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Erenn Oct 2014
Burnt within his heart's agony
Forsaken by the moon
Bestowed by her eternal curse
He couldn't breathe
He's drowning in fear
The innocent he'd slayed
These dreams only made it worse

His prose structured constellations
Aligning to his onus
Reliance to the innocence that still resides
Wondering why the stars denied him
The hopes he had, diminished in an instant

"Why me!!?"
He growled with remorse
He didn't want this
He became what he hated
He became the vital source of hatred

His only solace was the sun
He once relented the only source-
That gave him light
Light of hope that never runs out

Staring at that silver spear
He picked it up, smiling

*And ended his life
Ever since i was kid.
I was so fascinated by werewolves.
Would go to the library just to read about them.
I would imagine myself being one biting my dad's arms.
Waiting till midnight, and i would go "Awoooooooooooo!!"
Simply i just love them.
And i wrote a werewolves's perspective being one.
How he hated himself.
Dedicated to this year's Halloween:)
Happy Halloween everyone!:D
NOLWAZI JOUBERT Sep 2015
When the Lord created heaven and earth,
he created men.
They became our four fathers
who had the authority to rule over all that crawled on this earth.
They were told to be fruitful and mutlipy,
and they bore us.

Their dominion passed on to us.
While yet his commandments we abused.
But the Lord said unto us,
no weapon formed against us will prosper.
And every tongue that rised against us in judgement he condemned.

Our sins redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
he left all this as our heritage,
and our righteousness in him we found.
His breath bestowed in us,
his glory seen in us,
he knew in us our mothers' womp,
and in every hand he laid a different heritage.
A heritage of his grace,
his wisdom,
and knowledge.
Happy Heritage Day
Annie May 2014
She was torn apart
Unchasteness surrounding her
But her God could see
Her virtuous soul underneath ~
So He bestowed her
With forgiveness ~
And she became a separatist
Isolating from critics
Making her way through
And accepting the mistakes
She grew stronger
Each day
zebra Nov 2017
i was looking at an old and tattered black and white photo of my grandfather
a man i never knew and wondered about

his existence
like a horizon of dissolution
his soul enshrined in my own
and like him and all creatures
ultimately i remain defenseless
against realities magnitude

while my father loved me as a child
he grew unkind over the years
and we where set bitterly against one another other
his tyranny and my disobedience

as i gathered strategies craft
by machinery of thought
and festering gall
he, the bully
got bullied back
by me and old age
as we in tandem set fire
to his sadistic golden age of disillusionment

and here we are now the living and the dead
still locked in a grudge
a recurring spirit of revenge
in a valley of tears
before i myself join the ephemeral legions
in a pile of stones and ashed corpses

are we not
a procession of long struggles and short pleasures
a history of terrors and creatureness
stooges bound by the wheel creation
crucified by desire
and the apathy of obliterations aftermath
an archeology of death
ruin upon ruins

has God
sinned against man
or bestowed his grace
mystified
perfect and beautiful
beyond measure
yet to be discovered
in an alternate reality?
Love is pure soul and body is but ***** lust
Beauty is to open up when love is to burst
Lust is a gust while soul is bound by trust
For love cleanliness of eyes and heart is must

My sweetheart I want to give you my soul
But you direly desire aspire for body as goal
If you ask me I aspire for you just as a whole
My beautiful beloved my little innocent doll

Let us celebrate our love in heavenly abode
Let us be clear about our real love episode
Let me celebrate in praise of you Sonnet ,ode
Let be in gratitude for love Almighty bestowed

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
ryn Aug 2014
Pen
This here...my heart is a book
Sadness and hope inhabit most pages
Marred by past experiences that took
Scribbled are the ironies and broken adages

Worn pages tainted by the lowest of my days
Dark ink leave them smeared and stained Fresh ones stay crisp; free from nays
Awaiting dreams and wishes I have not gained

Silent are the pages still left unwritten
As though I have saved them for something
For future chapters yet to happen
For you to come and begin your writing

Welcome the pen that would herald a new start
Imagined it's ink to bear the flightiest notions
It would speak in volumes ensnaring the heart
It would sing a song with the sweetest of emotions

Seep in, dear ink, into my pages past and new
Seep through, dear ink, feel free to make your mark
Seep strong, dear ink, maybe you could undo
Seep true, dear ink, and bring light to the dark

But rip not the old for they forever will speak
Lessons that are learnt, strength that was bestowed
Tears that's been shed, happiness that I seek
Gloom that was braved, hope that I have sowed

Come, my heart is your book
You are the sole pen to my infinite pages
Ink are your words that would fill every nook
Eternal is the bond that would last through ages

This here...the rest of the pages are yours
Occupy them as you have in my everyday
I was saving them not knowing my course
Almost as if I knew you'd come to pen the words you'd say

A promise as sure as the sun would rise
A promise made as good as the noblest of men
My book is open to our laughs and cries
As long as you would forever remain my pen
Jay M Wong Aug 2012
A rose blossoms in the midst of the summer night, shielded by the shadows of the might of a hundred trees, whose great limbs reach towards the heavens engulfing the land beneath it by mere shadows. The rose flourishes with such fragrance and beauty, for under the roof of its sheltered home, may it only greater its beauty; each petal, gleamingly red by the absorption of the radiant day’s sun, the color: piercing to the eye, so immensely red and beautiful to absolute perfection.

