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rose gardens cry the nightly shades,
purple mist covered in grace,
candlelight glimmer undressed by the flood of light,
the forehead of deities clashing on the edge,
smudges of sparkles drunk in uncertain movements,
jam rose kissed in honey bees,
swing of suffocating dreams.


(My book will be out soon, in the meantime you can purchase my first book 'The Allure Of Time' from amazon.)

Also, I will appreciate it if you follow me and support me. I hope you get inspired by my words.
Ray Dunn Apr 8
Nothing good ever
happens to me.
Perhaps it’s a
self-fulfilling prophecy!
Can’t even spell profacy
Ylzm Apr 5
The sixth opened on the sixth
history prophesised, future past

sun and moon eclipsed
heavens and earth shaken
moon bloodied, stars fell
earth ripped apart, time perturbed

graves opened
the dead arose to life
the living buried themselves
immortal died
mortality perished

blood spilled, living marked
wait for the number of Man
The 6th Seal and the 6th Hour
Ylzm Apr 3
Evening and morning, a day:
The third night, before t'was day,
He rose, before the sun rose.
The last night, was forty days.
Today is the third day, till
Ev'ning comes, and today ends.
He'll return in the morning.
Ylzm Apr 2
Abel died
After three days
He appeared
Wheel within wheel
Ylzm Apr 2
The sixth day began bright,
Sun’s fire, on earth, lighted;
Prophecies trumpeted,
Brighter, hotter, fires burned.

Eight, but one, ancient, kings
Ruled the day; If agree,
All in their hearts shall be;
The stars, Man's destiny.
Seth Milliman Mar 31
I said to see,
This shining sea.
A case for all to be,
Of tried and tired.
Creation and tyranny,
Why must we fall and rise?
Why must some end in misery?
Does the sun not shine for all?
Revealing all to see,
The world, a ******* up blue ball.
Full of man’s ire destiny,
Is it of destiny or prophecy?
For man it is both,
A tempest *** of problematic dreams.
Ciel Mar 27
I look up at the chaos around me
and see.
I see people saying their last prayers,
Waiting for their fateful endings,
I hear the church bell toll in its last call,
I feel the suffocating heat from the burning buildings,
I smell the smoke from the ignited city,
I taste the desperation in the air and the bitterness of regrets.

But in the middle of this tumult,
One thing stands out;
One person.

A little boy stands there in a beige attire,
dark gray ash contrasting his white hair
and tears stains on his pale cheeks.
A grim expression marking his features,
He shakes as if freezing
and although the heat has almost become unbearable,
he stands in the middle of the flames
barefoot yet unharmed.
A sharp scythe lays at his feet,
sharp and threatening.

As if feeling my stare,
he locks eyes with me.

And as the world burns down,
the reflection of the cataclysm in his brown eyes
and the look of innocent incomprehension he wears
is the single most heartbreaking thing in the moment.

Suddenly, I do not care about the screams and cry of the despondent goners.
I do not feel the harsh scorch of the burnt remains under my bare feet.
I do not mind the tears welling up in my eyes due to the fumes.
They are but a distant reminder of the atrocity surrounding me.
I can only focus on the strange guilt reflected in his warm eyes.
The first of the Four Horsemen series of poems: Death.
Ciel Mar 27
I look at the despair around me
and see.
Men, women and children alike lay
on the ground in a sea of blood.
Their bodies unmoving
with their eyes still open wide in terror
and arrows in their chests.
Victims of a merciless quest,
their corpses decorate the ground
of the village that was once a happy place
but is now but a gory catacomb.

In the middle of the ravaged huts,
stands a woman.
With a silver crown sitting atop golden locks
and lifeless grey eyes,
she bears a white armor
stained with the red of the conquered
and a wooden bow in her left hand.

A frown wrinkles her ivory face,
and as she stares at me,
I am not scared
as I should be at the vision
of this blood-covered figure
but rather,
I am overcome with a feeling
of pity.
This is the second installment of the Four Horsemen Compilation: The conqueror on the white horse.
Ronnie Mar 24
I am still here
yet I am not who I once was.
I have shed
my human skin
I was reborn
into something true
something pure in essence
if only abused, disregarded
for so long
it almost killed me.

I am free at last.
It was not a prison
for she has not reformed me
but changed me nonetheless.
I was captured
on my own accord
I took the risk
just as I once took the lives of
kings and queens
businessmen and millionaires
Into my hands.
I led them all to ruin.

Human beings are
ungrateful by nature
always wanting something else
something more
something greater

There was once a time
that made that dream a reality
a simpler existence
for others like me
humanity called us
and we called back into the void
we had many names
angels
prophets
messengers
mediators

but we were never guardians
for they relished the taste of power
more than safety or justice
and called upon us for our strength
turning quarrels into battles
and battles into wars

the blame was ours
there was no question
or any answer, either.
Abandoned. No longer
a beginning
or an end
neverending existence
and suffering.
There was no point
staying true to our spirit.
It was crushed
mercilessly
by the one meant to be
most merciful.

We were not meant to exist
without a reason
or greater purpose.
It was beyond us
so we took it upon ourselves
to find one.
Living alongside the humankind
took its toll at last. We rose
from the wreckage
and the ashes
to take the world as our own.
This is why I am who I am
as I remember now
claiming my sense of purpose
taking for myself
what I could not have in my
own right.
Tired of treachery and deceit
I craved the taste of innocence.
A sweetness only a child could possess.
She had all I wanted
a blank future
a clean slate
the world at her feet
and so much more
so in turn
I possessed her.

We came together as one
and when we did
she had no language
no words
to persuade me.
It was something else
something pure entirely
no vile thought
or ill intent
so repulsive to my state of being
yet so wonderful

it was what I wanted
what I craved
and I revelled in the high.
I must have lost myself
between the lines.
She hated every second
but I was blinded
too blind to notice
and there I was
manipulative, controlling
but somehow spiralling
out of control.
I lost everything I knew
and to this day
I do not understand

why do I feel an echo of a flutter
somewhere within me
seeing the two hands together
his thoughtful eyes
or the softness of his lips
those are her wants
her primal needs
but now I crave them too.
My entire existence is trembling
and I hate it so immensely
since it reminds me of
being human

and the one thing
I could never understand
is their will to go on
to carry the most convoluted
conversations with themselves
on the off chance that
they will get their answer
a true call from the void. After all,
do they not deserve it?
are their lives not a gift
designed to fulfil a greater purpose?

Perhaps so
but I do fear the humankind
as the knowledge would surely break them.
If they were certain that there is no meaning
they would become us
shapeless demons
ghosts of their former selves.

We are not bound by
the same mentality. I will
carry on living
reap the souls of those
standing in my way
one by one by one
until there is nothing left

still, I am afraid
to claim another life
and to become one of them
once again
I am afraid
since I now know too well
their struggles, fears
the ticking clock.
Can I ever become one of them
and not become human?
The twin poem to the hours and the second monologue I wrote for my poetry class.
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