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I am damaged goods
A corruption of heart
Up from abyssal depths,
Down to desolate clouds.
The fragment lying between
I am not the incessant air,
A rage of non awakening.
Culmination of all fears.
No words do then, describe
me; I do not conform to rules.
Exception I am; ambiguous
A regular consonantal fool ?
Decreed to consume it all
I carry a ravenous thirst.
Unchecked; I grow fervor
A demon, I am accursed.
Where, then, do I find home
Where does my soul belong ?
Whom shall I call my tribe
Then; what do I, thus long ?
I am damaged goods, get ye'
I do not conform to codes.
I belong to the nether realm
Let me lie, in my .. abode.
Do not then, exhume me,
I have chosen to slither in. And,
Lie dormant in the underground.
Where exist I may, in quiet
Lie hidden away, from the
carnal realm, I want none of it.
A monster of my own making,
A necromancer of the Undead.
An ode to both Dostoevsky and Lovecraft. I tried describing the existential pain of being in a world where you understand too much and thus are left, disappointed in everything, people.
manas Apr 18
Castle on the hill

A lot lies in this valley that hide,
secrets in woods and stream reside.
Dying tales of history here persist,
protected like a mother by dazed mist.
Holding head high, you see past go still,
standing with pride, a castle  on the hill.


It stands tall, it stands bold,
look and you’ll find every story it holds.
As you adore this breathtaking view,
it slowly reveals it’s chronicles to you.
It yarns of glory and pride tranquil,
telling it’s tale, a castle on the hill.

But as you reach it’s forgotten  threshold,
it’s old scars and welts you behold.
To cruel history it’s gratitude it owed,
to fangs of revenge alas it’s head it bowed.
So it breaths it’s last, at outskirts of belleville,
dying of ignorance, a castle on the hill.
that's how time hits..hard and ruthless
Henry Mar 29
Derive a formula that describes N hands clapping where N is either less than or more than 2
3/28/20
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
It's so "fun" trying to fit these hugemongous Roman names into iambic pentametre.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXXIII)


So, read an essay on erm, Virgil, frail
As thinking THAT meant aught, and for pretense
Is't lo, Thucydides, to spose I'd sense,
Petrarca's life in um, a nutshell's scale
Of knowledge, even la, Justinian's tale--
Since haunted by those cobbled streets, and hence,
If not the air of Roman days, fr'intents
Those columned cities sages knew t'avail.
And either that, or Valentines in tour
Have ta'en my spirit from me, til I view
All we had joyed in ere as from as twere
A colder distance, seeing, yet voiceless to
Effect, life upside-down, or mine in poor
Scuse, e'en as April haunts the thought life'd woo.

21Feb19a
Or should we claim "it's so fun to be haunted with lines after midnight!"
Amy Perry Aug 2018
The Word was written,
But my word is spoken
In the silence of the sacred,
In the crash of the ocean.

The Word was written,
But still I fumble
With what to think
To remain humble.

The Word was written,
But how does Nature sing!
And how pretty the lilacs dance
And how awesome bubbles the spring.

The Word was written,
But my mind questions,
Scourges the earth for answers,
Philosopher is my essence.

The Word was written,
But how it nods
To the doubt in me
That there are such gods.
abp 08/25/18
HTR Stevens Jul 2018
A pen, like a poisoned dart,
Dipped in ink aimed at the heart;
Words well chosen from the start,
Is it science or is it art?

A play on words - twist and turn,
Take great care - like fire, can burn;
Tapping into the great Vine,
Your ether is also mine.

Everything, for good or ill,
Has been with us and is still;
Naught itself is good or bad,
But the intention we had.

We feel whatever we think...
Excess takes us to the brink;
Control our thoughts, we will feel
Hearts content, with minds of steel.

Minds and souls are closely linked...
Our hearts change when our minds blink.
Thro’ practice, our minds we train,
What we choose to lose or gain.

Little rituals, little thoughts...
Slowly we think we are gods!
If so, then Justice must rule
With Wisdom learnt not from school.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
I didn't bite the apple, but now I see that
there's a dangerously blurred line
between liberation and
thraldom
Really reflective today...
Again a lil off but fine, I hope. (My head hurts badly, though)
But I'm inspired me to do a project! Two projects but one at a time!
Thanks everyone! ^-^
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
aviisevil Mar 2018
my breath is blue
cold and forgettable
in this dark room
and with my eyes closed
composed of a mind
and all its follies,
that I cannot switch off;

i am lost, yes,
bless'd with a life
i never would have
known otherwise,

of minutes, mountains and
stones, wise men; a home
and sun rise,

here on this rock
me and so many like me
will die, pretending we
never would,

consuming blood and wood
even burning the forest down
'tis his kingdom, filled with
people bad and good,

some mad and filled with
scars and broken days
then there's that who
has no need for a place,
some wear stars and some
wear no face, some are meant
to die, some meant to stay

some go away never to
come back, some find
grey days soothing as they
pass by, some live
in good-byes, and some dye
themselves, some don't cry,

some won't die, and we'd
watch them live forever,
whilst we break our lies,

i live the lies too, yes,
but that's more bless'd, in
this storm of illusion,
outside this dark room
where i bleed away bits of
me, everytime i step out,

loud noises and the clock,
to break me down,

silence louder than words,
empty air for me to drown
trapped in a circle 'round
my neck,

eyes to dream me a crown,
and a mind for the countless
worthless things i've found
gagged and bound,
in the deepest layers
miles deeper than my skin
sinking, and inking my
breath blue.
Mikayla Smith Jul 2017
Children like to pick apart beautiful things and leave them bare,
Simply because the destruction that lies at their fingertips is far beyond compare.
They touch the lilac sky with creation in mind
But they don't know that the light withholding their innocence has slowly died.

As children, we are the petals of a flower, lovely when in bloom
But wilted and numb once the bitterness consumes.
We are left to wonder where our innocence has gone
And we roam until our carefree days are done.

O, the vines embrace our still beating hearts,
Like the thorns that have not released us to the cold world.
I crumble beneath the lilac sky
As these fallen petals swirl.
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