Even the mere trees that stand above that rose are too a profound greatness. Through the most severe of storms and harshest weather has it endured. It’s unyielding trunk is but a symbol, a souvenir, tainted with battle scars and markings. For every tree that stands before us, holds hundreds of stories, stories that tell of its survival, its brawls with the natural world, its fearsome battles and mighty victories as it stands before us today. A country values and gives its greatest thanks to the fearless generals and military that encounters battle after battle, fight after fight; and for such reason, should these trees be of such value.

But what is even of greater value is something that humans treasure even dearer, something that portrays the facade of progression, something that gives falsified light to the dark that only lives in the minds of individuals - change.

With change and the facade of progression can we truly feel that something useful has arose from our existence, with change can we see something progress to something of greater value, for the smallest and most hideous of larvae can seemingly show its beauty and perfection in the progression of its life stages.

And yes, with change can we bring about the perfection of the world, for no longer must we stay still in the nonprogressive state of agriculture, where thy neighbor is truly thy friend, a friend who depends on you and vice versa, for through the means of trading and fellowship and each individual possess what they want. For with change do we no longer need to depend on natural powers, no longer must we be bestowed by Someone to bless our fields, no longer must we conduct dances to the heavens to have a yielding season. And of course with change, can we now lock our doors and shield us from the world, for thy neighbor be’st not your friend, but be’st thy owner of your material means if you fail to keep them; for with change, can we finally perfect the truth of material desire.

But what should be said is that with change can we finally shift perspectives; for the changed perspective is of course superior, for it is a progression therefore change must produce superiors rather than inferiors. And with such perspectives, our values, too, change.

The fearsome soldier, the tree, the honored item that stand so proudly tall almost as if it is a stairway to the heavens, no longer possess such great values. So should we relinquish the greatness have been bestowed here and deforest such proud items that have fought the fearsome years of natural events to stand so tall. And as we do such, will the rose’s roof collapse. Unable to hide from the piercing rays of the sun, will it then shrivel and die; for that change has brought upon another rose, another item waiting to share the same fate as before....
An essay on the impossibility of change.
Mr Incognito Jan 2015
You were wailing like a wounded puppy
Your voice was craving for love and sympathy
It appealed to my dormant magnanimity
And thus for you I opened my heart’s door
Least did I know you were an ugly *****.

I stood beside you at your one call
Your tantrums, your malice I bore ‘em all.
To make you smile daily became my life’s goal
But you were so thankless it shook me to the core
I should have known earlier, you were an ugly *****

Though my knowledge about love was low
Yet at times I wondered if you really know
so much definitions of it and the metaphors bestowed
then why did your breakup happen once before
perhaps because he too knew, you were an ugly *****

What I thought was your love with glee
Was actually an act of backstabbing me.
You betrayed in the first chance given to thee
Now I shall give you chances no more
Because now I know that you are an ugly *****.
Dedicated to all the ******* who betrayed their lover.
Thomas M Franey Dec 2016
i can see, what was then, has never have been, for you as it was for me.
Like it was just yesterday, we were laughing together in magic, but now u am the object of your laugh
i can see, what will be, is just the pain i seen in me.
Like it was just moments, i held your hand and save you from the despair,
only to see i was toy within your love scam career.
If you remember the hand that fed you support, the light i cast on you, as you reached out to me before
as the one who feels, you would see the pain i have in me.
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
...
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
unrequited love so deeply true
I can see, us dancing with our fingers creating a meal, only to be a dillusion in my head
Like it was just yesterday, we shared a alot of our own soul, smiling.
i can see, a person who foolishly open his heart and given the blood to be,
Like it was just moments, you held my heart and said you're lucky for me
only to see i was an object of your own deceit.
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
..
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
unrequited love so deeply true.
Now broken i can be, building my true me, picking up the pieces indeed, Ooh, i will open the heart to someone to be,
only in time the tears will drive slowly from the ice i am thawing. love is all around me, over me, under me,
but ....
i can see, the love is from you, but i feel greater love through and through
Like is it is seconds, holding you as you cry tour pain to me, hoping for a smile again
I can see, what I am now, in tears in my spite of my loss and invisibility,
Like it was now, when the mirrors of ur pain, u bestowed on me with your ability
only to see true hate over my true love
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
..
I am the pawn of your unrequited love, the unrequited love that has ripped my soul into a reality of shame.
unrequited love so deeply true.
Sara L Russell Sep 2009
01:12 25/09/2008

Come gentle lover, let me share your air
and taste the kisses only your lips bring,
Speaking in tongues, my hands lost in your hair,
with every nerve alive and shivering.

