#testament
Falling asleep with a heart frozen, so cold,
Pain in the body is never to hold.
Losing connection to all that is real,
No matter how strong, time’s harsh seal.
Soon we all turn to weightless gray dust,
And time will remind us of mortal trust.
Why would I linger, why would I fight?
I can never have what my heart seeks at night.
What I need for joy, life never grants,
All that remains is an endless expanse.
Plummeting down through shards of my dreams,
Broken reflections of fractured seams.
Gaining momentum with every new scar,
When it’s over, we find peace afar.
Life was not evil, yet never kind,
Despair and self-hate turn blood into bind.
Before last memories vanish in mist,
I loop through moments that once felt like bliss.
Those that made me forget the cold storm,
Forever hating what I never formed.
Mistakes in the past shatter memories treasured,
Millions of pieces in chaos measured.
Warped by self-hate, pain we can’t show,
Our hearts hold truths we never let go.
Killing our souls with words left unsaid,
Not telling the ones we wish were near instead.
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 2:52 PM UTC
Mary, a name, not just a whisper,
But a haunting echo of a wrong,
An imprint left by years of scorn,
Borne on the breath of regret and sorrow.
Mary, the syllables heavy,
Each letter a shackle to history,
Carrying the weight of unspoken grudges,
Of mistakes and broken promises.
The eyes that once shone with innocent hope,
Now dulled by the tarnish of disdain,
Mary—each mention a scrape of bitterness,
A reminder of all that’s been lost.
In the hollow spaces where your name lingers,
The silence screams louder than words,
Regret twisting like thorns around the memory,
Sadness pooling where love once dared to tread.
Mary, an echo of a choice not taken,
A ghost in the mirror of faded dreams,
You bear the brunt of every forgotten apology,
A name suffused with the agony of the past.
In the rooms where once was laughter,
Now only the hollow chime of contempt,
Mary—crushed beneath the weight of expectations,
A symbol of what might have been.
Forgive us, for we know not the damage,
The cruel irony of naming, the sharp sting,
Of turning beauty into a battlefield,
Where every utterance is a scar.
Mary, cursed with the burden
Of an inheritance you never sought,
Your name, a shadow of what was lost,
A testament to the bitterness we carry.
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 12:25 PM UTC
According to astrology,
The stars arrange themselves to bind
The destinies of humankind
Born under their hegemony.
What malice made those twinkling lights
****** my children, and yet spare
A father to forever bear
Grief that embitters, and ignites
A hatred for my very birth,
And the cursed womb that gave me life.
****** in this vale of loss and strife,
Pushed through that vile and ****** firth,
I live and suffer till I die.
Are the stars locked in crystal spheres
To trace their paths throughout the years,
Quite powerless to nullify,
The ruin and the doom they chart?
Or do they skip across the void,
Giddy, and cruel, and overjoyed
To wither a poor father’s heart?
If they’re condemned to blight
The fate of any mortal born
Under their aegis, they must mourn
The sentences their glint must write.
If merciful, those stars must share
The misery their shining brings,
And their own brittle glimmerings
Must lance their conscience with despair.
Extinguishing those stars that ****
Unwillingly is clemency.
Annihilation sets them free.
But if they’re vicious, it will thrill
My aching spirit to ***** out
Ill-omened and malignant stars,
Child-murderers, and the bêtes noires
Of fathers, even if devout.
Such wicked lights disgrace the night,
So, emptied, let that banner shut.
An expanse cleansed of glittery ****
Contracts so closely and so tight
No spirit banished from its rest
Can enter through that dismal gate,
Once happy, now disconsolate,
Dropped in a world they will detest.
Into that gap, the day before
And the day afterward will close.
So that cursed hour cannot expose
A naked child to famine, war,
Plague, and the agonies this world.
Inflicts upon the bad and good.
If in the womb, I’d understood
The pain awaiting, I’d have curled
Up tighter and would lock my knees.
Shutting the door, I would return
To a green glade and gurgling bourn,
A haven from atrocities.
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 3:12 PM UTC
One of their neighbors is afflicted
With a fell spirit, lost, and doomed
To roam alone among the tombs,
The spirit’s fierce, but some have tricked it.
Citizens have bound the madman tight,
Caught him in fetters or in chains,
But strength no ligature contains
Breaks them like braided aconite.
