"agonized" poems
Glance at the bullied survivor with no hair left at all,
Look twice and you'll notice
She's still standing tall.
Watch the former gang leader, walking submissively,
Look twice and see the trail of tears,
As he searches for the winding road to recovery.
Observe the old man scrawl a name in the snow,
Look twice and see a father,
Mourning his murdered daughter buried down below.
Admire the woman you love for sure,
Look twice and realize that,
Due to her past abuse, she's still insecure.
Witness the beating of a man done in vain,
Beneath his unruly hair and dark eyes, look twice-
Don't you see pain?
I recognized the quiet woman, generous to the core.
I looked twice and saw my mother,
Still tortured by memories of the Vietnam War.
Dismiss the endless news reports of crime and abuse,
Look twice and understand,
Violence starts with the power to choose.
Awaken and see the world through new eyes,
Look twice at society and find out,
You've been telling yourself lies.
See the disabled, the victims, those who made the wrong choices,
Look twice and listen,
Now can you hear their agonized voices?
I realized the world was never the cordial society I'd dreamt it to be.
I looked twice and found out,
Stopping violence begins with me.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
The black horse of nocturnal dreams
That of which the cursed angels sing
The black horse
Of man's design
The black horse of untold times
Braided mane fiery long and flowing
Riding into the darkness all knowing
I am that which feeds the demons fear
Hidden in a blind man's tears
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
Thundering hooves of the written word
The sound of blood trumpets can be heard
Bringer of nocturnal dreams
That of which the dark angels sing.
The black horse with deep earth eyes
Vicious wind of the people cries
The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
The listener of your agonized screams
The bearer of your darkest dreams
@ Copyright Tammy M Darby 3/6/2016
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
I never could quite imagine the day
When a creature quite as wry and presumptuous
Would break so serendipitously.
She lay ruptured in the desultory plantation
The Stygian colour of her fur rebelled against the sage of the contiguous earth
And her eyes mimicked nothing but the pain that consumed her current thoughts.
Her body was transfixed in an inert trance
The fur on her hunched spine quavered in a subdued zephyr
Quiet insecurities were hid well in her tranquil pained state.
The moon intently watched me
Waiting for me to alleviate the agonized entity
But solicitousness was blank in my frozen psyche.
The moonlight pierced the fox with intimacy
I grimaced in the realization I had failed the universe
With my perennial void mind broken in vain.
The fox gathered some stoicism
The blessing of the moon granted requital
As the fox proceeded to maul my perception.
I accepted my retribution with ratification
As I was the soul who violated the creature
A skirmish that clung to grandeur.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men's search
To vaster issues. So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air,
And all our rarer, better, truer self
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better, -- saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love, --
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever. This is life to come, --
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, -- be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
4.6k
Heaven
. . . Have Mercy . . .
Rest, rest, rest, for ye be none,
pitiful Fallen One.
Quivering bows flow over grave strings
bassoons and basset horns ring
pounding timpani’s announce:
Master of the Holy Choir
- - Renounced - -
Vain, fluttering heart
sublimely denounced, scorned;
fouled, ousted:
Horned.
Wailing strings, bassoons,
basset horns, thundering kettle drums
lift angelic voices to glorious requiem.
Pleas for Eternal Light’s remain
in wings refrain.
Heavenly Chorus' cradle to sustain,
mercy to soften
disdain.
The Holy Oracle contests --
to no avail.
Siblings’ choir protests.
Beauty beyond measure,
Angel of pure, Divine tessitura,
Absolution for Thee?
Foretellers of dark illusion
open Holy Scriptures to reveal
the drone of Eternal Damnation:
trumpets of ill
drag Thee to Hell.
Deep, ephemeral rhythms
exalt dancing strings,
seal destinies -- Kiss The Almighty King.
Glory be unto His Majestic Reign,
Will Supreme,
Tremendous,
Powerful, Holy Being.
Scribes record,
recite this dreadful day,
condemn Thee: Fallen One.
trumpets lament, strings mock
this unholy, forbidden way.
Bows flutter -- a memoir
of redemption.