Manna of angels, honeyed on the lips
rains down on me, leaving me mesmerised;
bestowed only in tantalyzing sips,
till every fantasy is realized.

The sullen low, the upper Cupid's bow,
the pout so often teased into a smile;
By far the sweetest mouth I'll ever know -
indulge me if I borrow it awhile.

Come gentle lover, cover me with bliss,
Nothing is so delicious as your kiss.
their voices are stolen away
but even if they were to get it back,
their lips are welded
and shackled to their fears.

theistic idols
shaped predominantly
by the culture in which one is raised.

contradictory fallacies
leading society away from
self dependency.

im tired of being a minority!

apparently your god bestowed to me
this voice
this brain
this body
this mind
so...
im utilizing it.

i refuse to be oppressed any longer
i refuse to believe i was created
by some deity that claims
people have the free will to do as they please.
If god gave man free will,
how can everything be a part of god's plans?
If everything is a part of god's plans,
how can we have free will?

I refuse to be oppressed any longer.
I dug deep within my fears
and yanked my voice back.
I no longer fear being a minority,
I embrace it.

a society where minorities are scared to have a voice?
stand up,
find your voice,
and use it.
We are more than outcasts.
We are minorities
and together,
we can eradicate the title.

We're human.


- d.b.d.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2017
~ For Eliot York~
& Sally and Patty m
who convinced me to post it


The answer my friend is
but one,
just one.

Blessed are those who bless you.
I say it.
20 times a day,
and sometimes 2000


I have lived this life,
afraid to fail,
and in doing so,
in deed, because of it,
failed repeatedly.

yada, yada, yada,
in a gadda
da vida,
baby,
don't you know that I'll always be true.

nine lifetimes
all, longtime gone,
yet, I still talk among you all,
for which the
requiring, surviving,
is
a tiny tablet daily,
of swallowed pride, history and
adult/e/rated luck.

omnipotent natural forces,
pretend to manage human affairs
most unnaturally,
sandy gods of wind and storm
bring dämmerung's
Sturm und Drang.

these forces are the
placers, surveyors, tabulators
and ultimately the
takers
of the divine sparks within us.

yet,
before them,
on bended, torn knees,
I am humbled.

for knowing just
one read
is all it takes,
to be acknowledged and
thus begins a commencement of a life
of indentured servitude
in gratitude
to
le rêve poétique
(the dream poetic)

yet,
I.am read more oft
hundreds of times a day.
~
who could have foresaw,
prophesied this outcome,
a statistical anomaly,
that the taste of me
could be so,
miracle of miracles,
wet warm and well received.

know not this craft,
unaware of its conventions,
meter rhyme and to the
other laws of poetry,
I plead a woeful countenance,
even a willful ignorance.

yet,
here I am bowed
by the weight, of the good graces,
so many have bestowed,
from the four corners
of this Earth
and worlds beyond.

a nubile newcomer,
who long wrote to himself, for himself,
audience of
one + one = two,
the man and
his foolishness in words,
now betraying publicly
what no counselor, doctor judge or lover, lawyer ever knew,
even family.

but who are you?

plainly admit,
do not understand.

ok there is a handful times five,
we are well connected,
a small coterie who
share each others
most private painful secrets,
pari-passu-mutuel,
mots friends of faithfulness,
dare not, deign, diminish them
ever
by calling them followers,
for now they are friends

but who are the rest of you?

step forward,
identify yourself,
that upon thy neck
I may fall,
whispering in your ears,
sweet I.am thanksgiving yam-words

none of us can be a sweet poem pie
unacknowledged,
unstated, unsated, untasted
and forever believe.

it takes lioness courage
to present your naked self,
place thy head in the guillotine,
expecting the silent applause of ignorance,
expect to be ignored,
just another head in the collection basket,
accursing those who curse you with
the now quieted slaughtered lambs,
the scribe's swords of smoke,
plaintive waterwords vaporized,
seeds unplanted,
the bleating sounds silenced.

He crouched, he lay down like a lion
    and like a lioness; who will rouse him up?


I am a poet of the present,
you have brought me out of Egypt.

you have roused
my present days dying,
making my days of dwelling,
in the tent of Jacob,
an encampment of palm groves,
as a present
unto me.

The answer
is indeed just as you expected,
blowing in the wind,
through cedar trees beside the waters,
in the gardens, beside a river...

just one,
how thankful I.am to say,
blessed are those who bless you,
each and every
One.**

<•>
written so long ago the date was erased,
back when the journey of a thousand too long poems,
was just beginning
posted only because
a few of you insisted.
If perchance you think this is some kind of self-glorification,
then you don't get me at all.
<•>
"Good acts are like good poems.
One may easily get their drift,
but they are not rationally understood."
A. Einstein
~
"In a gadda da vida, honey
Don't you know that I'm lovin' you
In a gadda da vida, baby
Don't you know that I'll always be true

Oh, won't you come with me
And take my hand
Oh, won't you come with me
And walk this land
Please take my hand."

