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Anais Vionet Sep 2023
I bought the shroud of Turin
the vatican had a sale
they have legal expenses
and priests that needed bail.

It was just an old dusty cloth
so I put it in the wash
that Tide detergent, never fails
all the smudges and stuff washed off.
don’t get excited, i was raised a catholic
Sharon Talbot Apr 2022
A Beautiful and A Bitter Shroud

When I was little, I found a magic box,
tucked under the eaves where
we were told not to go.
Something compelling about the
forbidden, triangular space,
sealed off by lath and plaster,
made me resolved, beyond curious.
I kicked and pulled until plaster shattered
and wood cracked, delightfully.
The large box was filled
with silk, organza and tulle,
the proud-worn gowns
of my mother's college days.
At those ***** she danced
in them, hair coiled up
and earrings sparkling.
It was not about the men, I knew,
but her need to be admired.
I don't recall a punishment
for opening the box
but she relented and allowed
my sister and I to put on
her finery and pretend.
We wrapped them round us
and twirled to imaginary waltzes,
stepping on long hems so many times
that  the gowns all came undone.
The rags were put away
and the room sealed up.
In my youth I recall but a few
times Mother gave in
and let us be children
or fairy princesses for a while.
Now she is old and finally
trying to wrap me in her shroud,
to make resentment drag me down
and envy of me, crippled with self-hate.
But that no longer works
and I tell her, finally grown
that this is not allowed.
I summon up pity and vague sympathy,
even if love left long ago.
I tell myself that
everyone dies alone.
Ayesha Feb 2021
there is blood on your breaths
and the shrouded world is watching
as we hold these empty sheaths
wind—cold and blue
holds us
a siren from the sea.
noise— noise
of humans talking and
laughing and rotting
—drowns us
but this shore is lonely

and our castle melts to sand
over our heads—
something too full sighs
in our vacant selves;
and in these purple waters,
we’ve never known

but there’s blood on your song
and flies crowd about
my hands—
silence sleeps in my lap
your fingers grazing my heart
something loud blooms
between us and
—bees buzz
your feet clothed in earth
and we’re alright.

—we’re alright
I ask you how we are so—
what did we do for
this quiet.
—you shiver.
and the shrouded world watches—
I can't breathe, lol.
Slime-God Sep 2020
On this moonless night
I sit among the crickets
Shrouded in music
Khyati Jul 2020
Oh! look how beautifully she uses her smile
as a shroud,
to hide the gruesome scars her soul endows!
R Arora Aug 2019
Oh my, you really could not see,
That I was gloomy.
Just as the grey clouds,
Outside the window - the sun's shrouds.
You were more curious about the drops
On the windscreens,
Instead of those
That were rolling down my cheeks.
Okay this is a twisted and exaggerated version of the exact feeling.
Also, I was really bored.
Dani Jan 2019
It sure is such a rarity
To have any kind of clarity
In this pall we’re covered with - no verity
Grey is not lit with any prosperity
Only shroud covered lands all in a form of familiarity
Knowing what is covered, but cannot see it’s true identity
Shadows cast through the day of skies so cloudy
A wet mist reminds - there is no remedy
Sunshine does not peek or wink through an atmosphere so gloomy
Dark grey grows over the land walked by one in singularity
Unfortunately, having clarity is such a rarity, a sad insincerity..
When the day is gloomy, depressed, and/or down feeling. When you feel that the world about you is so far away from any of your senses....
Abby M Jan 2019
Tucked between bark and the life blood of trees
Shrouded in shadows and leaves
Deep at the core of the heartstrings of woods
From magic and elmwood conceived

Living in silence but also in wood
Falling for none but the axe
Standing in stillness, her shroud is a cage
Her only consolements are tracks

She watches and wishes as travelers come
Hoping that one will commit
To chopping her life giving elm cage away
And helping her learn to forget

A man did just that in the forest one day
He swung and his axe whistled through
She fell to the ground and she tried to get up
But her elm cage had trapped her there too
stopdoopy Oct 2019
It'll creep into your mind
sits in the back and festers
until you acknowledge it
and it makes you sick
having plagued humanity for centuries

It doesn't matter you're happy
a miserable wretch
or a beloved spouse

The dark has no preference
the shadow consumes you sooner than you think
gently swaddled in the shroud of time
something only man knows and keeps
until the end.
Happy Halloween
Yanamari May 2018
I'm beginning to see swirling clouds
Form in my mind
All the thoughts held back
Away from the glares of their eyes
Cocooning myself
Away from their words filled with lies

I cannot bring myself to stand up...
And I don't know why?
Is it the innocent hurt?
Or the lack of strength left in me to vie
For a warmth that is left unfound
As I shroud myself away from their deceitful reprise
And as the shroud I've covered myself with
Becomes colder, to my demise
I've lost my voice
Between all the screams and cries
That are left unheard
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