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The chilling darkness with a fright night,
dawned a labryinth with a dead sight,
the roof of the world falling on the wattle huts,
and tremors created, shaking up the earth's crust

The catastrophe occurred without one's conscience
the lightening struck, rocks crumbled,
as the banshee waited with bated breath,
to ask, O God, " cui Bono" ?

The lush green fields flushed,  dancing the lullaby,
thou, who curdled and nurtured us like thy baby,
asking " why thee destroy us, who created you"?

That the graveyard left no place for burial,
the earth created a grave for undead,
I ask you, "O Mighty, where shall I find peace to lay down my soul"?

As the mothers womb evacuate to parturite,
the devil of krakatora arose from the earth,
and created a black hole as smooth as silk,
my heart cried, thinking"Holy Aborigines, cui bono"

with richer dreams slept the human mind,
their thoughts fulfilled, by diversified montony swinging into action, I ask,"Is these flesh worth only to be crushed by stones"?
erin Oct 2018
The necromancer danced on her grave. The ground shook with every step the witch took, rumbling the ground beneath and making the corpse she had planted cling to the cool dirt for dear death. And then, the dirt began to give.

Sunlight burned on the girl’s blue skin, turning it a ghastly shade of porcelain like Wednesday Addams. She rolled over in her grave, and closed her eyes, refusing the inevitable fate of the undead. But her wings started flapping, and she rose up, the witches hand clawing into her back and dragging her back to life. And as the screeching of the megalomaniac forced her wide eyes open and the dried ancient blood away, she wished she were dead.
i'd appreciate criticism- i really want to improve my poetry game. if you can guess what this is about, i'd love to hear it.
Emi Jay Sep 2018
Leather suits you
because you, too
were alive once
and are now dead;
and the bright red
— oh, sweet bloodshed! —
vanishes on black
Maegan deme Sep 2018
night just wants some sun and the sun wants to sleep
but neither can get either with being alone every week.
some people sleep all alone every night
and that's what scares me to death.
am I one of these fools,
or can I follow these rules.
and that's why I'm so scared of my bed.
the monsters in the closet are just my memory's in deposit.
so I can sleep like the rest of the dead.
i know i'm not one
to laugh or complain
but weirdly my pain,
is the only thing
that wants to keep me sane.
for better or worse, we all have a Cain.
who would stick us in the heart.
if only he could remain.
the many monsters in this world do you good, causing pain by keeping us still[ sane
Sara Kellie Jun 2018
In your sun I know I'll drown
So I rise when it goes down.
Add all my years, I am so old
yet I'll never feel your cold.
Your punctured skin are signs you're dead
but that to me means I am fed.
I'll lure you in with fake romance.
The lies I'll tell, you'll take a chance.
Allaying your fears, I'll promise you years.
Then, muffled screams that no one hears.
So what you see as silver and gold
in reality, a death so cold.

Poetry by Kaydee.
Romancing the undead.
Unlikely to get pregnant,
more disemboweled in your bed.
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