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/i/iron+butterfly/in+a+gadda+da+vid­a_20067936.html
~
Oh, oh
Talk to me some more
You know that you don't have to go
You're the Poetry Man
You make things all rhyme.

Read more: Phoebe Snow - Poetry Man Lyrics | MetroLyrics
~~~
Numbers 24:5-9

5 How lovely are your tents, O Jacob,
    your encampments, O Israel!
6 Like palm groves[a] that stretch afar,
    like gardens beside a river,
like aloes that the Lord has planted,
    like cedar trees beside the waters.
7 Water shall flow from his buckets,
    and his seed shall be in many waters;
his king shall be higher than Agag,
    and his kingdom shall be exalted.
8 God brings him out of Egypt
    and is for him like the horns of the wild ox;
he shall eat up the nations, his adversaries,
    and shall break their bones in pieces
    and pierce them through with his arrows.
9 He crouched, he lay down like a lion
    and like a lioness; who will rouse him up?
Blessed are those who bless you,
    and cursed are those who curse you.”
Dre De Asis Feb 2013
As everything comes to a close, the end is dawning upon thee
I thought I was prepared with my farewells, apparently not sadly.
recent events made it difficult to say goodbye
to all the things I love no matter how hard I try.

I deemed the thought that I could face this with pride
yet I seem to have so much things to hide.
Perhaps the fear hindered me from saying all that I need to say
to settle unfinished businesses and things left unsaid, array.

I therefore realized that I have a lot of things to express
and I just can't settle with foregoing it all, I can't suppress.
Boldly as it may seem, it easier said than done.
I just can't find the right time to say it, how it should've begun.

My mind consumes me with this unsettling thought
leaving me baffled, confused on what I ought.
it's easier to shun it away, long forgotten,
but escaping doesn't fix anything does it? I guess it shouldn't happen...

Say I were to express these unspoken of truths
that confined me and hindered me to show myself, soothe.
Will the opportunity to speak of be bestowed?
Am I to be strengthened, courage, bravery endowed?

To be granted this desire to behold my insights
is the greatest blessing to be bestowed by the above lights.
Give me the answer I ask of thee!
Should I speak of this or flee?!

I yearn to tell the truth and the whole truth to thee.
for clarity and liberation from this for me...
Caroline Grace May 2010
A woman drew herself up from wrecked wood at the bottom of the ocean;
whispered sea-songs into the wistful ear of a long lost love;
shook her locks 'til his heart beat faster;
looked longer than she should into the deep pools of his pleading eyes.

"I will call you when I want to;
I will call you when I want."

Cooled his temples;
breathed her watery breath
as silvered beads streamed down his shocked skin.

                                       .......

Rumors rock an empty drifting boat;
a glazed shell faced with priceless pearl
broken from its moorings,
strangled by a knotted rope.

"You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you"

Hold fast the bestowed gift,
your Quinquireme of stowed treasure.
Protect its precious structure.
"Who are you, the one who stripped my soul?
Who is the third who stole yours?"  

                                          .........

B­roken from netting I lie
a beached starfish on burning sand,
wishing the waves to wash me
back through Time's receding current
to find the silence that once was;
to turn away before the sacrifice,
before the Eye of the storm.



copyright © Caroline Grace 2010
TS Feb 2020
Trigger warning : aggressive ****** encounters, ****, violence

Walking down an empty street in London, I‌ was drawn to a crumbling, empty church. It's as if ‘decay’ was written on the walls. A sight unseen, I‌ just had to explore. It looks as though no one has been there for years, decades, or maybe even centuries. Wooden trim adorned the boarded up windows and an altar like a hidden stage lay in the very front. Layers of dust coated the floor. Two balconies towered over either side of the altar and what was left of the chairs sat facing the front of the church. The room was almost a half circle, drawing the attention to the front altar. The ceilings seemed to rise for miles and the windows cast haunted shadows on the floor. Everything is dingy and dull in color, as if it was a forgotten coloring book page that has faded overtime. As I tiptoed across the floor, I inspected each little thing almost in search of a lost treasure.

The energy is strange, almost as if it had been frozen in a paradox of time. Everything was left as if they fled in a hurry, untouched by the passing of years. What was it about this place that I was drawn to? What community used to worship here? What happened to them that left this church in this state. I‌ wasn’t sure I would find out the answer to any of these questions until I‌ spotted a dusty old book on a table by the door. Inside was a language I‌ did not know and notes scrawled on the page margins in pencil. “Gratias agimus tibi propter Princeps tenebris, princeps infernum.” it read. Was this latin? That might make sense as many of the Christian religions’ texts derived from the latin language. Since google is a thing now and we have an infinite access to so much information, I decided to give it a go.

‘We worship thee prince of the darkness, ruler of hell.’

I don’t think this was a Christian church…

As I‌ read these words aloud, a whisper seemed to escape from the walls around me. Carefully, I continued to explore, making sure to not disturb anything. Toward the back of the room was a wall trimmed in wainscoting dusted in a faded brown stain. A large hole was torn through a space on the bottom and a faint light flickered from inside. Was I not the only one here?