Cries of confusion
dissipate
into muffled choirs,
murmurings
of deliverance.
Delicate chants
beg for forgiveness;
a Soul’s salvation, fusion.
To no avail!
Turbulent strings strike the Holy Duel
in wrath, writhing hatred,
majestic wings tumble --
twist to wrenched ******
Death devours, Birth becomes
the Fallen One.
Angelic dissolution --
distraught, agonized Ethereal,
Eternally beautify
these ghostly, trembling
winds, strings, harpsichord, drums.
Voices of brotherhood remembered,
cushion Angel’s earthly descent.
Breathe into infantile genius
heavenly symphonies
to sweeten a life
trapped, scorned,
condemned,
mourned
Love of God: Amadé
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
Chaos humdrum of roaring engines.
The lost siren between concrete slabs
Ricocheting its scream throughout
the hallway streets,
already echoing with horns and yells.
Sleepless and ever burning,
the city lurches on
in agonizing sounds
muffled between high rise pristine glass
and shanty shacks painted with dust.
The frantic commotion of agonized madness,
In zigzag traffic and potholed roads.
The stop and start of hustle and frustration
Rises and falls like a dancing dust storm.
Everything present in a quieter world
is lost in the struggle of city life.
There's no peace or silence here.
Just constant exhaustion in the luminescent roar of human chaos.
26 Dec. 2015
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
Remembering the pain on that cold dark winter’s day,
being turned out at your door while snow around me lay.
Without a word of comfort just a hug and cheap goodbye,
I agonized to figure what had gone so wrong and why.
Losing all I was that day, I cried for years to come.
Why did you betray your friend, your joy, your love?
All consuming was the freedom that so quickly pulled me in,
while it ****** the breath from me as I struggled in my skin.
Looking back on the road that has brought me here today,
Remembering the magic and the crashes on life’s way.
Recalling all the love and pain, I would not turn away,
from all the joy I would have missed along love’s blinding way.
Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 9:28 PM UTC
67
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory
As he defeated—dying—
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!
2.6k
chocolate fills
the gaps
between
my soul
and the
places
their hands
press
cotton
candy
bruises
into
milky flesh
while
strawberry
syrup
pools
on
the
floor
and the
ginger ale
that oozes
from
agonized
eyes
burns their
faces into
my retinae
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
I love you.
Since I saw the cracks in your bookshelf,
Your graceful hair intertwined with your shoulders,
The way you throw your head back and laugh.
If you are Juliet, I am death,
And I wonder how the snake felt,
Knowing he allowed Eve the apple.
I should hold my forked tongue,
For I know you would care for no,
Walking nervous breakdown.
Who could?
But this agonized black mass,
Writhing inside me, where my heart should be,
Barely living, barely dying.
Masquerading passion, good will.
I just need you to shoot it.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 3:45 PM UTC
I felt bad about that day
When I shot, stabbed, and threw you away
I felt regret, I felt agonized
Is it to late to Apologize?
I attacked you, and hit you hard
I left you buried in my backyard
I tried to dig you, but you weren't there
I gave you pain that I cannot bear
I made it up to you by suicide
Is it to late to Apologize?
I felt misery I cannoit lie
But I promise you, I did try
I looked for you everyday
I just could not stay away
I tried and tried every night
Hoping that I just might make it right.
I then became traumatize
So tell me, Is it to late to Apologize?
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Not from this anger, anticlimax after
Refusal struck her **** and the lame flower
Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods
In a land strapped by hunger
Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds
And bear those tendril hands I touch across
The agonized, two seas.
Behind my head a square of sky sags over
The circular smile tossed from lover to lover
And the golden ball spins out of the skies;
Not from this anger after
Refusal struck like a bell under water
Shall her smile breed that mouth, behind the mirror,
That burns along my eyes.
2.2k
“Beneath the willow
She’s singing
Beneath the willow
She’s waiting.
Beneath the willow
Under the willow
Her body
Is now laid to rest”
A simple rhythm
I follow
A simple tune
I hum
A simple song
I used to sing
In those days,
When I was young
But I’m not a kid
Not like the other kids
They form a circle.
Hands held together.