And after this, they let him be
Because his might has always snapped
Twine tying wrists, but flesh has trapped
Unspeakable malignancy.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 10:16 AM UTC
In event of my untimely demise I request "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd to be played at my funeral
Your instructions on attire are simple
Something a little lacy
Flowers in my curled hair
I imagine my family will sort my belongings and I ask that my poetry be left with someone who will never stop flipping through these old notebooks
Never forgetting I was devoted to the words that meant the world to me
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 12:27 AM UTC
Fantasy wasn’t always grim! It used to much more lighthearted than ALL facts put together into one fantasy collaboration. Which is exactly what’s happening in this very tale. This world. This setting. This… Well, there was once this one clan of people, who shined more than all other clans originating from the very same species who reigned as the “capital power”! An interspecies. A subspecies. Something that was greatly interwoven for many generations. Until one day, all clans became suddenly quiet. Distancing themselves from the very same who reigned as the capital power. One who merely outshined ALL the rest into complete seclusion! Doing something that was just part of their charm. Their charismatic behavior. Something that was docile (at first). Later on, showing it was entirely shameful of what they’d done too deserve whatever it was that gave them that very “capital power” to begin with. Seeing as how they control one of the most beautiful creatures that dominate the high mountain tops the world had ever looked up upon when kneeling down right at the setting foot of a monstrosity looked up to as a god! These very high mountain tops were where the most beautiful of creatures lived. Soaring higher than anything to have ever bear witness towards. A Griffin! The clan of the very species that was connected to all the other clans, are made up of the same originality! They are all related. Once. But entirely spread outward with benefits too ONLY…their own people. Their own clan. A testament to a claim willing to tear each other apart… Until there was nothing left but the once memory that echoed throughout the land. The world. Nothing but “ash” in the coming times would make this truth more fruitful than it truly appeared to be. A truth that would test this very clan that shined more brightly than all the other’s combined. The one with the so-called “capital power” would rather dethrone themselves completely! Than to give into fear of the contempt for their very actions. Something that tempts them (very much so) …. Another clan (so to speak). An enemy! Full of much more variety then the one who stood above the rest. The one (who in time) would come to be known simply… As the “Questionians”! Their very name comes from how they are a complete mystery. That may not exactly be what they essentially are called. Or refer to themselves (alone) as... Except when they do some unspeakable horror that claims witness to a crime that’d free every other clan put together (of the very same “original species” among different factions). If this exact thing actually took place, then everything would be put in complete shambles! Showing that they are the “shadow” of this very (“capital power”) clan’s democracy! A thing or force too GREATLY fear! Or else…. Or else, they would do something that would pave the groundwork for even truer fear to come about (sooner rather than later). Then what was actually taken seriously, previously. The clan that’s MOST “threatened” upon the arrival of the sudden “impending doom scenario” … Is none other than the clan known better as “the people of the Griff”! A very peaceful and agricultural people who don’t take anything out of account officially… Unless it truly meant something for them to bear witness to within their entire selves. Since there’s something very potentially “meddling” going on within these very people. First off, they keep too themselves “happily” alone. And unaided from the outside world and the rest of its (once) interconnected species that have spread out too wide to care (anymore) about coming back to the so-called “old days”. Old days when it was of the MOST prideful! Also, where the most of prime “examples” could be made and smoothed out for the better! But what the people of the Griff value even more (upon themselves directly) … Is the most beautiful creature in the land. The Griffin! A Griffin is perhaps the people of the Griff’s most prime example to the status of a mere god! The very homeland where they grow and stride and nurture their very motions upon the mountain tops that are also referred to as gods! But not to the people of the Griff…. O NO! They don’t look upon the mighty monstrosity that is their very “worshiping” deity. They worship the very creatures that live among the very tops of that very worshiping deity (that the other “separated” clans essentially worship). As time passed, they somehow were able to bind their very free will to this “blessing” that is these magnificent creatures! Binding also their very tolerances (to