Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Felicia Atanasio Sep 2020
bite into an apple
and it turns to dust on my tongue
constructing an illusion to try my trust

you carry a piece of me in you
and I don’t think I like it very much
the places we went
belong to you
nothing is mine
shoplifting my humor
and the rest of me too

coaxing figures in your diorama
bribes to reveal data
for you to

but you had no consequence
a knifefish in your own right
so hungry and full of electric

you always made sure we had an eager audience
I don’t think it was for them
you needed a way to create distance
while pulling me in close
a way to make us lie to ourselves about what we want

we’re far too enmeshed, even apart
still you want the words on my mind
and you’ll get off on seeing me compromised

I can smell the iron of our spilled blood
aftermath of our overflow

the garden of eden is covered in rust

you don’t believe in anything
you just hate to lose an argument
the pious are never wrong
their actions are always just

I don’t want to carry your rib
you can have it back
SA Szumloz May 2020
A scalding heat spreads across my face
Forced smiles erase the trace of hate
Prying hands rip my chest open
Thoughts are left unspoken.

With envious eyes, I watch
As pious you, sweet as butterscotch,
Fills the room with love and kindness
Your inner strength is timeless.

I strive to be you
Yes, you. I see through
Your modest eyes, and all I see
Is perfection and beauty.

Jealousy is what poisons the mind
There's nothing more that makes us blind.
lunademiere Oct 2019
Rose tears are my lips
and these lips are anointed
in the nectar balm where
angels sip and roar. This
garden of my soul is but a
flying dove, going from
pond to pond and hiding in
its treasures. No human can
catch me, no perception, no feeling,
for I am the everlasting substance
of Heaven.
lunademiere May 2019
Ghostly tombs flourish the deadly spirits,
and as they reach purification,
their Mother God embalms them with honey bliss,
a war of earthquake kiss.
Ana Ehlana Jul 2018
you portray an image that is religious
& your actions are the opposite of pious
you advise people on the right things
yet disregard it when it’s your own being

what am i to say
i am no saint
i’ve sinned in a lot of ways
and i still have not repented to this day

but it disturbs me a lot
& i cannot push past this thought
that you mess with people’s minds
and act like you are so fine

you can’t just **** around with people
then expect them not to get bitter
you better hope to God they forgive you
so you can peacefully sleep the night through
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2018
My sister is a box of piety,
Tied to obedience to her creator,her priority,
Wrapped in a hijab,plain and simple,
As her way of life,modest and simple.
Layered with prayers which are obligatory,
And recitation  of the Quran,that too, necessary.
There are tightly packed packets of truths followed to the letter,
For to lie is to be a sinner.
Antidotes abstains her from harmful deeds or pleasure,
Fears of incurring His  displeasure.
The bandages of her beliefs are
so strong,
That the path of Almighty does not deter one to do any wrong.
To her, beliefs of the wise,
Are to feel what is in the heart,say it and act likewise.
She has great bundles of charities
Connected to different activities,
All carried out with sincerities,
Be it be  to help a beggar, an orphan or a widow,
She is there to wipe their sorrow.
She has all the kits for the hereafter,
In order to procure heaven ever after.
Khan BA Nov 2017
A pious man had two daughters beautiful set forth ,
Till one day he married then off both,
one wed the farmer and other wed the potter,
the wise man called on them a year after.

To the farmer’s wife he asked how she felt,
"A lot happy father, only there is one thing I want yet
We sowed some seeds and the rains have not made the fields wet",
Do not worry dear I'll pray after I have left.

As he crossed the fields green,
He prayed for the  clouds  to rain.
and went to see the other one of his lineage,
who lived yonder in the next village,.

To the potters wife he asked how she felt,
A lot happy father, only there is one thing I want yet,
We made some pots and the sun is not as hot as it should get,
The wise man sat up and soon he went out and left.

Under the big tree.. he knelt down and prayed
Asked His forgiveness, uttering these words as he raved,
O Lord.. thou are the only one to know what to do,
The wisest of all, thou only  knows what is the best..!"

This is a story narrated to me by my mentor (Moula)..longtime ago and I only gave it a shape of a poem. Before this I had posted  it on my Multiply blog.

(By: Khan, BA..01-1-2017)
however man may try to alter the things  ultimately it is the Divine that sets is right.. the key lies in finding the path to Divine and stick to it..
G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
As the cries of the captives
are left unanswered
So will the prayers
of the pious
be forever met
with silence

As the pleadings
of the warrior
abandoned forlorn
are met with indifference
So will the oblations
of pretensions
be met only with scorn

As the words of the prophet
that the famine soon
would be lifted
were met with
callous unbelief
So will those gatekeepers
be trampled
in the stampede
of the multitudes
who seek God's relief

For those who have ears
So let them care
For those who have none
Let their eyes in death
coldly and everlasting stare

For the words
of God's wisdom
are life to the dieing
They are surely for
the self-righteous
precious pearls
before swine


eleanor prince Sep 2017
do you think
cloaks of normalcy

societal smiles
wash away reality -

that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn

means all is well -

that children next door
from 'respectable' homes

aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish

to the highest bidder -

what tales do you keep
to sleep at night

in perfumed air -

'it's far away
some hapless child

not where I drive
with tinted glass

they're lower class
don't know the Lord

mere runts down town
where father drinks

can't pay their rent
make decent wage

so sell the kid
for sordid nights -

- n - o -
it happens

to tender buds
in wealthy

and poorer shacks
in any

and every age
from dot to

they stay unseen
stare at their

are ***** this night
sob off to

as mother too
walks right on

deaf to the screams
he wants his

so he will take
her brother

'now be a man'
says worm to

he lies to all
most to his

and no one sees
and no one

the silent screams
with veil drawn

they look askance
and walk on
I welcome responses to this poem which is aimed at revealing the culture of silence in 'polite society' - this outpouring of outrage at abuse has been boiling for some time but this poem was sparked off in response to PaganPaul's important and raw poems on this topic
Next page