Dance around;
Enjoy singing
I,
On the other hand,
Kept thinking
And thinking.
Why is there a willow?
Why is the woman there?
“Laid to rest”.
How?
Shot, eaten,
Poisoned?
May have died of old age.
May have not.
I wanted to know…
Already 18;
I went into the woods.
Looked for the willow I know
Two before, now three.
To the center willow;
“What was she singing?
Why was she here?”
There was nothing.
Just dead silence.
Asked again,
Yet no response.
Maybe, just maybe
I’m already losing my mind
I needed rest.
Something startled me.
A stone,
Not any kind of stone.
A graveyard stone
So old;
Dirt covered the entirety,
Although I have read these words.
“My beloved Willow,
For whoever finds your grave
Will be your eternal companion”
Is it just me?
Or is my mind on it again?
Doing its tricks,
Because of a graveyard stone?
Wind blew for a moment
As if someone passed by
Then I heard it,
I heard the song.
I saw a woman,
Heard her singing.
I stood there,
Paralyzed
In a long white gown
Hair dangling,
Towards me,
She walked.
Run…
Run!!
RUN!!!
Screaming in my head.
But I couldn’t
She got hold of me
Her hands,
Gripping tightly my arms.
I could not escape,
I could not run
Gripping me,
Still singing
“Beneath the willows
You’re singing
Beneath the willows
You’re waiting
Beneath the willows
Under the willows
Your body
Will be laid to rest”
Her head is up.
Her eyes,
Bloodshot red.
Gazing into my very soul.
“Let go of me
Please let go.”
Remains in my head
No word can I speak.
Feeling heavy
Helpless
As I try,
Making an inch move,
I am slowly devoured.
Not by her.
A willow.
Not two
Not three
Just one ****** willow
Slowly
Crushing me
Can’t get out
Nowhere to escape
STOP!!! STOP!!!
Trying to catch my breath
Agonized, screaming
Endlessly.
NOOOO!!!
Fully consuming me.
Awakened by my mother.
Embrace, she whispers,
“It was all just a dream.
My only beloved Willow”.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Yellow and crimson is the fruit
Beckoning to be a moment's pleasure
Eating fruit, a sure pleasure,
Instant is the gratification
Memory is witness
To the happiness it brought
Left in agonizing want
One looks for more
Discouraged, defeated,
Agonized to know it passed
Lo and behold, all has changed
For action of eating
Had its own reaction
Unknown of what will be
Opening eyes to witness
the reaction that kept going
like a brand of battery
Energizer with long life
Blink not for it's alive
Asking mind to follow
Follow like never before
And sleep no more
Yellow and crimson is the fruit
Beckoning to be a moment's pleasure
Eating fruit, a sure pleasure,
Instant is the gratification
Memory is witness
To the happiness it brought
©TRP
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
*In a great fountain garden,
tulips and lovely flowers bloom,
vibrant colours give life
to the Hampton Court Palace
Catherine of Aragon sat with grace,
watching the tranquil sky
as the bird sends sweet greetings
She slowly wipe the sadness coming
from her eyes
The Roman Catholic fell down from King Henry's hand
as the pope opposed his wish
Tyranny started to rule,
20 years of love and struggles come to an end
'Oh father, my heart is in pieces. Spare me the light, make me alive.'
Catherine whispered an agonized cry
begging for mercy in the Heaven's above,
she stood up and smiled in so much pain
Then slowly, she walked away
knowing Henry and Anne Boleyn is in a happy place.*
a.k
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Cockroaches in striped pajamas
stained by the scent of snow-melted blood
under a compassionate moon.
No reflection to admire
other than the eyes of a thousand
miserable and sordid puppets
with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.
God and their souls
murdered by a vile evolution,
crucibles of Jewish remains.
Rabbis and priests,
scholars and the poor:
moving targets with stars on their sleeves.
Naked souls waited,
listening to the gods of old Germany.
“Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)”
They shouted, pushing
them further into the chamber.
The doors
closed shut behind them.
A deathly fog clouded
among them,
putting them to drown
under a thick green darkness.
