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IntoTheGale Jul 2020
“Poets never ****.”
            -V. Nabakov


Oh, but don’t we?
Our methodology might
Differ, our craft more subtle-
And yet the end result,
Escorting some poor soul
To the gates of whatever end
Awaits them beyond this frame,
Is abhorrently familiar,
Our motives no more pure-

We move in different mediums
Some artists in oils,
Others in brute force-
Working in time signatures
Of days and weeks, years-
not Mere seconds-
This is not impulse-
But words weaponized?
That is artistry refined.
We work in palettes of grays.

We need to know them
For the poison to take hold.
To work it’s way through
The bloodstream, through
Every muscle until it is absorbed
Into who they believe themselves
To be, something they can never
Change about themselves
That they are sure is visible
To every passerby,
Some fracture in the facade.

The planting of a seed,
A word, a phrase-
Insidious in its design
A dark spot on the mind
So small, seemingly
Insignificant, but the foundation
Upon which we build our
Scaffold, buried in some
Line of text, in some metaphor
That draws an indelible line
Between some worldly beauty
And a deep buried flaw
They try to hide from the eyes of the world.
It’s delicate business after all,
Planting self doubt and loathing
So ingrained that one is unsure
Whether they ever existed before
The thought that now destroys them.
Muse Serenade Jun 2020
I came here to haunt you in your dreams
I'll be your scariest nightmare every night
So, don't disturb me
unless you don't want any scary nights
Beware of me
don't mess with me
I am a vengeful spirit
Better don't trouble me
So,
You can live a peaceful life
Otherwise I won't give a
peace in after life too
Cause darling I am a nightmare dressed like a daydream
Seema Jun 2020
The vengeance of morrow clouds
Move in ugly hounds
Provoking the unspoken to reach,
With guns and machetes handed to each
No mercy to the grounds that soak
The innocent blood of the vulnerable bloke
Help no other, of why should one
A hit shot dead, from a firing gun
Unarmed, visibility proof shown
Then why, was he deliberately disowned
Skin deep colors, reflect those eyes
When questioned, they ***** all lies
The growing crisis, has built cratic
Racism trolls, what remains static?
Absurd riots, counting the days
Shame no shame on the current slays
The one almighty, patiently watching all
One by one, the countries will fall...



©Seema Sen, 2020
It's very sad to read the current US news.
LLillis May 2020
I find “the morning”
to be subjective- despite
what the birds may say.
Late nights means hopefully late mornings. The heat brings open windows and loud birds. They would like me to know it’s time to start the day. I would like them to know I hope there is an outdoor cat nearby.
Kairosclere May 2020
You can’t touch it-
The pain,
Only wait for it
To get to you
And fill that void
With vengeance.
Connect to me
Via Instagram @_kairosclere_
Via email bhama26@gmail.com
On Pinterest  @_kairosclere_
On hello poetry at https://hellopoetry.com/Kairosclere/
And my blog https://kairosclere.blogspot.com/

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Thank you for reading <3
Max Neumann May 2020
sun in the creases of the hand
white roses withered
vengeance of shades and misery
vendetta-machinegun

israeli uzis and sand
a child's grin is the big fire
in the iris of the lion; right?
the lion is a dead radio
Today is a good day.
Fheyra May 2020
...
My Spirit, I dropped
My neck, how tragic!—
Oh, why was I doomed?—
What a shame of love,—
Beset me for living
How poor was my trial?—
That king caught me— Just to be his vice!
Surely, I was a noble queen—
'Til the justice defied me..

Coined by 30 years,— Now deriving for 25 years,
This automatic era seemed haste for me,— Where people work less with limbs,— And more with chained machines
All tenses are verbose,— of such faint vision;— When all the dots meet,—
Perhaps, gallops are faster than wheels.
--...
Whenever I daze in my reflection,
I morbidly feel the bruised mark on my pelvis,— whence Homer penetrated it,— And this slit scar on my nape— of my husband's infidelity
Oh fate, may thou all wrath in flames..

I was not an outlaw!—
Thou all praised a sculpture,—
And smashed it, when it was bore!
Thou bidded swears— To a bedswerver's norms!
My downfall revealed thy disgraced offerings— Traitors!

—My poor, poor queen— Do not weep,
    For I shall be great,— This lady will
    dissect the hypocrites, and clothe
    the faithful—
    I shall be the image of your tragedy
    and glory
    This is the order of my commitment
    I am a ponent;
    I am a defender.

Quote our testament:
"We art the culprits and victims of our own plot. If an admiring rogue invades thy core, it shall weakened thou as culprit into an ever victim— To be held in judgment, and to be both perceived as no innocent."

—The conviction of worldly accomplices,
    This shall be the vengeance of an obsolete sentence.—

Altaira, with me,—
Thou art neither a corpse—
Nor a bit of ash;
'Tis the time for ruling
Your Majesty—
Cheers to the jury..
This is the final sequence! The whole story was about a woman having her past life regression, and in her pasf life, she was a queen who was betrayed and beheaded. The rage of the queen still lives in her body, but her present self knows that she should be persistent to provide justice for herself, and to her country.

Remember from "Rituals and Joviality", the Spirit is the voice of the Psychologist that helped her meditate and see her past life. The "Saith the name of an Altar maiden" line referred to a command, for her fo say the word, "Altar", because it resembles the name of her past self, which is "Altaira".

Now finally, she became a judge in the end.
Justice is served.
Manpreet Gill Apr 2020
Hot winds caused the charming petals to wilt,
Withered leaves slept under the dew quilt,
The sky looked red and fawn,
Rays of sorrow broke the dawn,
Icicles of trust started to melt,
Roses of love resembled a welt,
Cerulean oceans of wisdom turned black,
Light sleepers don’t like the busy track,
Life goes through phases like the moon,
Sky belongs to those who break the cocoon,
Graves have no room for grudges or vengeance,
Have no ill-feelings or hate, but only reverence.
Laura P Apr 2020
Do not go gently into the night,
Do not tell me what I can’t,
For I’m like fire.

I will rise again...
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