Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
Hey, Mister Man
Tell me why
You chose to steal concentration
Because of you,
I am in perdition
Vengeance is mine
Says the old and wise
But I can’t discern
When love fogs my eyes
So, coming down
The man in the Blue-Haired robes
Because of His brutal choke
Tonight, the choir sings
Of your deception
And my depression
So, coming down
Say something
Coming down
Do nothing
I can’t sleep while my soul
Cries at night
Hey, Mister Man
You’re coming down
The good die Young, but the wicked have it worse because they live long enough to someday realize that karma is coming for them
M G Hsieh May 2018
We veered towards calle muerte. It is 
inevitable we come here. Before this, 
there was no us. All things was only
you. One year ago, you called me a
*****. One month later, i learned
about the affair, that i was the obstacle. 

Separation. It provokes anxiety 
and relief. For appearances, a
requirement of exchange needs
subterfuge. It won't help us
to seem greedy to others. I
will not relinquish what is
lawful.

Last week, you invited me,
say you will give stuff
due to me. Yet, not my 
pride? Let's not play
anymore. 

The drive back to my
place disquiets us.
Minstrel dumbstruck in the mizzle.
All romances yield their September.
Atavistically wistful,
the horizon ate my ancestors.

Seamonkey cities in astrobleme
lived the dream, but now magnolia
twilight of dementia picks us clean
w/ friselis of Auld Langoliers.

Killcrop in wellingtons of raven
shine puts the boot in piled margherita
playing card suits. This ruffian's
God; the leaves have human features.

Neither fall nor the Fall are antigrav.
Autumn flotsam 'n' jetsam flutter
like a showboating judge's gav-
el, yet condemning to a yardfire

all the braeburn-variegated Satans,
russet Lucifers w/ wings of nervures.
Deciduous devils, whose crackling perdition
foretells season of hell sowed for gardeners.

No modestly moulting future tense:
life is a winter of autumnal adolescence.
Abscissions are but the frondescence
of the laurels of autumn w/ a vengeance.
uzzi obinna Jan 2018
Who am I to fly you to the sun,
Where the stars sit and watch us burn?
Who am I to take you to the sea,
Where Leviathan is supremacy?

Where else can I make your home,
A place where angels and demons roam?
Where can we find a safe hole-
A place to hide your precious soul?

Sometimes we can hear the ocean calling,
Sometimes its a still small voice whispering,
The voice Dear VIRGINIA heard- yes the troll,
We'll forever miss her- oh bless her soul;

What will the departed say of u and I?
Will they receive us in the sky?
What will we see when we look the devil in the eye,
Will it be hate, compassion, remorse or a battle cry?

Shall we see the pentagram when the sun king is born?
Will there be hope for the broken and the torn?
Will we hold hands and dance in the vineyard of Jezebel?
The vineyard which Naboth refused to sell.

What if we just sit beneath the stars tonight,
And watch our enemies burn in their fight?
And ask the moon to shine very bright,
So that none would be out of sight?

The world is in so much terror,
Anguish of an unending labor,
Children of perdition is all she brings forth,
Many without substance, without worth:

Gather your friends as we cross the red sea,
Let all those who say we can't, stand and see;
The sun and her friends shall stand still,
While we fulfill our hearts utmost will.
Josephine R Jul 2017
Burn, fire. Burn.
Spread thy blaze upon broken *******
Of meek men and woeful women.
Cast thy roaring flames into their sore hearts,
For no longer shall they lend submission
To the cold deceits of their perdition.
we all have inner demons, and it's easy to give in to the thoughts they provoke; but ignoring them, or perhaps overcoming them, and going about the day without feeling down about yourself, or having hatred against others, feels like being saved from hell fire... even if only for a little while.
Max Southwood Oct 2015
I walk with weary eyes
Tired of seeing, no longer willing to hear
My head spins from the smoke of your conflagration
Burn me down from the inside out
Lungs of ice trap the filth
Make sure the essence becomes my own
I try to scream but cough out words of rancour
A whirlwind of smoke and embers
My ashes block the sun
Nothing can grow here
Brent Kincaid Sep 2015
There are a million kinds of hell
And they show us what we’re worth
More than a million paths to hell
And hell can be right here on earth.

Hell can be the job you choose to take
Or maybe it’s the place you choose to live.
It can be the lies you tell to others
And times you chose to take and not to give.

Some know stories all about the devil
And think that hell will come when we die.
But look around the world at those who suffer
And you may cease to question where and why.

There’s the hell that lying binds you,
And the hell when lust will blind you.
There’s a hell when envy grinds you
And when absolute riches find you.

Sometimes hell is exactly what you make it be.
Something you’re not strong enough to duck.
Others have their hell ****** upon them.
Maybe it’s all not much more than luck.

Hell is when you feel your life is suffering
And nothing ever will come set you free.
Giving up all hope of any rescue for you
How much worse can the Bible’s hell be?

There are a million kinds of hell
And they show us what we’re worth
More than a million paths to hell
And hell can be right here on earth.
There’s the hell that lying binds you,
And the hell when lust will blind you.
There’s a hell when envy grinds you
And when absolute riches find you.
envydean Aug 2015
He reaches down to the dwindling Soul
Wrapping an arm around it
Forcing it to piece back together
Into something more human
Something more righteous
Than just a soul with no flesh
It hadn't meant to cause hurt or harm
But sending a man’s Soul back to his
Body has its repercussions
The tighter he holds the more the flesh burns
A burst of light in somewhere that
Has more than darkness
And the surroundings change
A man whom had been just a soul
Tearing and torturing other souls until he broke
Was once again human
A human with an angelic handprint
On his left shoulder
Written for @deanshandprint on Tumblr :)
Eppilihp Psy Mar 2015
Une par une, les lignes s'accumulent
Mais des traits rien ne paraît
Et le dessein sombre dans le ridicule.

D'une noirceur lasse des temps indéfinis
Le graveur cherche sa matière.

Dans les recoins du monde archivé
Se serait-il égaré ?

La route est la même
Qui mène de la remembrance à l'oubli.
Nicole Nov 2014
Your eyes ,
               the look .

Your voice ,
               the words .

Your lips ,
               the silhouette .

Your smile ,
               the light .

Your body ,
               the strength .

You ,
               the perfection .

Your love ,  
               the perdition .
Next page