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aceladka Mar 14
"****** bards", he chuckles,
"tell his tale
and none of his pain"

"****** painters", he chuckles,
"borrow his image
and none of his ugliness"

"****** philosophers", he chuckles,
"dissect him
but don't put him back together"

"*******, this guy can complain", they chuckle back
aceladka Mar 14
no depth without ugliness
no surface without sheen.
black air and deadly screeches
and forsaken earthly pleasures.

such live many incongruent souls.
Everyone's writing of innocent love,
Hushed whispers and hearts oh so pure;
Their darlings are all made of exquisite gold
Of heavenly bliss and allure.
Wherever I look there's another love poem
Writing pain that is sacred and sweet;
But my "innocent love" spiralled down to the gutters
And my "heart" has been long turned to sleet.
and we've lost all direction, we're dumb, cruel and vile;
and we laugh our souls out with bile.
if I drag you by hair just another ten miles
to our den, to our safehouse,
to keep us both sane,
will you spare me one last sickly smile?
– or you'll throw me against window pane?
(and through)
Oh, I'll never get tired of this game!
( ** u )
is it an "f" or "love" as the last word? i don't know. both?
Abner Ros Nov 2020
Whether inner or outer, the matter is naught
Many sought after what cannot be bought
Though heart and mind is where it all lies
An impeccable vision beyond your mere eyes.
The signature mark of human kind
Dream and reality all intertwined
Cold as ice, hot as raw fire
Grand aesthetic for all to admire –

Seldom achieved, unable to build
Quenches all thirst, all hungers fulfilled
With all imperfections, itself so flawless
Rules are negated; thus, it remains lawless

Greatest of weapons bound by no defence
For it may be subtle, yet so intense
Partnered with love, a potent ideal
Beauty will call, no need to conceal.

Silence lay steadily against the barren walls
Aging wood, icy stone
An empty carcass rotting away
Unable to feel or be felt
                        Allowing nothing in or out
Though a poison seeps within its walls
Changing it, from what it was once before
Now wearing a mask as if to disguise,
                   The unseen horrors lurking inside
Goblins and ghouls are the least of your worry
For what lies inside is far more heinous
Beauty’s opposition, readily awaits
No longer a guise hiding the truth -
Reality is met with eager eyes
A stammering figure soundlessly screaming  
Hauling chains and a mirror of lies,
Though not evil, a choice in itself
                   Ugliness within can often be mended.
Leah Hilliges Sep 2020
The ugliness of the world
Slips through the cracks,
And hides behind doors,
And the dark veil of the night
That provides protection
For the unkind and the lonely.
Kyle Jul 2020
Every time I look at my mirror;
I can't clearly see myself.
I can only see a vague figure.
Every time I look at other people's mirror;
I can clearly see myself.
Yes, I can see myself.
I can see an ugly person with lots of scar.
And because of those scars;
I can't become a star.
And because I can't become a star;
I want to forget myself.
And maybe that's the reason why I can't clearly see myself in my mirror.
Slit the veins of truth,
see all of our ugliness
spill from this society.

That stole my youth,
as darkness hit my eyes
with fear and anxiety.

Please end all of this grief
and let's show loveliness,
maybe live in coalescence.

Our lives are rather brief
so can't we all be allies,
Isn't love life's essence?
Sharon Talbot May 2020
Another sunset spans the sky
Deserting its view of shambled streets,
Fleeing the dark silhouettes and wires pierced high.
On feathered wings it fades and bids good-bye.

What a reminder is sent to us each day,
As sweeping clouds look down before dying,
That beyond this desolation, they still will stay;
No human form can stop their flying.

The eye is jarred by every scene,
In which the darkening hulks arise,
And yet are conquered by the sky, it seems;
We are left to dwell below; to guard this prize.

Who, staring aloft, would never desire,
To rise up and dwell among the splendor,
Rather than stay below in tangled squalor?
Yet we must be content with remembered fire.

(Not finished)
This was based on a walk I took on a December evening, along with some great photos of the cirrus clouds and twilight. The buildings in town were all silhouetted black against the sky, emphasizing its beauty.
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