer,
To rid our lives of all our fear,
To tell us what to say and what to think
What to do and what to drink.
He did his best,
I can attest,
To warn us of that one,
Who would see all our progress undone.
Indeed, many in our history have been
Told what constitutes sin,
Left with a hurtful scar,
By one who never wandered very far.
And our true messiah saw
This prophet for a gaping maw,
Another of the tempter’s tricks,
A man whose touch could heal the sick.
For he loved God more than most
But found him in the cosmos,
Our divine provenance,
Rooted in collective consciousness,
Not an oath to take or die
Or a being to mollify,
Nor any kind of credo,
But an universal ego.
Heeding logic over gullibility
He recognized the liability,
One who would see them die for naught,
And stray them from the insight they sought.
But in trying to break the cycle
He heralded its arrival,
Enshrining the sun,
Of the cursed three-in-one.
He made a martyr
And thus followed generational slaughter.
Promising sacred haven,
Causing war and famine.
For deceivers are known to appear as savior,
For them there is no pleasure greater,
In casting down the righteous,
And rendering them mindless.
And so millennia could have been spared
From some cruelty our kind have shared-
So long and so onerous, never ending-
And our pity’s rending.
The earth’s inhabitants coalesced,
No longer their souls oppressed,
Saved from prejudice,
Alas, poor Judas.
Sorry I published this a couple times I had to fix some things and I like it so
rk Apr 2019
it's as if i'm dancing
between two worlds
all at once
there's one filled with poetry,
apricot mornings and sweet nothings
and then there's one
filled with longing
that i visit during velvet hours
following the starlit trail
through the cosmos
it lies just to the right of saturn,
full of martyrs and burning valentine's

that's where you visit
the flower that grows
from my rotting body.
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