Next thing I‌ knew, I‌ was on my hands and knees, crawling through this hole. Why am I not able to control myself? I‌ should have left the instant I‌ read the inscription.‌ Something tells me that someone wants me to be here. Through cobwebs and rodent dung, I‌ reached an opening and stood up. It was a room with dirt walls and floor. There was a single oil lamp lit on a desk across the room. The furniture was skewed about and a questionable, almost luminescent red powder on the floor across the room. When I‌ got closer, I‌ also noticed the shards of glass spread on the ground around the powder. I reached down to touch the powder. I‌n the blink of an eye, I‌ was across the room, wondering what had happened. Before I‌ could even form a full thought, there was movement from the hole in the wall I‌ had just climbed through. A‌ little boy appeared, no older than 8, dressed in ***** wool trousers and a half tucked in, stained linen shirt. He wore a newsboy hat on his head that had certainly seen better days. On his shoulder was a worn bag which looked to be carrying something heavy.

“Hi there. My name is Anna. Are you lost?”

He walked by me as if I‌ were a ghost.

He was looking around, almost searching for something.

“Wh-what are you looking for?”

He made his way to the desk in the corner with the oil lamp and laid his bag down on the chair. He looked under and around with a near disappointed look. What was he trying to find? His eyes suddenly widened and he darted toward a nearby bookshelf, pulling down a crystal decanter from the top shelf. It was full of that same ghastly powder I saw before!‌ I‌ turned to look at that spot on the floor, only to find it clear and no broken glass scattered. To my surprise, the decanter came hurdling across the room, right passed my head, and smashed into the wall. I‌ turn quickly to see the little boy and he was gone. I blink and again am across the room where I‌ was before. I‌ shake my head and rub my eyes. What just happened? I‌ should really get out of here - I don’t think its safe to be here.

I‌ turned to leave but caught a glimpse of the little boy’s bag on the chair. Why was this still here? Why wouldn’t he take it with him? I‌ had to see what was inside. I picked up the bag and pulled each item out; a rock-hard loaf of bread nearly mummified, a small black book on elementary mathematics, a very old key, and sort of spherical item wrapped in a brown cloth.

I‌ removed the cloth to reveal a black clouded crystal ball. As soon as my hands touched its surface, I blinked and I‌ was out in the main room of the church with at least 30 people lingering around their chairs talking. I was no longer holding the ball, and everything had a bit brighter of a color to it. The room was still dark but the windows were not boarded up. There still lie some rubble on the ground but much less than before.

“Uhm, hello? Who are you? What is happening?”

I reached out to one of the people and they said nothing - they didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Everyone was dressed in very old clothing. Corsets, bustles, and shiny leather shoes. It was as if I stepped into a chapter of a victorian era book.
Despite the demeanor of the patrons, their clothes were still a little worn, torn, *****, and drab. Everyone carried on their conversations in a reasonable tone until a bell rang - everyone found a seat.

A lanky gentleman appeared at the altar in black clothing and spoke to the crowd.

“My fellow followers of Lucifer, I‌ beseech thee to bow down in worship to our almighty prince. He hath lead us to the depths of the fire and bestowed on us the power to destroy life itself.”

Each person knelt down and faced the ground in what I‌ would assume is reverence.

“For over a thousand years, this temple has held a dark mass for our dark lord, in which we show our dedication to his unholiness in the form of a sacrifice. Who among you has brought a gift to Satan himself?”

A petite, young, beautiful woman rose and approached the altar. Her head bowed in reverence and a veil over her head, she held out her arms. The man took a small item wrapped in a brown cloth from her and set it on the altar. They continued their ritual by spreading what I imagine was blood along the edge of the altar in a circle. As the man worked, the crowd of people mumbled in unison like a prayer. I watched from the side, trying to understand why I‌ was here and why no one would speak with me.

“Ma’am, what is this place?” I‌ asked a nearby worshiper. She said nothing.
“Excuse me,” I‌ nudge a young man to her left, “what is everyone doing?” He did not even look at me.

The mass continued in latin and I‌ watched quietly in confusion.

Nearly an hour passed and the mass seemed over. The people start chatting away as they had before and the gentleman at the front makes his way to the back wall where the hole was before. The young woman stopped him and asked to speak. I follow them to the back of the church. The gentleman quietly opens a door hidden in the wall right where the hole was and they walk in. I sneak in with them as the gentleman closes the door.

“Elizabeth, I am glad you came today. I was starting to worry that your faith was wavering. You haven’t seemed yourself lately since that human left.” the gentleman addressed the young woman as she sat in the chair by the desk. Everything was neater now and the furniture was placed in a purposeful way, much like a room in a house.

“Jonathan was the love of my life, Cain. I miss him every day. I don’t wish to go on in this world any longer.” Elizabeth squawked back with tears in her eyes.

