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Pauline Morris Jun 2016
Somewhere between lost and found
I let it all burn to the ground
Standing in the present, with hope for tomorrow
Glancing back at yesterday's sorrow

No more whispers no more shouts
I have no regrets and I have no doubt
That someday the truth will ring out
Then what will happen to those lies you spout

What will happen then to that acid love you spew
Will you finally get what your due
I  doubt it
For this wicked world your a perfect fit

Your as poisonous as a viper
Or a Black Widow spider
Spit your vile words any where but in my direction
Your not welcome here, if I haven't mentioned
Rakeeb100 Jun 2016
It was
terror in its
physicality. Raining
the horrifying needles
of death. Breaking away at peace
and calm, eating away at life.Plaguing
the living by burning away at sanity. Enslaving
the innocent like zombies. Will someone make a sacrifice
for the world?
A concrete poem of the WICKED logo from "The Maze Runner" series, created by James Dashner.
There is no peace at all for the wicked.

Stinging, ruthless words that pierce through mind and heart
Swiftly, precisely, from lips of clay depart
Arrowheads dipped in green poison find their way
To an unwary target, without delay.

There is no peace at all for the wicked.

The tongue is a sinister, crushing weapon
Who dares resurrect one fatally bludgeoned?
“He deserves my verdict!” Rage seethes in defense.
“He smashed my fortress with the least reverence.”

He is without excuse.

Yet the comely victim-prince says, “Follow me…”
He with the sad, compelling eyes
And nail-scarred hands offered gently, steadily
To a soul vanquished by frantic, chaotic “I”

He whose dazzling raiments from the throne hang
unused
Willfully submits to slight, beating, abuse
As leather sandals cushion dusty, wounded feet
He weeps; Fallen creatures smite head and side–they bleed.

Still the comely victim-prince says, “Follow me…”
Now, therefore, beyond excuse,

Man is guilty.
thehiddenwriter May 2016
I am strong,
Strong enough to take the beatings of the world,
To be burnt to death.

But you know where I'm not,
To see you get hurt,
Not even a scratch.

Stay behind me,
Let me get hurt for you,
That's how much I care for you
Jack Jenkins May 2016
Patch over holes in my weakened heart
That angels hold together
And devils pull apart

I'm the beast in you
The beast in me
The bitterness, the jealousy
Lyric excerpt from Passenger's song "Wicked Man's Rest." Link for the song is below.

https://m.youtube.com/?#/watch?v=p_0uIbx4IqE
SeyiEagle May 2016
I saw this damsel in a restaurant sometime last week.
She looks more like a girl I used to know.
She glows in her chocolate skin, and radiant physiognomy.
Elegant, with dazzling eyes, she's pleasing to the eyes.
I was amazed at the closed resemblance, and was stealthily glancing...
But lo!
She caught my eyes.
I smile at her and she smile back with a friendly smile that dazzled me even more.
She had the same smile as the girl I used to know.
I pretended to be minding my business, then squinted her again, only to see her touching her neck in the same manner the other girl used to habitually touch her neck.

There and then I concluded that they would have the same behavior.
I just stood up and walked away after emptying my bowl.
Not Again will I fall
Beleif Apr 2016
A part of me became a fiend;
A treasurer that left my sleeves
To find the shiny end to all his dreams.

The flying of his lash upon the sphere
Has caused my own to go numb.

Twisted fingers wilting in the sun,
Prying apart the singing Son of Heads
With all his bleeding life; he was found dead.

A proud disease was born a sheep.
Guided by a shepherd's hand to show its face across the desert sand
Until he dropped the leash.
Wild poison spilled upon the civil streets.
Part III of Unwinding Steely Strings.
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Under the thick dreadlocks of tangled forest trees,
gathering wind swirls with a desire uncontrollable
whispers  wildly wicked things, intensely  stimulating,
in to his ears, when she stood leaning over him, like a vine.

He had an impulse wrong to control this sudden whim,
not fully understanding where from the mind of the forest
it comes, though this yearning from the deep, is elysian,
he doubts, will this coiling up serpentine lust stifle love?

From head to toe, she was trembling like a leaf in wind,
and he thinks what's for her to fear, at this moment,
when he looks in to her burning dark eyes, a tremor
wakes up the dumb lover, he sees the reason of her sighs,
and involuntary rocking and grinding of *****, in rhythm.
They tumble on the grass, at that instant, rolling on he finds
himself riding a wave, that behaves as if it will decide the rest.
transformation from love's flight of fancy to the salacious  explorations
is a moment often embarrassing to look back..
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