Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
[Offical Full Poetry]

You came fast into my life.
Like a roller coaster,
Told me that you wanted me,
But all you did was stealing my dreams.
Took my innocence, all my friends,
You took all the good in me.
Now you're gone too,
Left me in the darkness,
My heart was shaking,
When I thought about you.
Now the pain is gone.
I don't care about you.

© Muhammed Emin KUŞASLAN
☾ 🅴 ✩
• Check out the poetry blog.

• 'Light In The Darkness' (a poetry book)
available on & Google Play

• Follow on Instagram
• Poetry Account  @lightinthedarknesspoetry
• Author's Account @eminkusaslan
Beleif Dec 2015
Dire fires threaten dire paintings,
Set by dire men, defending dire idols
Who tied their hands to the crescent moon.

War broke out in the studio,
Getting further from the truth.

Blazing through the skies above,
From deserted continents,
They cook the dove.

"Down with the towers,
Blow the roof!
Down with the active streets,
And those with minds aloof!"

Yet in the battle halls,
A canvas there for eyes in awe,
While behind the towers fall,
The pen is drawn,
The pennons bawl.

Yet echoing through the city streets,
The innocent fall to the ground,
As fires set upon the town!
The pennons show a winning streak,
By force while their emotions leak.

"Down with the warlords,
Let us draw!
Down with the active planes,
And deadly bombs!"

Between the clash of different laws,
From above,
A single sheet sinks down unharmed.
Flowing through the blackened fog,
Gracefully, it mocks the sacred hog.

"I know this guy who sought divine,
And was believed to speak His lines.
He lost this truth by middle-life,
But through his lies he claimed a wife.

"Don't let him gaze upon your children,
Fight his old-age desperation.
Spill the ink to blind his vision,
Tie his hands to the crescent moon."

Battle cries and splitting shots were silenced,
Even spitting fires ceased to whisper.
As the graceful insults fell aground,
Laughter struck the once conflicting crowd!
Part II of "Pennons of Madness."
Beleif Dec 2015
Across the ocean's dome,
Controlled by piercing shouts without a doubt;
On an altar in the distance:
An open book with censored words!
Tear a page,
Observe the rage.
Not what any freedom fighter would.

In a rowboat in the open,
Draw the source of their devotion.
Pencil sketch the jagged beard,
And stretch the nose a thousand years.

What a time to strike some fear!

The terrorists will echo with madness,
The pen is your sword.
The innocent will run to the forests,
And the artists make war.

Across the desert homes,
Contained by giant seas to some degree;
In a planetary orbit:
A crying team with crooked teeth!
See the page,
The winds enrage.
Not what any freedom lover should.

Bullets charge at the comedian's door,
Burning down all the carpenter's lore.
Sculptors mourne over severed stones,
The innocent turn, yearn, learn...

The invasions form, warn, and burn.

As the terrorists echo with madness,
Hold the pen as your sword.
As the innocent run to the forests,
Let the artists make war.

Throw the drawings ashore!
Prelude of "Pennons of Madness."

— The End —