Cain goes to comfort her, sits with her, and holds her in his arms as she sobs gently. He offers her his handkerchief and she accepts gracefully.
“Darling, you have so much more to give here. Lucifer needs your fortitude and dedication. But most of all, I need you.” He says, wiping a tear from her cheek.

As she rests her head on his shoulder, I look around the room. The powder is no longer on the floor and the decanter is on the table. I turn my attention back to the couple and I‌ see him kiss her softly. She turns away,
“Cain, please…” she whimpers, “I am not ready for this yet.” Cain nods and stands up. He walks across the room to a metal bowl with a pitcher and pours a glass of water.

“You should leave, Elizabeth.” he states without making eye contact. “You have no business being here if you will continue to cohort with humans. You have been given a dark gift that you are wasting away. You have been made beautiful to be a glorious gift to our community and you have disgraced us by your unfaithfulness.”

Shocked, Elizabeth stands and walks toward him with more tears in her eyes, “Cain, you know I‌ love you. I‌ want to stay with the community, to contribute and prove my worth. Please give me a chance.” she sobs.

He takes her in his arms and calmly says, “Elizabeth, you know what you must do. You know your purpose. You are the source of intimacy in this coven. You are our only hope to offer what we have to Lucifer.”

Elizabeth sighs and softly agrees. She looks defeated, tired, sad. I just want to wrap my arms around her and tell her it will be okay. I‌ blink back tears from my eyes. As I open them, I‌ am back in the main room surrounded by people. Cain is standing at the altar beside Elizabeth who is dressed in a beautiful black lace gown and veil. Cain lifts the veil from her face and kisses her neck. Her expression unchanged, still flooded with defeat. Cain starts to unbutton her gown. What is happening? Why are all these people watching this? She doesn’t look happy… why is no one stopping this? Cain starts to aggressively remove her clothing until she is standing bare and vulnerable in front of the crowd.

“What are you doing?!” I‌ scream.
“Leave her alone!” I‌ run to the front to try and stop them but I‌ am invisible.

As Cain removes his trousers, Elizabeth stands there calmly but with deep sadness in her eyes. He motions to the altar and Elizabeth lays down. Cain climbs on top of her and starts to penetrate. He begins aggressively … well there is no other word for it besides ****. He is ****** her. Her eyes fill with tears but she blinks them back. He gains speed until he finally ******* inside her. She blankly stares at the ceiling and a single tear rolls down the side of her face, landing in her now unkempt hair.
Why? Why did this happen? What is going on? Why did no one stop this?
A man in the crowd stands up and walks to the front. When he reaches the altar, he begins to undress.

No.

Not again. There is no way. Why would they be doing this? Why is no one stopping this?!

Man after man after man violates Elizabeth while she lays silently on the stone altar. I am sobbing now. Why am I‌ powerless? Why can’t I‌ stop this? Why is this happening?

What seems like hours pass of this horror and Elizabeth finally stands up. She puts her gown back on and replaces her veil. Cain stands beside her and grabs her hand. He recites something in latin then repeats in English, “The marriage of the many.” They begin a ceremony similar to a wedding but instead of a groom, on the altar lies the decanter of powder.
The ceremony continues and I can hear Elizabeth faintly sobbing, “Jonathan…” she whispers. She blinks back her tears and looks up. She sees him standing by the door, tears off her veil and runs to him. He was not there. Men from the crowd drag her back to the altar. She is screaming, “I‌ won’t marry him! Jonathan has my heart. I‌ would rather die than give myself over to Lucifer!” Cain hits her across the face leaving a throbbing red mark.

She cradles her face from the pain as Cain yells,
“Don’t you dare disgrace us! You are the ultimate sacrifice to our king and you must obey!”

Cain drags her back to the altar and chains her down. He pulls a knife from his belt and lifts it in the air yelling, “To thee I‌ offer, oh king of hell, this sacrifice of violated innocence. Come forth and bestow your gifts upon us as we offer her to you.” I‌ lunge forward to try and stop him. Just as he is about to plunge the knife in her chest, the decanter on the altar opens and the powder bursts into the air. A loud voice bellows through the church,

“You dare disgrace this innocence. An offer of such little worth hath no result for a coven such as yours.” A strong gust of wind throws Cain against the wall. The blow kills him instantly. The crowd bursts into chaos. Elizabeth, still chained to the altar, is hysterically sobbing and trying to break free. From the cloud of wind, a man walks toward her. He is tall with dark features. He has deep black eyes and a chiseled jaw line and body. He walks to her. Elizabeth looks up and is speechless. The man crouches down to unchain her and kindly helps her up.
“They hath defiled you, oh innocence. For this they shall burn.” He speaks in a deep voice. He extends his hand and half of the crowd turns to ash. He looks into her eyes and kisses her neck.

Elizabeth looks to the ceiling with tears in her eyes and mutters, “Please don’t hurt me…”
“Why would I hurt the most purest gifts my father has given the world?” He says as he holds her face. “I have removed the human from your life to clear your path to glory. In my father’s spite, we will be betrothed tonight. You shall rule hell beside me and bear my children.”
She sobs, “You … you killed him? I loved him!”