the Griffins itself). Just as life itself had also binded the people of the Griff (in time) to each other. Which is where the enemy comes in. The Questionians. Finally becoming “questioned” for why they’d have one of the most bizarre names for a “impending doom scenario” ever imagined! That’s because the enemy is literally questionless. They don’t have that which the people of the Griff just seem to (conveniently) have that they themselves…do not! Forcing the Questionians to claim (what they don’t have, to officially seize otherwise) for themselves…ONLY! But that was only apart of the tale that is made to be grim among ALL fantasy collaborations put together. As fantasy wasn’t always grim. Until the collapsing of a once (friendly) confrontation had already happened…long ago. Which sparked countless dangers that are totally unheard of… Until a hero was finally able to rise up above ALL others and risk the very land the people of this world breathed truthfully for themselves and themselves…alone! A hero who would (in due time) come about changing all specifics in a world that was once wholesome. Now it’s just a teetering land on the brink of war! War that was (more specifically) a mere illusion made to justify an even worse crime made to happen. The war effort was just a downplayed diversion not really bright for “comfort” itself to take rather seriously! However, the hero who’d come to truly redefine the locals of this land and its very world back into (seemingly) “ceremonial” times… Is a young man named “Salivardt”. Who apparently, is a member of the people of the Griff. Accompanied by the strongest heroine that would be this hero’s “go-getters” type guidance. Her name was that of the very feisty “Fabian”! Who has a very mysterious past (that is said: to be hinted at being a member of that very questionless clan group)? One who is on the brink of utter disorder from also (within themselves). And together, they would reach a very “breaking point” of how each of their very destinies “securely” …come together. (And how “linear” it must seem…) Would literally reintroduce the once (“interconnected”) state that each clan of the same species once shared. ALL coming back together into one singular species! Introducing a global front that is a respectful… “unifying whole”!
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 12:18 AM UTC
God,
I ask of you beggingly,
That if there ever shall
Come a moment of this
Life of mine’s when
It abruptly ends before
Its goal,
Its soar,
Before it’s vocation is greeted
Properly in passion at
The finish line...
Please, let Me
Somehow linger,
Endure,
As inspiration,
Wind of embracing
Freedom, for all those
Who would still need Me.
May I accomplish my
Mission this way,
In the words/feelings/acts
They don’t apprehend,
For I am those.
Let me guard them,
Behold and
Last in their eyes
Or words
Love
The legacy I'll leave.
Let me come as seeds
Of greatness, planted
On this Earth (in)directly.
One of my last future momenta
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 8:50 AM UTC
I am no poet nor elysian saint.
I am nothing more than a
living record of transgressions:
odes and testaments of
tarnished gold intentions.
it is for naught: sincere
folly to search for an
elusive inner meaning.
I cannot ascertain if
any exist. take heed to
proceed with caution
there are years which
answer; providing insight,
clarity, a gateway to serenity.
yet there are the years
yielding naught but
empty questions
e
c
h
o
i
n
g
soundlessly across
the starless horizon.
these hands are riddled
with memories of all
that I burnt, broke
and dismantled.
scorch marks
embellish my skin:
lamenting cries tasting
of ashes and insidious intent.
whenever home is no longer
hospitable; the foundation
crumbling under derelict
decay and dilapidated
compassion. empathy
common sense.
boundaries.
where does one begin
unravelling the shards of
broken bonds, presuming
to eradicate the distorted
fragments of fermented
claws, kisses, and teeth?
I am a storm with skin:
volatile, tempestuous,
forever untamed by
human hands.
do not misinterpret
the agelessness of
my Soul as a catalyst
for destruction.
chaos is no longer the
joy in my heart.
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC
Nonesuch is the beauty of my love . Ref 025
A poem written By Philip.
10th October 2018.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nonesuch is the beauty of my love.
On a scale of one to ten. I say a ten.
Nonesuch is the depth of my love.
Everlasting and eternal friend of mine
Such it was in life , now it is in death.
Universally when a man loves a woman
Critically it’s understood, she can do no wrong.
Having a nonesuch depth of love she was true
It is no secret , what our Universal God can do.
So what he’s done for others he’ll do for you.
Though one gets tired of worn out phrases
Happiness between two lovers ? Essential.
Essential that’s what makes our love nonesuch
Because our love was without any equal.
Essential that’s what made our love nonesuch.
And for six years we made vows to love eternal
Understanding our tenure was time sensitive
Touring the world knowing our time was limited
You never put off until tomorrow.Do it today.
Oh many young lovers don’t appreciate time.
