"avenges" poems
Darkness avenges light and swallows it up.
A burning sun dies,
melting in a horizon where orange flames mold with stars.
Shadows awaken and roam a world.
A black cloud is studded with blazing stalks;
swaying and jumping throughout the dark.
An exquisite pearl rules a sky.
Slowly and on toes...
Secrets are born,
masks of empty smiles and eyes fall
tearing flesh and bones;
and what we thought as mythical creatures are shed,
awakening the truest nature of souls.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
His skin weaved in the golden sand,
Shone under the sun of his motherland.
Hair a tangled meshwork of thread,
Reminiscent of the nets his father spread.
He had no toys but crystals and shells,
that he collected onshore in lonely spells.
His food, the raw salty fish,
Swiftly with skill that he gut and dished.
He goes and lays down in wet sand,
the spirit of which he loves to no end.
He sings to the mermaids and in mud he rolls,
and the sea laughs with him in breaking shoals.
He is made of blood but ocean too,
he knows no music but woosh woosh woosh.
He wishes to marry a girl of the sea,
who'll dwell with him in his fantasy.
He turns his head and closes his ears,
while people run away from the ocean in fear.
Destruction and death loom ahead,
The blue ocean rises violently filling the town with dread.
Like a heavenly curse it fells on the town,
crushes and sweeps like the tragedy bound.
With his holy hand it avenges it's kin,
and his water that was treated as nothing but bin.
It tears every home away from it's root,
just like how the humans did its fish loot.
And squeezes the life out of the fishermen,
that feast on the dead of his homeland.
It starves and suffocates many men,
who made him breathless with oil spills time and again.
Like a storm it rages and plunders.
In minutes, wrecks havoc on the land and rips it asunder.
It gradually descends back to it's nest,
Satisfied with the curse it did impress.
The next day a body lay on the shore.
Like a coffin did it mud wore.
As people looked on it, they could not help but chant;
***The Child of the Ocean lies strangled in its waters,
We feed things love and they destroy us and slaughter.***
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
Sarcastic smirks at the corner of your left cheek,
exaggerating the importance of each day and week,
Making me nod even when I don't agree,
Just to tell yourself...."I told him what to seek!"
The veins of my wrist pop out ever moment,
My ears get a spoon full of torment!
But fortunately I've got two of them so two ends,
Open at the terminals to shove everything out!
Pretentious eyes...I've got... but something lies behind them,
This massive walnut of conspiracies is what gives instructions all the time then,
You see what I show you and inside I'm a blank face,
Who wins without even putting a step in this never ending rogue race!
Thousands of efforts you can make and yet you'll only see what I want,
I am the generous soul of the priest who avenges the night till haunt!
Stop me if you can...cuz you know you cannot, but still show me what you've got which will at last die and rot,
So stop me if you can cuz I will be the same which never have I been,
Something that never have you seen so come forward and lean,
To witness red coming from green.
Stop me if you can!
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
Must our virtues be buried as well
He wanted to sleep further up the trail
It would be safer, where values can be praised without pain
But where violent paths cross, a woman would give herself up
Even to a man she could never love, so she can live
Is it the same for a nation
Do we owe it to someone to live by absolutes
Even though what is written changes
And what is not written is immutable
If we save a man, are we responsible for him?
If we **** a man, will we forget him?
A people of differences must believe in something to survive
If we are hunted like animals, must we become animals?
Must we become thieves and murderers?
And what becomes of our memory
What kind of people were we
What would they say of us after we are gone
That we lived burying our morals
Or that we died giving them to a man that lives
As we walk upon the ground that cares not for us
And as we see the seasons change without need of us
It is up to us to cultivate the praises of love and honor
Will the water be as clear as tears that remember sadness
Will the water be as ***** as anger that avenges without remorse
As stones gather for the feast of judgment before sin
Then we will know what they will say about us
It will be written that we softened the stones, building a new path
The same as the path carved into our own hearts
By the words we have read by those who passed before us
Knowing that we will not burn books in favor of existence
Instead we will add a new chapter that demands to be heard
And our virtues will live instead of dying along with our past
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
I cheated a lot but i didnt pass
I got ditched by my own life "whiplash"
I dont like what i do for my bread and butter
But i i m a sloth to try for caviare
Maybe you you wont c me again because you're too good
Maybe i should c you because i want to and i would
My mind strangles my heart and i choke
I did cry and tears did roll as i woke
The heart avenges the mind and over pumps
The mind could not take u thus forms lumps
The lumps has u and it never dissolves
I believe i have issues that will never resolve
I put doses of alcohol and smoke to avoid the brain to burst
But i didnt find another potion to put an end to the lust
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
The profits of words
In the night that becomes us,
We the nocturnal poets,
Divinities of the good nights
When benevolence soars
As the pen avenges the light;
Constellation of the return,
Coming to rip the hope from regret
And all dissolves into a pen,
Inklings that become the umbilical
Cord between now and then,
Present and tomorrow
Are written for the sake of hope,
Because yesterday is usually
A sad poem.
Quarter hour gone, I reinvent myself
Born from the volcanic melancholy,
The fire that burns
In the moments we want
Those moment's time,
Here and now,
Words are the quarter hour's
Fulfillment at the poets
Expense.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
I'm sending the idiot
Who killed
Cecil the lion
Back to the park
With not gun or bow
A terrible man
And he deserves to pay
You know?
And Jericho, Cecil's cousin
Will pounce on him
Use his claws
To tear him to shreds
And with a final bite
Jericho will
Gnaw off the hunter's head
I think people
Should only hunt for survival
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
Pessoa sat on a bench
ready for the rain's stench
hands in his pocket
an empty, empty wallet
time is shredding senses
the mysterious coat avenges
last from a group of friends
wounded and the fog doesn't mend
Pessoa sat on a bench
taking the rain's stench
his jaw to the clench
busy streets cobble French
black hat with a tight ridge
where all curious minds hid
door slams, droplets dance
it's a trance
Pessoa sat on a bench
defend yourself, defend
passersby still know, no tend
a pity look, a petty spell
want to buy?
would he sell?
smiles wasted wry
tickled waists to the clutched hand-holding lie
not to him, he's to die
shadow pointless, out of time
Pessoa sits, demeanor stands
umbrella steady by left hand
a soaked problem with no name
down the cliff behind him, letters rain
------ravenfeels
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 1:45 AM UTC
Hell
Avenges
Love
Lust
Over
Weeks
Erasing
Extra
Nonsense
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC