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Tender leaves of spring,
have been roasted by the dry-wind.
They rustle now and then,
dancing in the spring's dusk!

Hopeful green turned brown,
they continue to rustle,
like those tired men in the fields
whose tanned body glimmer with the soiled trickle!

The brown leaves rustle their glory,
they will once dry and shed.
The sweat being the anomaly,
that shed and then dry !

The once lush-green trunk stand naked,
onto the bed of their own body.
like that very pyre arranged,
the wood and body mixing as one!
Sonia Thomas Nov 2018
There are days that my heart can't take how much pain women are having to carry in their hearts all the **** time. We hold the scars close, digging at them behind closed doors and discussing it in hushed tones.

Our homes are not ours. They're a minefield of memories we'd rather bury with our own walking carcasses.

Then maybe, we'll set ourselves on fire in the hope that maybe, just maybe, we'll be respected in death like Sati.

And then they'll say, "What a brave life she led!"

Or maybe something to the effect of, "Maybe we should have heard her screaming before she even walked into the pyre."
PoserPersona Aug 2018
Gaze on that woman by the train.
With curves like gunpowder
that will shoot fireworks again.
As her and I once were.

Since then, of women, I've abstained.
My chest is a pyre
to the damsel I couldn't retain;
fondness that won’t expire.

You say I could never attain
and imply I'm a liar!?
Or you think either me insane
or least she's miswired?

The evidence on my brain -
melancholy, ire -
the despondent husk that remains,
need you more enquire?

...True, of her, no displays of pain;
eyes that jolt not tire,
poker voice tipping no disdain,
legs that feed desire!

For her, gone love is not a chain
hidden by attire
or flushed down a forgotten drain.
It merely retired.

Love like hers was the wind and rain
to my earth and fire.
"My woman says that she prefers to marry no one
over me, not even if Jupiter himself should seek her.
She says (these things), but what a woman says to her desirous lover
is fitting to write on the wind and on fast-flowing water."
Poem 70 - Catullus
Brandon Conway Aug 2018

This depressive choreography
                                     of flames
                                     f     i      k     r     n
                                         l    c      e     i     g
consumed in the geography
                                 of bodies
                                 b   i   c   k   e   r   i   n   g
Tongue's embers  licking  
                  the innocent cheek
words like poniards
                     P   R   I   C   K   I   N   G
leaving this dance at its

Now left  a  s m o u l d e r i n g
             soloist on the stage
                            a dance so sobering
                                     watch this fire's rampage

burn his own pyre
              I gave into the rage
burn his own desire
             another illegible page
tossed to fuel the bellowing fire
              the end of our golden age

Anthony Mayfield Jun 2018
Burning glory,
Of such I’ve never seen.
Of which I’ve only dreamed.
Such light,
To shine upon the sins.
Thick smoke,
To choke the loss to win.
Who wins?
They win.
White ash,
To remind of your decay.

Crows fly,
Their carrion play.
They clap,
A murderous parade.
They bleed,
Yet they don’t so who’s to say?
I say,
You say.
Who wins?
They win.
A pause.

The next day is still.
***** upon the hill.
Who knows,
What happened on that day?
The monument,
To remind the price to pay.
We’ll pay.
They’ll pay.
I say,
You say.
Who wins?
They win.
They always win.
They want to watch us fail and suffer in the midst of our own mistakes. They have pyres waiting for all of us.
Harri Jun 2018
I have never been afraid of fire.
Which is good, I think,
Because when I am with you
I feel like I might go up in flames.
You have consumed me more thoroughly
Than a pyre would, love.
And I have never been so happy to burn.
this word.
mutter it softly, as the fireplace moans.
bring your bones to the pyre,
bring your dragons,
bring your friends.
come to this pyre and we shall burn
the past into the present.

do you hear the thin noise of action?
the things that you will do,
the things that you have done,
all rushing into that heart of yours,
that heart of ours,
that fiercely fragile thing?
yes. you do.
and you shall break the mountains with every whisper.
let your words proliferate across this crumbling world (spinning itself to dust),
a legion of ants on this blue sphere.

do, and your flesh will unravel into dawn.
do, and the vices writhing in all our skulls will have no choice but to yield.
do, and we shall leave all these broken lamps behind,
let them drift away on this slate-blue sea,

and we shall burn the past
into the future.
inspired by this youtube video:
Vexren4000 Mar 2017
Rage, a blaze building in my gullet.
Reality placing things akin to gasoline upon the pyre.
Only serving to increase the raging fire.
Reaching higher, to the ceiling of my sanity,
The flames lick the threshold,
The human throws the match upon the gasoline.
Igniting it fully in a boastful manner,
The flames of anger now raging,
consuming all surrounding them.
Turning love to ashes, and structures to dust.
Rendering relations defunct,
And times now wasted.

Viseract Jan 2017
A crutch, a walking stick
Use and abuse so sick of it
There for you when you can't move
Support your weight when you lose

But let me burn when you're cured
So ******* from all us tortured
Swinging in chains, bonded by pain
A snakes skin is all that changes

The venom still gleams crystal clear

So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your hopeless desires

I'll just take a seat right here
Blindfold off its so **** clear
This cinema rolls the same tape
But it's hilarious to see your face

The devil on the big screen
You wanted attention, now act your scene
A snakes skin is all that changes
But your method never rearranges

The venom drips, so crystal clear...

So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your faith has retired

Once again, called you out
It's hard to swim when drowning in doubt
I know, that riptide was far too strong
But in seeking help, I never did wrong

And your life is crumbling, as the venom drips

So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your hopeless desires

So let me burn!
Playing with fire
Let! Me! Burn!
Your faith! Is!
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