For procrastination is ever the thief of time
My love for Barbara ,well there was None such
Years of unconditional love graced a later life
Later life when we’d served for seventy winters
Ongoing life ,following dramas , following life.
Very happy was our constant daily relationship
Earth Angel listen to my constant prayers to thee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In remembrance of my Darling Barbara.
Written by Philip. October 10th 2018.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Testament
I forced change, spoke no words in your presence
Tried eagerly to be prettier,
I slept in a daze, I was never fully awake, fasted everyday
Nourishment never touched my lips they were sewn shut by the cruel seamstress coiled inside my bones
Only water poured a drop to satisfy my skin desperately wanting to be pure in your eyes only...........
In that time my soul grew restless
My body laid on a bed of nails to test my obedience,
I swallowed every bullet from your gun, baptized with the blood of my own,
Forced on my knees to pray and ask for my own forgiveness,
Sat alone waiting for a miracle, I crossed over to the other side hoping I would see you,
My skin hardened along with my heart, I bathed in your words,
Soaked in every sentence from your tongue but you hid the deceit
Yet after all this I still wasn’t good enough for you.
My assassin came with a cigarette smile you murdered my trust
Then, came the question I chose to hide from my mind but now I couldn't **** myself any longer
Do you love her?
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
So, here on my arms are marks,
Marks I have made,
With blades of my inverse self
For messing up my body
For making my temple a living sacrifice to my demons
That here is my testament, that I may confess,
That I stood on a bridge of dilemma
For the demons of darkness,
Cut out my heart
Right out from my mouth
With my blood tasting like corroded iron
And the taste lingers on my tongue and soul for years
That when I smile, I want to frown inside
When I laugh, deep inside I want to cry
Deep inside,
I want to burn myself,
Turn to ashes
Die and be free
For ashes are not dead men
But bodies, flying in freedom.
KEMBA MARK.
2017.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
His old man was not an idol worshipper,
Terach only made and sold them
To order; any idol you’d choose---
Beautiful **** greek goddesses; the first sex-dolls,
Or handsome young men, like Adonis and Osiris---
So when Abram smashed his father’s idols
His old man was out of work for a week
And kicked him out of the house---
Terach saying, “Abram, u little son of a *****
You know how long
it took me to sculpt those ******* idols!
Get the hell out, you ungrateful little *******
So Abram was off, taking his cousin/half-sister
That little ***** Sarai---
They changed their names later
so the old man couldn’t sic the cops on them---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
arrows find rest in pillows of flesh
and pain casts a symphony of loss
– the song sung sweetly,
his word whispered gently in the bark of a tree.
great things have been taken: i’ve given for thee
three gifts of water, pious sacrament
kisses between two damp palms.
devotion breaks soil and holds resolve
and how it loves, and loves, and loves
– pebbles mirror a blanket of stars,
the impenetrable mass of fiery constants
you chew, swallow, receive with haste.
feet sink heavy in the holy mire
breath lies hiding in the roots of a willow.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
Glimpsing her bathing on the roof,
He averted his eyes and looked away.
Wondering if his eyes remembered her beauty correctly,
He sneakily took a short glance to see clearly.
And that was all it took for King David,
Who gazed upon the wife of his own soldier.
Lured by a glimpse,
Hooked by a glance,
Swallowed by a gaze,
He didn't know the steep cost to be paid.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:28 PM UTC
when i die, i don't want a funeral.
i want a celebration of my life.
i want someone to plant a tree in my honor,
or name a new star after me.
my death should be conveyed through a form of life,
not through my body sitting and rotting in a wooden box
as people shuffle past me and pray monotonously.
i don't want everyone i knew
to come and mourn my departure together,
comforting each other, wishing i'd had more time on earth.
i don't want people to tell their children at the funeral,
"you don't need to see her if you don't want to."
i want to be cremated, but not just sit in a jar over a fireplace.
i want my ashes spread all across the world.
i want my ashes to reach places that i could not when i was alive.
i want to be sprinkled over a volcano and dashed over the aegean sea.
i want my heart to be in egypt and turkey,
my arms to be in paris and new york,
my lungs to be in haiti,
my spine to be in greece,
my legs to be in antarctica.
i want to travel even when i no longer can.
i want my death to be the extension of my life.
-m. j. g.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC