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Dante Leto Nov 8
It was once a treasure to behold.
So bright, so pure, so bold.
On display atop the shelf
Sits a red, red rose.
A ray of sunlight gleams upon it.
It never grows, nor does it die,
But emits a mysterious light:
The red, red rose.

As the sun begins to set
And night begins its show,
Something strange has happened
To the red, red rose.
The color starts to dissipate
Somehow, in the steady moonlight.
The petals are deposed
From the red, red rose.

Like a sinister corruption,
A dark, shadowy plague,
The once crimson masterpiece
Is now a black, black rose.
The red, it seems, has died,
Its beauty of a different kind.
An aura of pain and sorrow
From the black, black rose.

Like a phantom of the past,
Honored, in a way,
Haunting to the soul
The black, black rose.
A monument, a memorial,
A symbol of a loss.
"Death" is now thy name,
O black, black rose
WildLander Nov 6
Eyes closed, sleeping.
Searching seeking.
Escape reality
To see what is to be.
Pain, destruction, all to come.
A mother's touch, a gentle humming,
Around the consciousness is thrumming
Answers, prayers, just out of reach
Peace, treaties, they beseech.
The lone black wolf stands, head turned away
It might just stand, or attack it may.
A single white dove alights on the ground,
Dry leaves scatter, but yet there's no sound
A kindred spirit, palm out stretched,
To help a man whom he detests.
Stone cold eyes hold no surprise
He's resigned himself to his own demise.
A familiar face,
A familiar place,
The lights come on, blood, all over the place.
A soft warm smile as he comes near,
He wipes away a single tear.
He takes your hand, to place a knife
One to take your very own life.
You plead for him to love and stay.
He slowly turns and walks away.
The floor boards creak under foot,
The lights flicker, flicker, then go out.
Through the darkness, a single cry
The sound of one not afraid to die.
A white wolf sits with unblinking stare
Is it a welcome? Or simply a dare?
Hand reached out, you attempt to draw near.
The white wolf sits, it can smell your fear.
A pitch black crow pecks at the skull,
The eye sockets lifeless, the toothy smile dull.
A raven lands above his bed,
Gold tipped black feather drifts down to his head.
His eyes fly open, no sound, scream or shout
The sun comes up and the dream winks out.
This poem is a strange collection of symbols that has been written in the form a dream. I wrote it in a way that it is open for interpretation and meaning can be imposed on it in various ways by those that read it
Mark Toney Oct 23
Amphorae, beautifully crafted,
Delicate, exquisite, fire-glazed,
Heated in jumbo kilns,
Lovely molded necks,
Opaque pigments,
Quartzite residue-
Symbolic, timeless, utilitarian
Valued- with xanthic yellow zirconium
1/25/2019 - Poetry form:  ABC - In this instance, a poem in which every word begins with a successive letter of the alphabet. The first word begins with A, the second with B, the third with C, etc. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
yellow soul Oct 20
three flowers in my vase
They all stand there in their place
One is white
One is red
And the last one is blue
When the sun touch my flowers
I see them dance
It’s from the sun they get their powers
But today I notice there’s a change
My blue flower seems sad
It has bent it’s back
The red one appears to be mad
it’s ready to attack
And my white flower is gone
I lost it yesterday by mistake
In the moment I lost it i thought it was fun
Oh dear lord what have I done

Two flowers in my vase
They both stand there in their place
One is red
And one is blue
When the sun touches my flowers
I see them dance
It’s from the sun they get their powers
But today I notice there’s a change
My blue flower has bloomed
Now it’s even more blue
My red flower is doomed
It’s color is gone, I swear it’s true
It is dead
It didn’t get a chance to live
I never had it with me in bed
Well they say love isn’t fun
But oh lord what have I done

One flower in my vase
It stands in it's place
One is blue
The sun can’t touch my flower
It’s the last one I’ve got
Without the two others it has all the power
This feeling isn’t what I thought
The blue flower is me
And I am the blue flower
But I let nobody see
Up I have build a tower
It has no door, window nor Stairs
I will never let you in
You killed my flowers
Now I’m blue
White flower - my  innocence
Red flower - love, lust, passion,
Blue - sadness, loneliness, depression
i and i wept
by the waters of Knoxville
remembering Zion
repatriation, what a notion
slowly, we came to our senses

the brave new world
closing in around us
we sought our refuge
at the doors of perception

timothy leary and
Marcus Garvey
were on a bad trip
together one day
when it began to snow outside
like grace
from heaven, falling
i was there with them
the angel of death

my thanatalivity
is all i know now
i will make it
to the end
Written ca. 2012
i was born
to a mother who always is
trying to destroy me

my father
long before
i was born
i can never seem to find
where he's at

i'm so dry
such a dry, dry drunk
white knuckle sober
Written ca. 2012
awake now!
Write it down, letter by letter
the house of Holy is being built
brick by brick, letter by letter, gem by gem

my Spirit approached me by night
with a vision of gladness
a triumphant tiding
born on a warm and powerful wind in the dead of winter

Say, “It is finished”
Say, “The city has fallen!”
Say, “Come away with me, my love. Come away, and taste not of her poison delicacies”

as in a dream, I watched
while a mad-woman
a maenad
ran through every street and back alley
a lunatic
possessed by the moonlight
holding in her left hand
a magic wand that she had retrieved
from a children’s magic kit
a plastic wand

and everywhere she ran
she swung her wand
pointing at each and every thing
and shouting

Holy, the cobblestones of the street! Shining in the moonlight!
Swinging her wand and pointing up
HOLY the dark clouds which move to block the moonlight
and move away again to reveal!

Swinging and shrieking and crying
Pointing the wand at the gawking passerby
who stopped to stare, clutching their children tightly to guard them from her madness
HOLY the skeptics, the blind, and the deaf! For they shall see! They shall hear!
Holy your children, whom you shall not keep from me!
They will follow me through the streets, singing and dancing to my merry tunes!

Holy the children, for they believe in magic wands of plastic
Holy the plastic, no less than the gold with which you adorn your temples!

Holy the darkness, which falls over your land!
And with those words
the Lady flung her arm
pointing her wand at the moon itself
which turned red-black
like congealed blood over a wound
and darkness fell over the cobblestones in the streets

and panic fell in the hearts of the passerby
because the light was gone
and screaming terrified, they tried to drag their children with them back inside their homes
where the cold hum of electricity kept the incandescent status quo glowing from the ceilings

but the children would have none of it
the Lady had begun to dance under the darkened moon
through the black streets
singing a merry tune (holy holy holy)
and the children each broke free from the terrified death-grips of their parents
and danced behind Her
into the streets
hypnopunk Apr 23
eyes that stargaze
and eyes that hold stars.
tangled fingers and fireworks.
moments: stained with ash,
drained of color, full of passion,
eyes on a starless night.

love to showcase
and hold on display.
being apart for the whole day.
wrists: stained with pink ink,
full of bones and full of vessels,
those boastful hands, linked.

heart that shudders
as if it was cold.
listening to each other's pulse.
skies: stained with rainclouds,
gloomy, grim, and full of answers.
liminal space delight.

light that flickers
long after earth caves.
shunned and disowned,
dimmed, but still here.
eyelids: half-raised now,
ridden of doubt, sure and rhythmic,
divine mystery eyes.
this poem is ***. it's one of my favorite ones i've written so far.
My feet are above the ground,
Like a rocket ship with nothing in the way,
I take off,
And I keep going.
I just keep going...

No longer restricted by the confounds of flesh,
By birth and by death.
I leave behind who I was, and now I’m I am.
I am not my name.
I am just I am.
i can't see them
the stars
i've left them for the city
as for cheaters never prosper
i've abandoned my dreams for someone else's
and all i have left
is to gaze at the lampost
as it flickers away
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