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Dionne Charlet Nov 2016
Mold me a helm of platinum.
Plate my neck in ornate roses
and arc both ******* in tongues of steel.
Spill an hourglass of silver sheets
to silhouette each torso curve.
Sculpt iron vines over each hip.
Caress my keep in chastened press;
form gold like liquid down my legs.

Engrave a crest of two joined doves
upon my hexagonal shield.
String leather sheathes with your golden hair.
Equip a morning star with spires
that mock the dullness at your rest,
yet forge my sword of diamond strength
formidable as your excited state.

Look on me where I stand armored.
Embrace away my fancied suit.

Please…
lay me down, Love, gently Love,
and place a flower in my hair.
A sensual poem forged in the will of submission.
Vseslav Kochenov Oct 2016
It lasts for centuries, no less,
A tyrany of one old mage.
His reign brought nothing but distress.
Noone was worshipping that sage.

So people started to revolt,
But all the riots were suppressed.
Though all of them were quite a jolt,
The rest of rebels weren't impressed.

They tried again, and then once more,
But those attempts could not succeed.
He was a mage one could adore,
Although his reign was crap, indeed.

***

The girl just had a simple dream:
to build a rocket and to fly!
It seemed, though, there is no scheme
that worked, but all they were so nigh!

Her engines worked, and worked quite well,
Though not enough to reach the space.
But she was eager to excel
her skills. Oh, how could she retrace?

Her other builts were splendid, too.
She really had achieved a lot.
But dream of hers did not come true,
until that day she heard a shot...

***

She quickly run to find that out,
relying on her trusty gun.
And what she saw there made here shout:
A portal shining like a sun!

Without doubt she entered it
and found an old man facing her.
He yelled he'd throw her in a pit;
she didn't want that to occur.

He tried to **** her there and then,
But bullet's faster than a word.
And she made smile a lot of men,
And they prepared her a reward...

Their magic was a helpful tool
to make her aircraft fly up high.
Her dream came true. That was so cool!
At last she's mistress of the sky!
Vseslav Kochenov Oct 2016
You're welcome, knight, I am not mean!
The cave's not best of all you've seen,
It's pretty dark and not that clean,
But still it's home to me.
You've come to **** me, am I right?
Oh, that's a really perfect night
To end my life in brutal fight.
I think that you'll agree.

But honestly, I'm bored with life.
So please, just stab me with your knife!
Just pierce my chest, just end this strife,
I beg you on my knees!
I'm monster, that we know for sure,
The Earth itself cannot endure
Such beast as me, there is no cure
For what I've done, so please,

Prolong this suffering no more
Of me and world; we both implore
You to remove this painful sore
That I have always been.
Just take your axe, your lance or sword
And strike me! I won't say a word!
And think about the reward
They put out for my skin!

I don't deserve a thing but hell
And I solicit to expel
Me out of this world, this cell,
My death is overdue.
I checked you out not once but twice:
You're shaking, you're as pale as ice,
You dropped your sword, you cannot slice
A beast that's facing you.

'Twas your intention all along,
And I said that I don't belong
Here, to this world. So what is wrong?
Just finish this, and fast!
I shan't exist, I have to die,
It's easy, like to slice a pie!
Just do this, please, don't be so shy!
...Ah, thanks. Goodbye at last!..
Vseslav Kochenov Oct 2016
I'm glad that they don't see me much,
'cause they'd blame me for all the sins.
I healed a man with single touch;
They called me witch forever since.

They don't remember countless times
when they got help with no payback.
They hate me after — mind you — once
I forced a man out of my shack

and he went missing. Folks assumed
that witch's the perfect one to blame.
I clearly pictured me entombed
as they were screaming like insane

to **** me, break my house down.
As if that drunckard on his pat
could not get lost in swamp and drown
while running scared by a bat.

Whole town is against me now.
Whole but a lonely little maid.
I think for that i shall endow
her, if she's not afraid.

I'll grant her powers I possess,
No secrets I will left consealed,
She will control this evil place
And hopefully, it will be healed.

Those people's hatred gave a birth
to evil essense in this land.
Without my kin it will unearth,
Against its wrath they won't withstand...

But I will leave this cursed lands.
I'll be accused for curse as well,
as noone here understands:
I did not cast, I curbed that spell...
svdgrl Sep 2015
Sweet knight.
Sweet, silent knight.
I see you when you don't look at me.
You have tired eyes in a castle,
and though you call it salvation,
that blue light wont protect them.
And those hands gloved in mail-
they are not only meant
to grip cold connection.
You may have forgotten
amongst the digital clutter
but your sword is pen.
Quit confusing it with distraction.
Drop your devices and mechanisms
that you use for isolation.
Hold this plea as your new prayer,
even if it's only a whisper.
Make something.
I don't expect greatness,
but when you dress your wounds
in hesitation and use your insecurities
as your armor-
all I can ask is that you make something.
Harness your fear as your steed-
and ride it with ink as you need.
Please just make something.
There are hours in the day spent on
words never said because
those tired eyes are at a stand-still
on a sheet of electronic nonsense,
and you tremble with your shield
of self-doubt.
A block's only a battle,
Don't lose the war to online addiction,
cell phone conversations in meaningless text,
there's more left in your creative conviction.
I see it when you don't look.
Sweet knight,
you are the one in my mind
that is there to save me with your speech
I beseech you,
*Make something.
Marisa Lu Makil Jul 2015
Oh, to cast my eyes
On someone as elegant
As she must be

To touch
Something as angelic
As the fingers she dangles
So nonchalantly from the opening
Of the chariot
She rides

Oh sweet beauty
Would that you were mine to hold.

What I would do
For the chance to see that face
The one so many look over
And pass by
Every day

Simple fools they must be
To pass by
The face that must out-shine
Even the stars

On one of those
Lovely fingers
Resides a ring

It symbolizes eternity.
Who was the giver of this gift?
Oh, gods above,
Do not let someone else have stolen
The heart
Of this angel.

Have mercy on me
A peasant
Pining over
This woman.

You should be
The one with a crown
My darling
The one wearing jewels
And many lovely gowns

And yet
Alas
You were born a servant
Doomed
To be overlooked

Though you are more beautiful
Than the sun.

Be still my heart,
My soul

My darling, I beg of you to have me
For I can clearly see
Though your face be veiled
That you, indeed are glorious
In your beauty.
The gist of this poem is a peasant pining away over a servant girl. He can see her hand draped out of the window of the litter as it passes by, but she is wearing a veil, so he can't see her all the way. He imagines what she must look like judging by how beautiful her fingers are.
I've never done a poem like this to my memory, so let me know what you think. :)
RRaaccoonn Jun 2015
Cheers to vines climbing up the wall getting cozy with chimney
Haley Upton May 2015
She who lives in
Darkness and in light
Entertaining her precious soul
While dancing in the flames
Flaring in the depths of her mind
Master of thought
Commander of thought
Dreamer of cloud height dreams
Fantasizer of dreams shrouden in black smoke
Eyes as receptors to the world
The black hallowed earth around her
She walks this black earth
She who is
The Hallowed Maiden
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