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Andrew Rueter Feb 23
I’m writing a threnody for a friend of me
who became an enemy after his entropy entered me
transferring pain centering around chaotic energy
mentoring me developing this melody.

This ode is a code for the road
so I know where to go when I’m alone
to avoid foes in your afterlife glow,
they’ll just slow the big show.

This lament will be a vent
for all the dents in my tent
you lent wherever I went
until I bent into descent.

I draw my rhythm from our schisms of derision;
constant decisions to steal my vision
put me in prison until an incision of division
helped me listen to what glistens.

I write a sad song
for a bad dog
who stabbed God
once I grabbed on.

The record starts to spin
once I inherit sin
humming hypocritical hymns
so long as I win.

The CD stops
once the heartbeat drops
like the fish when they flop
dancing until they finally stop.
Seanathon Sep 2018
Inches away from you
        Never there but ever present
        As your breath is lifted up unto the heavens

Elevated is the air upon your words
        Escalated, the anticipation of your voice
        Among the noise

Where the only scene to see is peace
        Held quietly in reverie
        And respect for your mere presence

Find with ease
        The smile of the self-reveals
        A quietness of hearts appeal

Not to be seen
        But to seek the conversation speak
        And to peak the words of interesting

Mere inches now away from me
        With no voice let to find the time
        Or threnodic melody

Don’t let me down
        My inward voice
My articulation often fails me because I secretly want it to fail (so as not to try again). But still, when she walks by, this is what I often hear. Inspired by Goldmunds - Threnody |
Lyn-Purcell Jan 2018
A concrete angel
runs her fingers through
silver strings.

Lose yourself
in the depth of her
sad blue eyes.

She glides over
streams of restless arms,
an empyrean light
flying through umbran

She is neither
deaf nor numb to
their pain as her harp
sings with sweet sadness.
As she wonders...

How strange and sad it is
that death gives peace
more than life ever did.
Things have been so hectic I haven't had time to post on here as much as I want to. Today is a grey day for me, literally and emotionally. Its raining and I passed a hospital and a graveyard on my walk around my local area
Brent Kincaid Dec 2016
What are you,
All you foolish humans
That **** each other
Everywhere, every year?
What good is it,
All your mad efforts
That you live and die
To generate hopeless fear?

What have you done
All you foolish humans
That live by rules
But not by laws for peace?
Where is the pride
In what you create
In all your short, sad lives
If the genocide will never cease?

What of the children
Insane selfish humans
That go to sleep
Perhaps never to wake again?
Who in the world
Which of our fellow humans
Can we put our trust upon
If it is not the most powerful men?

What is learned
With your **** and pillage.
Are you much better
Counting up your evil rewards?
Now you have murdered
Robbed and imprisoned
All those who live by the plow
Laughed at by those with swords.

We are the fools
If we think might is right,
That strength is shown
By money in the pocketbook.
We only need to
To take a simple body count;
To slow our greedy rush, and
Take the time to take a second look.
Longdistance Sep 2015
we wander
we plodder
we hope to impress

we wade
or sit still
though i digress

is the sword in its sheathe
or the blade in the breast?
is this the worst yet?
or is it the best?

do questions come?
and do answers go?
is this little world
all we will ever know?

the premise of all of it
the basis for none
or is all of humanity
a bullet with no gun

— The End —