“Girl, you know nothing of love.” He says flatly. She looks at him in surprise, tears still falling down her cheeks. Chaos is still roaring around them as the crowd tried to escape the hellfire. “These filthy creatures are not worthy of your power. You belong to me now.” She tries to break free of his grip but he is far too strong for her. He lifts her up and lays her on the altar and begins to overtake her as she cries.
I stand to the side helplessly. Sobbing with her. I close my eyes and wish it over. I‌ want to leave now. I can’t take this.
Silence. I open my eyes to the sudden stillness and there sits a pregnant Elizabeth in a dark, empty church. Tears are gently running down her face and I realize that I‌ have not yet seen her with a smile on her face. Lucifer appears to her and holds her in his arms. I can’t hear anything. They are speaking but there is no sound. He lays her down and she yells - she is in labor. A small bundle wrapped in a cloth is delivered and the dark lord holds it in his hands and looks down calmly. Elizabeth stands up behind him with anger in her eyes. She pulls a knife from her cloak and plunges it in his neck. He drops the child but Elizabeth reaches to catch it just in time. She runs to the door with the cloth in her arms and slams the door behind her. A furious Satan rips the knife from his neck and runs to the door. He slams on it with his fists and yells. I‌ still cannot hear.
I blink and see Elizabeth on the steps of a church, crying softly. She gently lays the bundle on the door step and runs away. A woman appears at the door and picks it up, cradling it in her arms.
I‌ blink and see Elizabeth back in the church, holding the decanter and stealthy creeping around the corners. She turns around and Lucifer is standing there.
“You have betrayed me. All freedoms have been stripped from you. You will no longer sit beside me and rule hell. You will be caged and retained for only reproduction. You WILL bear my children and I‌ shall take them from you, never to be seen again. This will continue until I‌ have used the last of you and then you will be destroyed.” He exclaims angrily.
Elizabeth stands straight up, holds the decanter in her hand and yells, “I‌ banish thee, Satan, to the confines of this prison. You shall never again walk the face of this earth.”‌ As she opens the lid, the dark lord plunges the knife she used on him into her chest. A gust of wind engulfs him into the decanter. Elizabeth drops to the floor. A‌ knife in her chest, she struggles to put the top on the decanter. She crawls to the wall where the door once was. She begins to peel away the pieces of the wall weakly. She works in pain for what seems like hours until she makes it into the room. She drags herself over to the bookshelf and hoists herself up. She places the decanter up as far up as she can and tries to cover it with a cloth. As she reaches, she falls. Upon hitting the ground, she fades into dust.
I‌ stood there silently, shocked. This woman. I feel like I‌ know her. She is so strong and brave. I‌ am in awe and also in tears. I‌ collapse to the ground in the dust she left behind. I‌ mourn her, her hardships, her life. She deserved so much more.
I open my eyes and I‌ see a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old enter the room. She looks around. I yell, “Leave!‌ This place is dangerous!‌”
Bewildered by the things around her, she wanders to the bookshelf. She looks so much like Elizabeth. Could this be? Could it be her daughter? She is holding a small bag. She sits down at the desk and opens it. Its her lunch. She begins to eat and continue looking around. She sees the light from the oil lamp gleam off the crystal decanter. Excited, she pushes the chair up against the bookcase and climbs up. On her tippy toes, she manages to reach the decanter. She sits back down and twirls it around, moving the powder from one side to the other. A small amount of powder escapes in a puff. You can hear a whisper, “Victoria…” I‌ hear. She hears it too.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she squeaks. She puts the decanter down and walks around. She turns around to return to her lunch and is greeted by Lucifer himself, though she doesn’t know this. He is weak. The remainder of his strength lies in the decanter. He can’t speak. He grabs her and yells - she screams and breaks away from his grasp. She takes off in the other direction and crawls back through the hole. She looks behind her then darts toward the door. He is standing there in front of the door. He waves his hand and the large metal door bolts shut. She stops dead in her tracks, stares at him for a moment, then takes off.
Frantically running through the church, Victoria is trying to find any means of escape. Tears in her eyes, she evades Lucifer’s grasp several times. The windows are boarded up, the doors are bolted, and it seems there is no way out. Suddenly a little gleam of light comes from above. The balcony. She starts toward the wall and begins to climb up the trim as quickly as she can. Lucifer is close behind, yelling but unable to speak words to her. She reaches for the balcony and pulls herself up.
Suddenly I‌ am outside on the balcony and Victoria is reaching for the railing. She is reaching for the light. She is reaching for me. She looks into my eyes and yells, “Help me! Please!” and extends her hand. Surprised that she can see me, I reach out to grasp her hand but before I‌ can get her, she is pulled screaming back into the church. I‌ lunge forward to pull her back but land on the floor of the back hidden room breathing heavily. I stand up and dust myself off. I am in the middle of the powder and glass that was on the floor. I grab the book I‌ found and start to run for the door. I‌ can’t get caught by him, he will **** me. A thousand things are running through my mind. I crawl through the hole and head toward the door. Something compels me to look back as I pull open the door.
