Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Linespace Oct 8
In this garden,
This beautiful creation I've blessed with my wisdom and experience,
I see in dimensions no one else can.
My third eye gleams in the sunlight, glowing and glistening like a perfectly cut jade.

In the distance, I see my goal.
It breeches the soil and reaches for the sun's warm embrace,
Escaping the mortal coil without ever leaving its vessel.

I approach.
Through the travel, the soil beneath me turns to salt and cracks.
The bees turn to wisps of a time once forgotten,
The butterflies, ghosts of a forgotten era.
The sun and Moon become a single entity forever fused in a dance older than time itself.
The sky turns dark and bleeds attempting to warn me of the horrors protecting my ambitions.
My claim to my destiny becomes shaken.

I power forward, blinded only in the physical world.
And as I approach the apple hanging gracefully from the tree
The snake will whisper its temptations,
And God will scream and tear the heavens asunder, seeking my cursed flesh and blood.
And as I pluck my ambitions and wisdom, digesting it and the truth whole,
The corners of my stone eyes will crack,
My third eye will screech,
And I will watch as both God and the serpent battle over my intentions.

I am The Prophet.
My destiny is written by me and me alone,
And all those who take claim to my soul will be cut down by my power.

I am The Prophet.
Where my gifts and talents, ambitions and goals, and curses and vices originate
Is unknown
But these are answers that do not matter.

I will tame the serpentine prince.
I will take claim to the power your God once stole from me.
I will refuse the sun its moment to set, plunging myself in eternal sunset.
I will embrace the moon as my lover,
And I will not allow you, nor anyone, nor anything power.

I am The Prophet.
I will scan the horizon with my peripheral vision
And blind myself with the sun's direct effects
To strengthen the sight of my soul.
Linespace Sep 26
Dreams shifting visions of reality being bent directly into my cerebellum.
It's nice.
The day's are Sunny, and the air is hazy with good energy.
The sun vanishes and night encapsulates my psyche.
I hear splinters of conversations.
Fragments of discourse hurled into my dreamscape from their proper position in time.

This has happened before.
Same stories.
No. It has not happened before this moment, not in reality.
But being given this gift comes with the curse of the unknown;
Knowing what is to come
But never having a due date.
Anne J Apr 27
Salut—welcome to Madam’s little fortune shop
Where you can see your own fate within an incense drop
My horns shimmer with necklaces that defeats all hexes
And my weapon is a skull of luck for both of the sexes
Now come and rest your left palm on this pentagram
I assure you that this is not a satanic scam
Cards shall give out a tale born from your consequences
As well as the horoscope that’ll mess with all five senses
I can pin a previous life and death within a single scar
I can name all your relatives as far as ones in alcazar
Withdraws are The Sun, The Moon, The Lovers, The Fool,
Listen to the revelations of storylines on your stool
With the Debut of Temperance, The Devil, the Hierophant,
Listen to the ways to avoid a man who is a sycophant
Pick a number from any of my twelve golden coins
To reveal a former lover that one day you shall rejoin
Now kindly look past the glimmers of my crystal ball
And you’ll see just how much your fortune can rise or fall
Last month, I asked a few artists if I could make poems based off their work, but I never got the chance...Until now. This poem is based on this lovely stockwork mashed up by Jasminira from DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/jasminira/art/Predictor-785894696. I think this might be the best poem I've ever written, even more than Stringed Girl, tbh. Hope you guys enjoyed this.
A Simillacrum Mar 25
When I placed the squares under my tongue,
I opened up a portal in my head to elsewhere.
I never want it closed.
The mistakes I keep making once again make
a grand display on the center stage.
It's coming to a close.

Snake the internal path to a detached land,
hands and arms thrusting a T like Jesus.
I cannot let it close.
Trace the slipping blades of grass with no demand,
but to find my voice, hidden, wherever it lies.
I cannot let it close.

I'm at a stage, where stepping back reveals
my influences have transcended and become me,
when what I need, is to find myself
and then speak.
Pagan Paul Feb 26
.
The early sun warms my veins,
Dawn chorus birds are chattering again
A heady smell of dew and flowers
sets the scene for the morning hours.

The mid-day sun warms my face,
dancing butterflies pass playing chase.
The intoxicating scent of life in bloom
carries the promise of the afternoon.

The evening sun warms my world,
Oracles smile at the cool Spring Girl.
Perfumes waft from way out of sight
holding the future through the night.




© Pagan Paul (2015/18)
.
Ormond Jul 2018
(Sonnet)

Owl, silhouette of lilting sun,
Sentinel on branch, ******* out
Death, the sky, bleeding darkness rung
On the skeleton of ancient trees,
Your eyes are apparition, eternal flame,
Oracle of palliative, divining moon,
Which doles out fettered wisdom, misery
Cloaked in smokes, deep darkening dusk
Loud as silence in wide plains open,
That flay as creeping deserts do unravel,
O how wanton moon shouts like feather death;
Merest whisper as pale wanes on a bough,
Like some wraith, in whirls, conjures mercy,
Only to rail like gust in cupped tempest.
.
A Simillacrum Jun 2018
Fine,
if a bitter wind blows

Fine,
if a liar arrives

on my patio
hard heart
worn
right
with the
knuckle
skin

Fine,
pressed on the razor's edge
(grinning ear to ear as if I wanted it)

Fine,
when what was once the worst
(grinning ear to ear as if I wanted it)

returns to a placid place
below,
so

a new threat may
emerge
A Simillacrum May 2018
They can tell their little girl's doing it again
Floating on her raft bed,
Drifting in the open water
Navigating harsh turns

******* the water as she's swallowed into darkness
An extension of the yearning
She holds underneath her rib cage
Her parents say they understand

Build her self expression between bars
Hoping in a corner for someone to come explain
Leave her in the moonlight tell her
She can't *******

She may wonder why most of her adult life
She can never see the stars that others see
With bitten lip behind their eyes

It's too late
But is it too late
ever
to learn
about the space you take?
It's too late
But is it too late
ever
to kiss
yourself til you get love?

even if it has to be pulled through sheets to your toes
even if you have to scream a summoning call
and wriggle through the tingles crawling
up your bed legs
A Simillacrum May 2018
The battery mostly empty sends less power through
the act. The art of you. The heart of you.
I've heard the drums since I was a child.
Music sent from my futures unseen,
to touch me young with destiny.
Lowest now I've ever been in the pit,
the place to which ashes descend,
I know the movie must play to the end,
but I'll send back honesty and a meager providence
sealed with well wishes and love hidden in the frames.
Best believe in watching me I know your names.
Cyber ink is always bleeding through the screen,
writing me a list of beautiful, infinite minds.
Reading it back aloud recharges my mystic energies.
I take a deep breath before my return to form
then open my lungs for the dive.
If I drown in you, let it come.
I'll stretch it out though,
as I want to cherish the heights of
beauty lacking in me that I see for the future in you.
When the moment comes I'll show the tribunal
the heart of rebellion as I learned it through
the audience in their seats.
The spider shall rest for the weaving
as the suspicious oracle returns.
Next page