Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Entre Muses et Furies
Il y a une seringue de cyprine amère
Où se coagule fréquemment ma Muse.
Elle entre dans tous ses états
M'injurie et me voue aux gémonies
En pleine crise de jalousie.

Ma muse est une guerrière blessée
D'une volée de bois vert et de cons
Elle veut me froisser, m'effacer, m'annihiler
Me priant de fourrer sa prétendue Rivale
De poèmes lubriques dans le trou de balle.

Et ma Sans-Rivale, ma Déesse, ma Chatte Sainte et Vierge
Ma Muse soi-disant végétarienne se révèle cannibale
De la pire espèce des tribus anthropophages
Et me déchiquette, moi son zmeu, son dragon nuageux,
Sa muse masculine, son pervers narcissique,
Son ombre réfléchie dans le miroir,
Me dépèce comme une hyène frénétique
Aux crocs d'ivoire en chaleur
Elle me saigne tant et tant
Que je suinte de tous mes lambeaux
Résine, sève, latex, musc
Comme une plantation hétéroclite et sauvage
D'hévéas, de pissenlits, de sapotilliers
D'ignames jaunes et de dachines.

Et quand rassasiée de ma gomme à mâcher
Certifiée bio et sans additif
Elle se barbouille les lèvres de ma saignée
Je lui murmure encore que c 'est elle Mon Unique,
Ma Précieuse Ombre, Ma Chatte Immaculée
Entre toutes les chattes, mon chewing gum préféré
Et que je bande pour ses entrailles
Cérébralement
Mystiquement.
Brandon Nov 2018
I can't go to sleep
with good thoughts
still lingering in mind.

I must ride the wave
until it's Crest
breaks under
the passing of time.

Till my self and whole
are torn asunder
I plunge into the depths.

Passing now,
the shallow veil.

I have grown quite adept,
in this game I call "my life"
and godly humored quest.

The easiest move is riding it out
it's acceptance which is hard.

Now the wave is gone, but I sink on
into deeper, and deeper depths
till dawn.
Speculations on why I usually can't sleep
muses sent a running start,
warmth upon your brittle heart.

baby steps, play your part,
bloom into a work of art.
based on an old poem i cant find and could only vaguely remember. the sentiment is there, anyway.
Pauper of Prose Aug 2018
When every pristine picture
With every serene scent
Alongside the most melodic melodies
Joined by teasing, titillating touches
Converge along one path,
Each from a different den
Behold, four fearsome horsemen
Galloping faster than the most energized dart
Towards one defenseless unsuspecting heart
trinity Mar 2018
why must sadness always be my muse?
why can i only use words
to fill my own emptiness?
i want to write about the sunbeams that dance on my wall
about how my baby sister laughs
about the stars and my passions
i want to get so carried away in the love and beauty i know that i forget how to write and my words become nonsense and my sentences run on and on and on until they overflow
i want kindness and joy to emanate from my work
i want my cheeks to ache from smiling
instead of my eyes burning from tears
i want to change
i want to heal
hey if anyone can explain what this even means you get uh bragging rights what a mess
sunprincess Feb 2018
O' Muses of poetry left us with a smile
and so many questions

What inspires one to become a poet?
Love? Happiness? Depression?

Some poets write poems continuously
Morning, noon, and night

From where comes this burning love?
From where this obsession?

And we write of muses and poetry
Until we can write no more
some souls burn the brightest only after seeing the abysmal darkness. we will not be extinguished, as our worth is indescribable. the universe would not exert such ferocity to keep us here if we weren't meant for something ineffable – the changes we shall elicit in the world: together.
yet in this testament, the truth comes to light. our souls have been tied together from the dawn of time; reliving countless lives. the scriptures forgot about us. mythology mentions us; but fails to depict us in the same tangent, let alone together.
we are more than the greek goddesses and muses, we encompass the celestial bodies of the heavens. artemis aurora, and calliope polaris.
you are the goddess of the hunt, protector and patroness of the forest; as your ribbons fill the night with ethereal glowing light.
I am the muse of epic poetry who hangs above the sky, guiding lost travelers when the universe was still a child.
we come together upon the call of night to fulfill our destinies until the end of eternity, or until the galaxy burns out and we are born anew. maybe then will we be one; as it was meant to be.
but until that time finally comes, I am satisfied just to share the sky with you; hoping that I may catch a glimpse of the green mysticism that you weave each night.
a prophet ballad between kindred spirits. february 15th, 2015
july hearne Dec 2017
there are things
i can't do anymore
i've been doing all those things
a lot lately

just can't stop
every night the songs are played
i've had enough but i would just
have to do nothing or do something else

i'de like to be more descript
but every night
i inhale something lit
and scott gimple just knows
he is a better writer than Robert Kirkman
every time he kills off the main character,
the most integral part of the story,
the whole reason for the story in the first place
the most integral guy in the story
Next page