Agonized voices
shredded apart
as their nails clawed
at the concrete walls.
Women and children held each other tight,
whispering Kaddish,
hoping and praying.
Twenty minutes
of shouting and stumbling,
Twenty minutes
of spluttering and gargling.
The little ones witness the eyes
of their guardians writhe and turn white,
as their bodies jolted
as their lives were stolen.
The gods finally entered
to clear the room,
to pile the dead onto the carts,
to visit the crematorium.
To finally shovel the mounds of
striped clothing,
to recycle and burn the rest.
But this end comes
as a sweet release
as their ashes
were sent through the chimneys
and into the air
to rest in their graves.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
He calls himself Dr Swalik
Take a long sharp skewer
Pierce the body in numerous places
But please, please do not pierce any vital organs
Place said scammer in a pre heated oven
100 degrees or gas Mark 4
When the agonized screams have reached their loudest
Reduce the heat
Baste liberally with honey and olive oil
Add chopped herbs of your choice
Re baste the scammer and turn up the heat
Gas Mark 7 would be about right
When the skin is crisp and golden brown
Serve up the scammer on a wooden platter
Serve with buttered new potatoes
And **** apple sauce
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Even though disappointed thousand times
or struck in a fight,
She is now finally rising from
her life's darkest night.
So, today I stand here,
Afraid to reveal my heights
recite my ideas,
and fight for my rights.
You detained me of my will,
Agonized my mind
descended my skill.
And confining me to fork and knife,
Yes, it is true that this
Is the story of my life.
She who was pressed from all sides
remained victorious in her spirits
overcoming her fetters
giving wings to her mind.
She, the nucleus of our society
deprived of her living,
with a tormented mind
and fractured within her own kind.
If she tends to be so weak,
Then the future of our country is bleak.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.
Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”
Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.
Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret,Kenya;[email protected])
Sembene Ouasmane the son of a fisherman
the son of wolof tribesmen the owners of Atlantic
you are a bad liar, my kinsman and foreman
why didn't you wait for me to grow up
you only belied to me for your to die earlier
i begged for your pipe for i also to **** it with passion
you told me to hold on until i grow up
only for you to accede to July death in 2007
i am tortured in this life without without you
agonized by daily chores without a glance at the fume of smokes
being blown from the magnificent ceramic pipe on your mouth,
i wanted you teach me what Maxim Gorky and Emile Zola taught you
i wanted to learn from you what you learned at the Moscow cinema school
was it cinematographic Marxism or filmographic socialism that you learned?
i wanted to get you alive so that we can sing together the songs of Cedo and Xala,
why were your gods collecting the pieces of wood; was it humility and humanism?
I wanted to see the powerful words of human side of governance
coming from you sober gentle mouth onto African plateau
that is replete with commonaplace selfish power struggles,
i will build a monument in respect of your service to African literature
and your service to protection of humanity;both Arabic and African
your service to humanity as you forgave a French woman who stole your book
only to publish it under her name in a dint of ****** wham pam pams.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
I've been listening to music.
I've been striking up conversations.
I've been avoiding any sort of reality.
Because....
My grandpa is dying.
Fading away from the vital jokes and squishy hugs.
Lying in his bed with his brown skin turning pale as the pages of a book.
That is nearing its end..
I've been walking around aimlessly remembering the time, when I went through the same thing with my grandmother.
Visiting in the night, on the day..
that they'd pull the plug on the machines that were keeping her alive.
She was in so much pain for so long...
For months it was inevitable, yet
that big heart of hers wasn't enough to fight another hour.
Disgusted with myself because I was praying that she wouldn't die on my birthday.
Because I'd hate the thought of living after then if she did.
Selfishly not considering the pain she was in all along.
Her lungs were failing as a tube made a temporary home in her throat so she could breathe...
Her heart was failing and her doctor was kind.
Trying to ease her passing and made sure she was alive until all of us made it there to:
How sick is this...
For us to, "see her off"
Her skin turned yellow and empty like a living corpse...and her breathing was helped by a mask.
As the minutes went on.
And I told the current event to my friends in different time zones...they let me bare my tears across a small screen as I'd write to them with blurry eyes and a heavy heart.
