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G Rog Rogers Sep 2017
If I believed
there were no God
I would tell you so

But I have seen wonders
and I have seen signs
Supernatural happenings
By the power of Love's
Devine design

Far beyond
the comprehension
of mine or any other
human mind

So some then are good
Some then have faith
Others live just
long enough to meet
an horrendous fate

A life story is told
As the life unfolds
Some lived for
themselves alone
Others lived for
The Higher Hope

Knowing each
thing is remembered
Everything is known

That exist there
God...

Who then is Love

Who both forever cares
and Who always knows.

God is...
The good and perfect
Spirit of Love.


-R.

(9.17.17)
-LA
©ASGP
Eleanor Webster Sep 2017
A ******* the train with witch's hair and dark eyes
Stared at me as if I was hiding a secret in the curve of my lip
Or the space between my eyebrows
Or in whirlpool-pupils
I wonder if there is something of the occult in the way I walk
Like a dead woman who adores the crows that pick at her bone marrow
Is there something in the hollows of my eyes that suggests
I am not afraid of the demons summoned to hunt me down
On my morning commute?
This girl was staring at me really weirdly on my way to work the other day. (This is a recent poem) she had witchy kind of hair and as soon as I found myself thinking that I knew I'd write a poem about her. Enjoy.
envydean Aug 2017
Anger curls around him
Grips him tight in giant claws
Takes hold before he can even process
It’s still dark
His knees still aching in the dirt
His best friend is still dead

Claws digging in, he pitches forward
Hands resting on dead man’s shoulders
He could have stopped this
He should have stopped this
He would have stopped this
And taken his place in a heartbeat

Too angry to cry
Too angry to say anything
He’s alone and the claws dig in deeper
It’s all directed towards himself
Not to the man on the ground
Because Castiel is a man now,
His burnt-out wings are testimony for that
And it hurts so **** much.

As if all the anger rises to the surface
All in one go
Like a volcano on the verge of eruption
Dean shouts to the sky
Ignoring the slight twinkling stars
And the bright moon
It’s supposed to be beautiful
But it’s ugly
Ugly with his own rage

Give him back!
Spoilers for 12x23.

written for the SPN Poetry Challenge | Prompt: anger
Glades and Creeks.

One day in a journey far far away,  the forest was speaking to a lone wanderer.
"I am quite the clean forest, am I not?." The forest whispered soothingly.
"Mmhm." Spoke the wanderer, passive by such an interjection.
"Of course. Thousands of forests have wilted and died under the hand of man. I remain lush and brimming to the birch with life."
"Where is my way out of here?" The wanderer asked, becoming quite needy at the thought of having to spend the night in that dung-infested greenhouse.

The forests name was Evergreen. Allot of forests were named Evergreen. This forest had just been sold cheaply to a large logging firm who would come and tear the ugly trees down. The proprietors of that sale was a tribe of Indians. The specific agent who devised and contracted the sale was named Nahiko. An Indian tribesmen who, like his ancestors could speak to the forest.

Indians were what Europeans called people from India and natives of America. Allot of Indians in America were killed for being Indian. When an Indian boy came of age, they would be thrown into a jungle and starve until they saw an animal spirit. This was probably prelude to eating said spirit animal while thanking it for helping him live on.

"I, Evergreen implore you to stay within my womb of plant and fauna."
"Hm." replied the wanderer. Not wanting to argue.
The wanderer took a seat beside a flowing creek on a rock. The creek lead up to waterfall, which in turn lead through a river that spanned for miles. The river did not speak as it was an extension of the forest, Evergreen. Down the creek was the old homes of the Indian tribe.
"Have you ever saved someone else?" The wanderer asked.
"My yes, of course. Everyone who is to enter without water or food is rescued by my charming animals! And luxurious streams. I am quite hospitable you see. There was a tribe who lived within me, they were by name called the Perchil tribe. But they had to leave for more. Hmph. As if anything up in that ****** town is worth more then me."

Further up the river, away from the forest was a town named "Milan". It was named after a kingdom of the same name in Italy. People in Milan spoke German. This was odd given Milan lay in south America, but not unusual given its history of being a port to German slave traders who came from a German colony called "Tanganyika" in Africa. The town was named Milan because the Germans wanted to appear more Italian. This desire was apparent in their most famous dishes "schnitzel Pizza" and "Pasta Salsiccia". Pasta Salsiccia was pasta in a sausage casing often served with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes.

Perchil was also a member of that Indian tribe. He was Nahiko's brother and had a family of his own. Perchil was born in Evergreen and educated in Milan. He had been fighting with Nahiko over the terms of sale of the forest. Nahiko had wanted to preserve the land of old tribe. Perchil was already drawing up plans to sell it to an oil foundry. Their land happened to be on top of a great oil reserve. That means allot of animals lived and died on that land millions or thousands of years ago. There body would dissolve into a black gooey liquid used to fuel heavy machinery. This machinery is used by logging firms to cut down not exclusively, forests named Evergreen.

The wanderer, feeling awkward asked. "So, you'd rather not want to be destroyed?"
"Oh, I am a forest and I do maintain a will of my own and wants. But I cannot rather things should be anything other than what they are. The world is a destructive place. It is disrespectful of its former home and ancestry. I know this. I have tried however, to ward off the workmen by scaring them with my animals. In the end I shall become a town or a shopping mall."
In 3 years time, the deed to "Evergreen plains, Milan" would be sold and used to build a shopping mall named aptly "Evergreen Mall". And the forests voice would be spoke out of loudspeakers, but in the form of either a pre-recorded message or announcement about a lost child. Nahiko and Perchil would be married in Evergreen Mall. Nahiko three times.

"Oh woe is me, I lament my lost brothers and sister forests who are no longer beaming and prideful of their enormous trees and crested riverbanks."
"Maybe they should have defended themselves better." The wanderer spoke, trying unsuccessfully to show concern.
"Well, I for one will never give up fighting the man!"
"Good for you." The wanderer then ate his lunch.

Three days from now, the forest would stop speaking to anyone who arrived within its borders and see the lone wanderer again. But this time, he would be protected by four glass windows inside a piece of machinery powered by black gooey liquid called a "harvester" which lifted up wood and cut it into easily transportable pieces.

"Do you, believe in god wanderer?" The forest asked, to strike up some conversation.
"I do believe in god. He's the reason I get up in the morning and assists me in supporting my family."
"I don't. I don't think I believe in god, wanderer. If he exists, how could he let something so beautiful as I and my brother and sister forests be turned into shopping malls and townships like Milan."
The evergreen forest had seen the name "Milan" as a city nearby on a poster which flew into the twig of its tree. The poster was now lying on smooth ground weighted down by a root, as so the forest can read it over and over again. The poster advertised Pasta Salsiccia at a local restaurant in Milan. It had appetizing pictures of Pizza with crumbed steak on it and Pasta filled Sausages.
"God once flooded the earth, destroying all forests and people for their misgivings. Maybe you misgave and people are your divine punishment."
The forest grew silent and whispered soft hymns of wind against the leaves and overgrown shrubbery.

The edge of the creek, where the wanderer sat on a rock had a hard sand that stretched out a few meters disappeared into the dirt. It was unusual to see a small bed of sand without any other visible placements of sand. The wanderer had been dumping it there, with permission from the forest so he could form a base to store his harvester. The forest did not know of the sands purpose, she thought it looked pretty.
"If I were god, the world would be nothing but forests!" Evergreen stated. The gentle words turning a harsher coarse crackling of branches.
"The world seems to be nothing but people right now. Maybe gods a man."
"Unlikely! If god was a man, he would certainly love forests enough to never cut them down."
"Hm." The wanderer was dissatisfied with this explanation, but didn't want to argue.

"Would you **** anyone who came into your forest, just to prove a point?" The wanderer asked, waiting pensively.
"Oh no, as I said. I cannot change what already is and certainly would not bloom the effort to try. Besides. I also know about those people and their weapons. When it comes to human beings, no matter how hard I fight they will always win. How they ever came to develop boom guns and ratatatat chainsaws I have no idea. If they came from my forest, people would certainly have never developed tools so cruel and menacing. But, I suppose Eden had her way for you. Even if it was, at the cost of all our kind."
"Yeah. No matter forest or person, people always win. I'll always be below some rich powerful man too." The wanderer felt melancholy for feeling unimportant. The forest felt the same melancholy for her life and the world.

Suddenly and finally, a noise came from the wanderers pants. He then picked out his phone, clicked it and took it to his ear. After two hours, the wanderer walked east and out of Evergreen forest. He visited her three days later in his noisy harvester. made to cut wood. He parked on his sand bed. The wanderer left his harvester and locked the door without a word. Evergreen forest was properly harvested of its trees in 3 years time. Never uttering a word or complaint. The painted marking on the harvester she saw everyday however, was her last thought as she disappeared. The word painted onto the door of the harvester, its operator. "Perchil."
I wrote this a while ago, it's my first short story. Tell me if you like it. And maybe, beseech me. Whatever. I dunno. BE GENTLE!!!
BSeuss Jul 2017
Someone from my past was on my mind tonight, while i layed in bed.

Past twilight, which I will call midnight, I seen a figure, like a dream dip before you fade to sleep, followed by the obvious and unexplainable;

The image of two visible, yet dim eyes appearing on the inside of my closed eyelids, and vanishing.

I've been wide awake ever since.
Apparitions aren't scary.

Although, this is the first confirmed case of one choosing to

Look at me..
It's 1:30 a.m here.
But science can't explain yawning yet.
I'll just do something boring for a bit.
envydean Jul 2017
In an old log cabin
In the middle of the woods
Eerie quiet around them
Still, it’s peaceful

Strong arms around him
Warmth, heart and home
Lips against his jaw
Hands against his hips
His own fingers roaming in short hair
Then running over stubble

Backs of knees hitting the bed
Tumbling down with gracelessness
Deep laughter echoes
Blue eyes roaming his body
Loving him as if for forever

They still
Quiet
So, so quiet
Breaths wisping past ears
And then arms again
Tight around his body
Never letting go
Lips against his neck
Against his bare chest
And against his lips

They’ll hold on to each other
For as long as time allows
A sultry southern voice
Breaking the quiet
But still a whisper

“You’re the best of them, cher,”
And it quiets
He kisses him
Long and slow
Making up for what words can’t do
He loves him
He’s in love with him

And he hopes even God won’t contend with them.
Written for the SPN Poetry Challenge on Tumblr :)
envydean Jul 2017
Wings useless
Catching
Burning
Gone

Falling hard
Fast
Scorching
Crash

Limbs painful
Hurting
Crying
Bleeding

Calling out
Help
Please
Someone

A hand
Holding
Warm
Comforting

Green eyes
Friend
Family
… Dean
who doesn't like some painful destielness...
envydean Jun 2017
Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
As the day turns to night
And the moon shines bright

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
As they lie quietly in the back
Leather beneath them, they hit the sack

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
An angel watching over them
As for sleeping, he won’t succumb

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
Another hunt done
Another war won

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
They’re tired and haunted
Their dreams distorted

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
Dawn arises high
It’s quite a drive but they’ll get by

Look up to the sky, see it painted with colour
An angel and two brothers
Saving people, hunting others
written for the SPN Poetry Challenge (first line is the prompt)
Max May 2017
Pain has struck my aching chest;
And I fear the time has come.
Where my world and dreams may fall apart
And my days slip to eternal glum.

I wish to see why I weep
The dark , distant nights away.
No sympathy, no one to see
The numbness I carry through the day.

Must I find the broken path
That may free me from this room.
But I do not know where to turn
To escape the place where nightmares loom.

Shadows haunt damaged body's
And comfort them when they fall.
Please understand we can't be saved
Until the day death consumes us all.
Max May 2017
Pain has struck my aching chest;
And I fear the time has come.
Where my world and dreams may fall apart
And my days slip to eternal glum.

I wish to see why I weep
The dark , distant nights away.
No sympathy, no one to see
The numbness I carry through the day.

Must I find the broken path
That may free me from this room.
But I do not know where to turn
To escape the place where nightmares loom.

Shadows haunt damaged body's
And comfort them when they fall.
Please understand we can't be saved
Until the day death consumes us all.
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