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Chris Jan 4
I found a pretty apple tree and dug myself a grave,
In it I've left my body, words and a sad mind,
All those things in life to whom I were a *****,
All will in the end be gladly left behind.

On every face I see, the same old tired smile,
That always hides a riddle, a story or a myth,
Always full of secrets, always full of lies,
That turn around the smoke o'er the fire pits.

Through rainy eyes I see the dawning of the day,
I admire sun in its morning glory,
I feel its healing beams carrying me away,
And the final darkness- the end of my story.

I picked a snow white flower, and saw in it my death,
In every petal written the end to my pain,
I've crossed this cursed field the path to my last breath,
My soul thus has left me in the light of day.
I found a pretty apple tree and dug myself a grave.
Slime-God Nov 2018
I sit and sulk a seeping sorrow
spreading through the scorching sand
as silence slowly fills the land.

and deep beneath;
a squalid tomb
a dark and smoky little room
it’s there I sulk
and there I brood
It’s where I’ll likely meet my doom
Brynn S Nov 2018
Ringing
Burst of nothingness
Fallen into mind
They scream
They bleat
Falling silently
Nothing to fleat
The flies swarm
They fleat
The tombs hide
Continue to eat
Gasp and cry
Buried inside
Beneith
Gutter Grimer Oct 2018
Beam at me
Baby blue
My bitter moon
So far away
Your golden truth

All too easy to please me
Bring me to my knees
Until euphoria is all expelled
And I'm left bereft of reason

In too deep
Navy blue
Echo-less room
Bury all poise
In this sunken tomb

Drag me back down under
the sheets and leave me
To succumb to my delusion
It befits this physical pain

Is this love?
This bleak, black doom
That makes its way
Into my veins
When I am destitute

Implicit and distant
I should cope
On my own
But all alone
I only suffer visions of
The ways I might still try to die
We found Love, resident in between the envelopes of our lips; never spoken but melted down our souls in contact.
We found love unspoken, right in the tombs under our belly-buttons; and there we lived, loved until love grew grey hairs so soon and travelled six feet underground.
We found ****; not love!
Petra gorges
sandstone cliffs
this river
she'd drown
her red
rose gem
with jungle
like aura
her pin
did sling
round her
face like
her cavern
of clement
can assuage
hers to
City in her Jordan
Diána Bósa Sep 2018
Did you know that the night hides itself into your
hair? See, that's why it is so dark.
       Your shimmer, love, swallowed me
and I am melting on your tongue of time.
You are likewise the **** and the tomb of mine;
what else the difference but a letter.
Pour your sun inside me and let me rest in your blaze.
Place your moon upon my very heart and see how
I become one with your nightshade.
      My fate is a delicate line
                in the corner of the eyes of yours.
You water and make it bloom with the tears of joy,
drawing the constellation of stars on your very face.
       You are all fair, my love; there is no spot in you.
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
In the mystery of its soul
Light holds a soulful secret.

When darkness casts its conceit over the horizon
in monochrome shades of melancholy,
it resurrects as a Firebird
in golden silhouettes of flame,
illuminating the warped convictions of a
perverted darkness.

Light once knocked
at the stony tomb of your conscience
calling out your name.
But you feigned, refused to leave
the comforts of a pretended ignorance!

You didn’t realise you’re my thoughts
incarnated in charming colours of a conundrum!

How long will I call out your name
before you allow the light of my resurrection
to shred the shroud of a deathly pretence?
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
Earth is entombed with body
and blood. All sentients are
indeed candles in God's eye.
No matter how far, no matter
how young, we become mere
vapours as life goes on.

                                                               ­         As uncharted the future is,
                                                             ­         as dark as the world can be,
                                                                ­       I want to be a speck of light
                                                                ­         here. One who lives well,
                                                           ­              one whose steps won't be
                                                              ­     forgotten in the sands of time


                                 As the river flows...
I need to step away from the computer for a bit.
Be back soon!
Lyn ***
Poetic T Jun 2018
Plucking nails like petrified petals,
each one tipped in faded gloss.
And they fall silently,
                 this life is now morbidity.

Wood has splintered within this carcass
of holding, she plucks hair and manifests
a brush,dipping it in the empty socket
                                                        of reflection.

Visual metaphors adorn the now
                                                       sullen silk interior.
Now hanging like drapes in a
         still wind of putrefaction.

Death is a void less experience,
         where one must entertain oneself,
for eternity is a long time to captivate myself
               in a six by two tomb of introspection.
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