I never knew that knowing when someone you loved die could damage you so thoroughly.
Friends staying awake to 6 AM.
And when she has minutes left on her clock.
That painful silence..
Was the sound of a broken heart..not like glass..but an agonized scream inside.
Unable to openly mourn for her you lean against the wall and cry until rivers grew jealous.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Can’t you see your beauty?
That shines inside and out?
Why do you stay blind?
Why don’t you open your eyes?
Loved by everyone,
yet you cannot love yourself.
Why?
You're wonderful the way you are.
A masterpiece created with the finest paints.
Your skin is the perfect canvas.
Adorned with beauty,
yet you insist on marring it.
You paint it with pain and desperation,
angry slashes fill the canvas stained rain.
You say, “It’s been a bad year.”
your eyes on the floor.
Don’t be ashamed, you're not alone anymore.
I used to paint to, I've been there before.
I would paint onto my canvas
anger and despair
with a paint soaked brush—dripping red.
My heart begins to tear,
to think you’ve landed in the same darkness,
where the light is difficult to see.
Oblivious to those who love you—you are blind.
Unaware of those who say they love you—you are deaf.
Relinquish your brush,
and let yourself heal.
Open your eyes and see the light in front of you—extending its hand.
I will help you walk this road,
paving the way with dreams of brighter days.
Traveling to the land of hope and dreams,
the land of safety and acceptance,
the land where you can be free of your demons.
Everything will heal someday,
the marks you made will continue to fade
—until they are but silhouettes on a blank canvas.
Your heart will heal,
until the day you no longer paint with the colors of pain and sadness,
but with shades of hope and joy.
When you finally see that you are not alone.
When you hear the cries of those who wept for you.
When you feel the sorrow of those who prayed for you.
When know the truth of those who said they loved you.
I walked by your side,
guided you when you could no longer see,
and listened to you when you screamed and cried as you fought your inner demons.
But now you must listen to me, my friend.
There will be better days,
hold your head up high and smile.
The best has yet to come.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
looking d
o
w
n on this earth,
the moon sheds iridescent liquid pearl gems,
Lamenting for EARTH,
a earth that's
pregnant
WITH
sorrowful burdens,
how must I not feel despair,
feeling the moon's magnificent repercussions of sudden eruption,
feeling of sheer dread,
tearfully pleading for it to end,
In shock, for a moment,
muted are my words,
my tongue asleep,
Fingers crave, mind agonized...
martyred for words.
My pen bleeds ink,
innovating a remdesivir,
to cure the world,
if only there were a cure for
ONE
&
ALL!
To cure the world of the pandemic burdens of HATE, INJUSTICE and VIOLENCE,
but until then,
we must not dabble in silence!
~SacredInkedBlood
Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 10:19 PM UTC
arise vehement sea
and hammer
with your suffering fists
all the crags
and lonely stones
upon the shores of
the naked coast
where crouches
at edge of bluff
the foundations raw
cantilevered walls
and the arcing buttresses
that shelter dreams
held secret
hurl your agonized and
eager waters
at stone and mortar
shake the bedrock
on which rest
the touchstones
in the deepest cellars
let your echoing tremors
buffet and rebound
within the resonant chambers
hidden below
your ululating winds
calling to memories
in their veiled towers
peering from windows
narrow and high
their fluttering lamps
clinging to the light
they search the tumult
with eyes fearful and uncertain
cloaking forsaken desires
that thirst without end
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 5:14 PM UTC
Time has put a vagrancy on my mind
Subdues conformity and material worship
With scalding epileptic convulsions of imagination
My mouth blood-stained, shrieking like a pianting
A painting by Munch gives way, yields, yes yields
To an unrelenting detonation of the unconscious
An existential filter of real or imagined transformations
Which by miraculous tongue restores a belief
To wonder and levies no compass on perception
Yet reveals a tormenting estrangement
That does mount a strenuous and contemptuous protest
Against familiarity with agonized shrieks of obdurate tenacity
Where the phantoms of my imagination enact their mysterious mysteries
And produce a poetic alchemy of violated imagination
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC