Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Payton Feb 24
Anna
Red hair fell like fire
on her thin shoulders.
Her wide, open eyes, now
seemed sunken in, and sadness,
for a moment, lingered there.
This was her last night on earth.
She again, ran through the events
that took place earlier that night.
When she was with him, in the back
of the Impala.
Images of the car's windows glossed with a
sheen of steam, blazed across her mind.
A smile blazed across her face.
She thought of his smile and her own widened.
She thought of the way he touched her, so gently,
like a feather moving over her. The way he left kisses
in a trail across her skin. The way he held her, as if
nothing on the earth could ever take her away.
Not in that moment.
But there are more than the kind
and protecting angels in this world. There are
demons. But even so, worse are the angels that
have turned their backs on heaven and now
work for the forces of evil.
The angels that would tear their comrades
from this world.
The angels
among
the
demons.

Crowley
Black.
Black as dark as night.
Black as dark as the inner
reaches of the earth.
Black as dark as death itself.
Black like blood.
Red.
Red as deep as warm, copper veins.
Red as deep as magma beneath
the earth.
Red as deep as rage at the sign
of betrayal.
Red like smoke.
Twisted.
Splashes of agony and hatred and
remorse stained his tattered soul.
A true evil radiated from his
vessel. A crafty and
malicious essence raced through his veins.
But he was no Lucifer.
Somewhere, deep down,
there was still a man who
longed to be loved. A man
who longed to be forgiven of his cruel
mistakes in his past life. Deep down, there
was still a man who longed to come back to
the light.
In a world so dark as his, the only light was the fire,
which should have brought comfort, but only
brought pain.
Deep down, he liked the dark.

Mary
Hair like threads of spun gold
tangled around her face. She was fair with
bright blue eyes that held
hues as heavenly as the sun-beaten
sky.
Soft, angular cheekbones sloped gently
down, a tinge of pink, coloring them slightly.
Locks of her wavy hair met her shoulders
but beneath her fair
appearance, she was a
rough girl.
A hunter.
She had seen things most terrible in the world,
thinks that no one should ever see.
And still, he remained a
loving mother and a kind person
in spite of
her demons.

Sam
Echoes of a former friend
rang throughout his
conscious mind.
Mischievous and
sinister laughter danced
around in his head like demons
howling and gibbering in
the night.
He could feel his brother's presence
and the angel too,
but felt only more unnerved
because he knew he was the
only one who could hear the voices.
Another shrill scream pierced
his ears and he ducked, holding
his head between two shaking palms.
Bright flashes of color exploded at
the corners of his vision and danced
around his eyes like a psychedelic
kaleidoscope.
He went spiraling again in his mind and
every color blinked out, like a light.
Everything went dark as the psychotic laughter
echoed throughout
his
skull.

Castiel
Over the hill moved a creature, round and
Glowing with a cold, white light.
Like a spectacular
Moonrise.
It had hundreds and hundreds of
Eyes in every imaginable color, faceted
Like jewels that covered wheels within wheels of
It’s spherical body.
It was an infinite series of intersecting
Rings that spun constantly in
All directions.
Like a gyroscope.
The rings looked like steel but
The substance was
Pearlescent and, like an oil slick,
Contained all of the rainbow within it.
Steel-like whips caressed the ground
And skies as it moved.
And at its center stood two
Wings, upright.
Feathers made from the metallic
Material rippled in the air. Around the wings pooled a
Sticky, warm light. A sheen of phosphorescent light coated the
Feathers and pooled around the wings.

Dean
Through the windshield, the soft
glow of a solitary streetlight glistened
over his cheekbones
and poured down
his jaw that had grown taught from
rapt contemplation.
His coarse, sandy-brown hair, was messed
from his last tango with a monster.
Brilliant flecks of gold danced around in
his hazel eyes,
entwining with years of past remorse and
echoes of both sad and happy memories of
being on the road.
He kept a firm hold of the wheel, gently guiding the
old muscle car down the road.
Tears prickled behind his gorgeous, tired eyes,
but didn't dare escape.  The plastic army
soldier stared him down, but he
could pay him little mind.
His brother, riding shotgun, slept
sitting upright, his long, chocolate locks
covering his eyes as he dreamt with
his forehead
against the cool window.

