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Velvel Ben David Apr 2020
I was hatched upon this earth
A day before all time
I was made to toll the earth
For all of humankind
Watched all the centuries
Of horrid humankind
And now I seek satisfaction
To ease my wasted mind

The seventh born son of God
The glory to be mine
I was called but chosen not
Nor were the glory mine
Cast out of heaven
With a third the lot of man
Cast out of heaven
By my own dear father's hand
Pluto says
Keep your hug

Pluto says
Dwarf Planet my ***

Pluto says
Sticks and Stones *******

Pluto says
I know what I am
I don’t care
For your “opinion”

Captured by the Kuiper Belt! Please.
Or one my favorites,
A cold rock!

You called me a trans-Neptunian object?
I have five moons!
An 11 year old girl tried to name me.
She won £5 but I’ve had many names.
I am fond of Hiro.
But I’ve also liked Minerva.
I am hardly a minor planet.

In 2006 they tried to make a verb out of me
To "pluto" is to "demote or devalue someone or something.”
So passive aggressive and insulting.

I am not carrying that around with me
My orbit is 248 years.
At a 17 degree angle thank you very much
To pay my respects to that egomaniac Sun.
Why would I care what you think?
Perhaps I am envied because I am so far away.
I don’t think that I am far away at all.
It’s relative, no?
Yes, I am removed
from that Versailles situation over there
and all that *******.
That horrible planet
You know the one that I mean.
The one that’s crawling with “things”
They’re not even you.

I am awash with molten ices and
I even sport a plasma tail.
I spin in nitrogen gases
On my own path
With my FIVE moons!
Just us!

They claim that there are other
Dwarf Planets here and there
And even go so far as to suggest
That I am the puniest amongst them
But with my five and five more still
That’s 10 to 8
And you already know what I can do.
ryn Aug 2016

"Looking down from ethereal skies
Silent crystalline tears I cry
For all must say their last goodbye -
to Paradise..."

- Paradise Lost by Symphony X

Head buried                          
in pillows in the sky,      
voraciously consuming
the fluffy whites.            
Windy fingers                    
sieve the air.                      
                 Watchful eyes                                    
tracing tails of kites.    

He only hears      
  the faint hymns
                            from the outstretched wings
         of feathered birds.
            Leans back weightily
          on his throne of clouds.
        Notions form haphazard
in so many words.    

Casting his gaze,
               willing it earth-bound.
            Careless trees sway
                       in synchronised tandem.
              Diverse songs merge
              seamless in harmony.
        Singing in unison,
                             revelling the gift of freedom.

             Silent tears fall
                         and trickle as rain...
                  As he reminisces
                                       the images of his forsaken past.
       Scored paintings
of a paradise lost.  
All must say                          
their final goodbyes...                  
He will bid his,                              

Current earworm. I feel this song.
Anna Dulaney Mar 2016
I, the queen,
Sit atop this throne of lies
This bed of secrets
This house of insecurity.
I alone rules these thing,
Long forgotten or freshly made,
Its all black, white, and red here
Black- darker than the light ******* black holes
White- lighter than the ashes of an exploded volcano
Red- brighter than the blood that stains this dress.

I, the queen,
Rule this land of hate,
Of sin,
Of breathlessness.
With an iron fist I govern all within my realm
To make up for these broken, rusted wings,
Which I have so graciously ripped off my back.
Fallen I am no more,
After all,
It is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven.
One can't help but doubt -
The bulb in a dark room -
We blindly stumble in and out of each other nightly
Running away into mirrors of whence we came
After all, silence could be the screaming of Death's victims filtering into the abyss of an unreturned hello
But we'd never hear it : only feel its cold feet
Already gone
Already gone
The floor never looks cleaner than when we neglect the mop
Why is love so tragic?
Vijaya Balan Nov 2014
He woke up from a dream today,
To gaze sight at the break of dawn,
A part of his life gone for the day,
As the morning dew drops on the lawn

Precious memories mingled with emotions,
As the night before played in his mind,
A beauty that needs full devotion,
The red tulip blooms for his kind

Tears fill his dazed eyes,
A thought lingers for that touch,
This heart twisted with cries,
His mortal love for a soul he has not seen much

The dark clouds sweep in gracefully,
Announcing the fall of the mighty rain,
This soul sits in the corner of despair,
Afraid of that grey world of calamity

The windowpane becomes blurry,
And so do his visions of her fade away,
In the cold midnight chill,
Leaving the darkness to prevail

He kneels down by his bed,
Gazing up at the darkened skies,
The moon shining bright,
And the stars twinkling brighter

He prays to the nightfall,
As his ravenous beauty dances with the stars,
Her shadow among the clouds,
An apparition hidden among the darkness,

This dark forlorn love,
As the sands of time change,
He remains there still,
An embodiment of his sacred feeling,
Worshiping her, day and night.

Vijaya Balan (2008)
Inspired by the song 'Pray Nightfall' by Paradise Lost. The title inspired my piece while everything else is a speck of my imagination.

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