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Shannon Soeganda Nov 2018
Little bunny was so adored,
Little bunny then grew up
as Peter Rabbit.

Peter Rabbit was so loved,
Peter Rabbit now becomes
Her guinea pig.

Alice was her name,
Alice in the Wonderland.
Alice liked Peter,
but treated the rabbit no better than a mere guinea pig;
for her experiment—
in her Wonderland.
Thanks for experimenting on me, b.
Nikos Kyriazis Nov 2018
The umbra of the firnament
to see through your eyes
and the wind from your skin
to ****** me

Raindrops quiver me
like from the veil
you used to wear

Forever you said
will float into the river
of life and death
together

Why did you
went astray?
There where
i cannot follow

I order the fates
your blood through
my vains to flow
once more

To fade together
into Eternity's
last moment
A poem that i inspired of a Peter Gundry's song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdEV-MpgNm0
Peter Roads Apr 2018
Help yourself
to the words we left out
in this sunburnt tree
we call them a well turned phrase
because tree corpse
makes books feel macabre
and we love books
like we love words
like we love giving trees
hugs to release oxytocin
but none of this will help you read
between the lines of your unease
so do not look for help
between murderous sheets
self-help is called living
It doesn’t come from a book
and yes I’m aware of the irony
of writing that in a book of poetry
so
help yourself
to these burnt out words
and please
stop cutting down dreams
Self help, wellness, being, meaning, understanding, trees
Sandman Jan 2018
Painter sits down
Strokes sun light dipped in moon light upon fjord.
Crystalline blood blooms from valley.
Bird flys high in the sky.
Wind speaks for the earth.
Splish
Splash
The waves crash amongst each other like uncontrollable dominoes.
In the forest
Alone are the spirits
Wolves and deer stand restrained by there own silence as the golden sun rises.  
The painter redips his brush.
nadine shane Nov 2017
you were
peter pan.

and i was
‎wendy.

you were always seeking
for the intricacies of
compunctious realities,

that you considered
the one standing before you
as a vestige of existence.

and when i finally let you go,
you still searched for
the great mishaps.

afterall,
you were
peter pan.

and i am merely
a surfeit of mirrors
that reminded you
to grow up.
you refused to let go of youth.
serpentinium Sep 2017
“quo vadis, domine?”

i. you’re saint peter on a cross,
hung upside-down, staring at the
bright blue and if your arms
weren’t pinned to rotting wood
you’d reach out—

(petrus, dear petrus, why
hast thou forsaken me?)

there’s iron in your grip,
fingers curled in supplication
as you, the fisherman from Bethsaida,
bears only his own sins

the pain fades for a moment
under the sunlight and  
you’d smile if your lips didn’t bleed
at the harsh stretch of skin

they poke your side with a spear,
but only red pours out and the
barren ground below you will receive
no nourishment

you are no god, no holy deity
walking to and fro amongst mortals

(O’ you of little faith, why did you doubt?)

martyr, martyr they’ll chime with each
bell toll, thousands of years from now—
long after your body has perished in
the valley between ***** and Gomorrah

you are simon peter, the betrayer, the liar, the
coward
you are oh so human, and the world will
never forgive you for it
bedrock, they’ll call you, and mean it

you’ll be hailed a saint and people will kiss
your bronze image, dust oil against leaden
feet and imagine that your gaze is not fixed
solemnly to the earth

(now, nothing but a false idol to some,
draped in velvet and handed a crown—
the rooster crows, and so god too will
denounce your existence)
peter's one of my favorite disciples so here have a poem about him
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