Lucifer
A luminescent beauty radiated from him.
Behind his tattered vessel's eyes, a blazing
light shined like a beacon in the night.
The fury of a thousand suns, and
the beauty of a million moons.
The bright and morning star.
The most magnificent in all of the angels,
yet far more dark than any demon.
Sinfully exquisite.
Those who say he has horns have never
looked upon his countenance, for the gems
faceted there rival the colors of the morning skies.
And a voice like silk, soft as the
timid pulse,
a voice that could lead you to your own destruction.
Hands both so gelid and searing, you'd quiver
at the touch.
Hands that have brought so many to their death.
These poems were written in 2016. They were inspired by the characters of the widely popular CW Series, Supernatural.
Kitt Dec 2020
one: "mom"

crossing the line she had drawn in the sand
cussing me out from holding my hand
these rules and lies all she made up
her chalice of fire scorching my cup

rue the day she came to know
the silent demon hid in my soul
pushing memories out of the way
and succumb to a chasm of arid dismay

two: "rules"

forget the burning in your *****
forget the cursed mine of coins
forget the lashings from her lips
forget the sinner b'twixt my hips

eyes that sting when open too long
voice that scratches when given song
bodies that itch for cursed delights
heart that relates pleasure and fright

three: "Mary"

blessed are they that feel the burn
holy is she that ignores the yearn
but what should she get for crossing her thighs?
not honor nor respect, but labor and sighs

'sainthood becomes her,' the elders all say
'so honest! so pure! and see just how fair!'
whilst only yesterday they'd cursed the *****
remanded to outcast; covered no more.
The tree of life is watered with her tears
Who mourns the Word of God denied by fools.
She weeps amid the sounds of jests and jeers:
While mockers mock she sheds her sorrow's jewels.
Her jewels return to dust whence all jewels come.
Rivers of flawless tears run rapid, fed
By bottomless wells of grief; the ****** scrum
Disgracefully disports before the dead.
A bleeding heart and broken, her heart's quake
Trembles the earth and splits it; streams of blood
Divine and purest tears into a lake
Puddle and pool with sorrow, dust, and mud.
Within her heart a sea of bitterness swells.
Her grief, the ocean's roar, resounds in shells.
Justin Lai Aug 2020
They said you have to
    be a man.
Tell me,
    did you ever feel small
    driving your motorcar
        to that bank?
                ~
We came from the clouds
    but not for you.
Still,
    we hope you saw
    your children
        fly
thinking of my parents and all their sacrifices
Maniacal Escape Jul 2020
Hail mary full of disgrace
The lords covered in ****.
Oh, did you not know?
Yeah people smoke that holy ******* now.
I’ve heard the Columbians discovered the stairway to heaven.
Yeah get your baby off old McDonald’s farm
I’m sure we can get you a council house somewhere.
Orakhal Jun 2020
Heat bleeds oer this skin of grace
Touches flesh to a feathered vine
Drinks a kiss into the melt of my heart
Pressing its scent to the seal of white fire

Set bare to the bone breast of sentience
My exalted naked and *****
Spins on its steel spine
The soul gasping its pang
Hung in the paralysed emptiness of space

Curing her thirst into my flesh
She charges my surrender
Whipping her currency thru my breached body
Waves of 3 to the skull
3 to chest
3 to belly and root
Side to side up to down
Nite into day
Chasing white fire to the 4 winds

Ancient tongues squirm and squeal
Letching rancid on swallow spittle and ****
Fetching to the wake of a voiceless thunder
Heaving forth on the masters spill
Commanding its spawn to its lotus feet
Daring the speak into silent recoil
Purging tempt and trickery into deaf repose

