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annh Nov 11
We burrow where they lie, our fallen brothers; old sweats and fledgling crow bags, both. In death as in life, they have our back…and so we plough on into the abyss by the light of a caged phosphorus flare, hot metal spraying the midnight hour like some vengeful fay’s buckshot.

A human scaffold supports us for the distance of four miles. That’s Piccadilly to Hampstead; Circus to Heath. The length of a lifetime…of  hundreds of lifetimes. In the winter when the rains come and the trenches run like a quartermaster’s latrine, the soil sloughs away to reveal the ossuary within. It is then that I, in my now customary delirium, imagine that I can reach out to shake their hand again.

‘Sunrise and sunset are blasphemous…only the black rain out of the bruised and swollen clouds…is fit atmosphere in such a land. The rain drives on, the stinking mud becomes more evilly yellow, the shell-holes fill up with green-white water, the roads and tracks are covered in inches of slime, the black dying trees ooze and sweat and the shells never cease…they plunge into the grave which is this land.’
- Modris Eksteins, Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age
Carlo C Gomez Jan 29
has a way of stirring the ***

It brings out
the best in some

And the worst
in others
MacKenzie Warren Aug 2018
vengeful is she
who had her heart broken
who heard your lies softly spoken
vengeful is she
whose eyes are locked on your gaze
who has ink dripping from her teeth
for poetry is her weapon
and that swollen tongue of yours
is just another page in her journal
for every lie told
she carves a truth into the back of your throat
cramming each page further and further
until you choke on your lies
until you swallow your truths whole
Vexren4000 May 2018
Rolling dice,
Tossing coins,
Probability sometimes our friend,
Other days lady luck is vengeful.
Numerals rolled,
Amounts on a die.
Faces of the coins.
Or roulette wheels,
Random chance?
Or controlled chance?
Man knows but does not,
That is the beauty of,

Umi Apr 2018
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.

~ Umi
Lucilo Aug 2017
Gravity could have only sworn the feathers of lovebirds were loyalty-interwoven,

Until betrayal gifts of loosened cords and feathers of wings were unearthed deep in the heart of a nest craft she built for him;

Dismantled was his soul and spirit  a termination of hope; of love and affair;

A resurrection of despair and reformed cruelty.

Spiteful and vengeful; descending from infinity was a stampede of a voice reborn and a soul shattered, echoing the forthcomings of the storms:

"Oh, love, redeem me. What a lovely gift this is, I shall find a way to repay you!"
For love some shall avenge!
xmxrgxncy May 2017
You flatter yourself by thinking those harsh words were about you.
You don't mean enough to me for me to set aside time to write about you, let alone think about you.
Alan S Bailey Feb 2017
Bully the bullies!* If you feel you've been harmed,
You have! If someone looks at you wrong,
Break their neck! Others need to clean
Their act up! Don't need to apologize
Even when I'm the one who messed up
All along! Yes, it's a self-pity song!
You are in charge, you are the one!
Yes, this is the way you make due,
This is how you solve things! (All alone)
You always mess it up for me even though
You face this whole world on your own!
If by words alone I am "harmed" in my heart,
It's perfectly good (not vindictive)
(Dark vengeance, what's that?)

To go right ahead tear them apart!
Just how I feel. This poem doesn't resemble anyone I know. I swear.
Äŧül Jul 2016
Tu Chaahe, Tu Chaahe, Ya Na, (Whether you wish or don’t,)
Main Jiyunga, Haan Main, Jiyunga. (I will live, yes I will.)

Jeewan Ka Har Maza, (Each fun of life,)
Main Ji Bhar Ke Lutaunga, (I will enjoy wholly,)
Tune Diya Hai Jo Dand, (The punishment which you have given,)
Main Karunga Ise Bhang. (I will dismiss it.)

Tu Chaahe, Tu Chaahe, Ya Na, (Whether you wish or don’t,)
Main Jiyunga, Haan Main, Jiyunga. (I will live, yes I will.)
Tu Chaahe, Tu Chaahe, Ya Na, (Whether you wish or don’t,)
Main Kab Jiyunga, Kab Main Jiyunga. (When I'll live, When will I live.)

Jeewan Mein Kya Maza, (What sense is there in life,)
Bin Tere Jo Bitaunga. (If I stop believing in you.)
Woh Jeena Kya Jeena, (Would that be a life at all,)
Har Pal ** Jab Saza! (When each moment I spend is a punishment!)

To Tu Chhaaja, Haan Tu Chhaaja, (So be the shade over me, yes please,)
Main Phir Jiyunga, Haan Main Jiyunga. (I will live again, yes I will.)
To Tu Chhaaja, Ab Tu Chhaaja, (You spread over me, now please,)
Phir Main Jiyunga, Haan Main, Jiyunga. (And I will live again.)
I had simply modified one of my last songs composed before the life-threatening accident with a largely positive twist to make it seem more like an ode to the Almighty instead. It was also a vengeful challenge that I had taken up intending to rewrite my own destiny. So it used to give me supple relief singing, recording and listening to it again.

My HP Poem #1100
©Atul Kaushal

The title is pronounced as /tu chaahay/.
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