Swift as swallow
White as feather
Sweetened to her suckled heather
Death be sown to 7 seeds
barron be the black of eve
fearfulpoet Jun 2020
Songwriters: Mary Gauthier

My father could use a little mercy now
The fruits of his labor fall and rot slowly on the ground
His work is almost over it won't be long, he won't be around
I love my father, he could use some mercy now
My brother could use a little mercy now
He's a stranger to freedom, he's shackled to his fear and his doubt
The pain that he lives in it's almost more than living will allow
I love my bother, he could use some mercy now
My church and my country could use a little mercy now
As they sink into a poisoned pit it's going to take forever to climb out
They carry the weight of the faithful who follow them down
I love my church and country, they could use some mercy now
Every living thing could use a little mercy now
Only the hand of grace can end the race towards another mushroom cloud
People in power, they'll do anything to keep their crown
I love life and life itself could use some mercy now
Yeah, we all could use a little mercy now
I know we don't deserve it but we need it anyhow
We hang in the balance dangle 'tween hell and hallowed ground
And every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now
Every single one of us could use some mercy now


Source: LyricFind
https://youtu.be/vL6JoP0KCoo
Lucy Houbart Jun 2020
Mary Seacole
Black nurse sculpture
Your determination points
To injustice. Your struggle
To serve, be accepted.
Why were you shamed and denied?
This is the broken land where we live.
Your courage, your stride
Takes me to our weakness

To the ache in my chest like a
broken blood vessel.
And trace the lines in my hand
To a bad rotting root.
How many wounds did your hand with compassion soothe?

Behind your certitude
I imagine pain.
Did your hurting
Search out injury and loss?

And as you nursed those violent lacerations,
Patiently waiting whilst the pathway beat its course,
Did you see as if through a veil,
Your own fractured self,
Fusing with your patient’s,
Both your Injuries restore back together
All the way towards their good health?
This poem is inspired by the sculpture by Michael Jennings which is of Mary Seacole which stands outside St Thomas's hospital looking over the river Thames and towards the House of Parliament.
As  John put it
The incarnated word,
Saint Mary was entitled
To feed Her *******
And Hold, but whom
Juda the culprit
For 30 birr sold
Is almighty God.(John 1:1John 1:12.John 8:58)

Here it should pop up
To your attention
"God is with you!"
Saint Gabriel's to
The Immaculate felicitation.

So God,
Christ is a presiding judge
An inch do not budge
Hearing shallow teachings
Quite strange
Christ killers-turned
-Christ-peddlers on many
A religious forum stage.
As Canaan, awaits
Them a curse
For trying to belittle Christ
Intent to line up their purse.

On the cross
It was the incarnated word
That allowed the repentant
Shieftan on his right
The first greenlight
To heaven of course.

Witnessing
His sons'
Polar opposite deeds
Noah better felt
The visitation of  God
In Shem's tent.(Genesis 9:18-27)

Hence God's incarnation
That still reflect
Are entitled
Membership to the tent,
Which personifies
Saint Mary
The immaculate.

Thus, as the
Chosen generation
True to
Saint Mary's prophesy
Let us echo "The Graceful
And the immaculate!"
Evading Satan's
Yet another bait.
For one who reads the unabridged bible from A to Z Jesus is the presiding judge not a semi God
Jessica Leigh May 2020
There is an imprint of a frog on my back
From a poem by Mary Oliver.
It is sticky sweat oozing down my spine,
Leaking into the small of my back
Screaming, "You do not have to be good."
My own skin whispers back,
"But don't I?" and sears the grime.
I don't know what to do with my own badness.
Punishment for my "sins" seems necessary,
But so does radical acceptance.
All I can do is close my eyes,
Hoping for a better tomorrow where
My brain requires less dopamine
And more compassion.
Slowly I will rise from the grave I dig once a night.
I will claw my way out by my fingers
And into the light.
Shame that no one will be near
To see the resurrection.
Next page