There he stood.
Staring at me.
“Daughter, fear not. I will find you and we will rule together with your sister.” He says.
Daughter? Sister? Who am I?
Trigger warning : aggressive ****** encounter, ****, violence
Axion Prelude Dec 2017
The solitude of when two hands meet garners thoughts of warmth and want for needs unspoken

I miss the days when simplicity was as common as the delicate exhale shared when two lips release from one a other

To gaze through sultry windows of the soul, soft yet weary with fervent witness, beckons notions of wanderlust to a place that shines brighter than any I've ever seen

I watch, bound by valor for not seeking more through presumptuous ineptitude; bewildered by the plight you've been mired by, I wince at the thought of harm coming to you

Your trust exudes a powerful purpose; wrought from the ashes of all that have claimed to impose before, I succumb to the surfeit of such a staggering meaning in that gift

I hold myself in bated breath for the day you would ever need my heart for your own, but stay guided to be here in spirit, ever more

Although my basic wishes be forlorn, in somber muse I find great purpose to be a part of this grand fate bestowed upon me

You are all I've ever sought; and through disbelief, I am remiss of all that's mired me before

If only, one day, perhaps we could be more..
ryn Aug 2014
Wish I had a special pair of lenses
A tool for me; just for my senses
That grant me binocular vision
Allow me to see with heightened perception.

Peer through mountain crags, over dunes of sand
Pierce skyscrapers in familiar foreign lands
A sight beyond nimbus clouds
Amazingly through temporal shrouds.

Past breathtaking ridges and quiet plateaus
Alongside a ****** of black-feathered crows
Tripping over singing brooks and moss-covered pebbles
Herds of quadrupeds as they frolic and gambol
Extraordinary views and candy for the eyes
Travelling linear between earth and skies.

But...

You're too far away for me to see
Even if bestowed upon me...

Still,

I wish my eyes binocular...
Because I need you so much closer...
poet ninja Aug 2015
Haven't you heard.... love cures all things?
It seeps into your veins,
burning through each layer
like its a second skin?
Its a once in a lifetime connection....
even rarer should you be bestowed
and granted to meet your twin flame.
Silence is comfortable,
beauty peeking through ocular view.
A vision so refined, it caught me breathless
As I stare into her eyes, i see a reflection......my soul...
*"Welcome Home" she whispered,
'Time stood still while i waited for you"
H Mar 2015
People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.

In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.

Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.

I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.

Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.

I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.

My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.

Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.

They are novices.  

But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.


I’ve been in hell for years.


People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.

It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.

But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.

I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.

There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.


Because talking is futile.



Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.


And sometimes people aren't strong enough.

It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.

Exponentially. Worse.
Karijinbba Dec 2018
I could say it to his face
all I felt like calling him
good or bad and he smiled
and immediatly I purred.
We even made a wtitten promise
of such enviable love
yet, we didn't put it in practice.

All stressed a Mom deceived battered threatened,
I parrot phrased to him his evil woman's cursing my MOM birthing me, and I lost him
He forgot his old love letter
free speech oath to me.

My ancient king of hearts continued brewing my twenty year old wine in a barrel of heartache and pain leaving me behind amnesic, and death calm.

My Angel ran brewing an older woman's wine
in his bed married to her
wedding band
and in cellar her wine next to mine.
Running from her many a time leaving her with a cold marriage contract handy
while his heart and brain remained ever ONE with mine.

As her personal lubricant got dryer and dryer it was harder for my beloved to be intimate with the ugliest lawliar twoface snake
surgically enhensed
drug user insignificant other called wife.
And as her hatred malice greed and jealousy blew, out of proportion so did her nasty brew on Outer Limits Twilight Zone
along with a breach of his trust
in her,
spoiling her own brewing wine to a nasty bitter moldy vinagar.
Yet to him all her potions remained ever secret
hidden behind smc sunflower smile, daughters and son used
to blindfold her selfish agenda.

Ever so covertly taunting cursing showing hate to me and my children was her banner.
Smc threatened us
by e-mails behind his back.

Blindfolded unoticed all went 
his alcoholic stuppor was foe.

No justice he could brew on either of us yet my wine remained gold fit for kings
but susy viper apropriated it as her own
killing our free will dreams and promises of old.
My wine brewing pure gold
and his other woman smc's covertly brewing hatred where he held her in high regard.
There can't be peace without justice! BEGIN HERE!
if you ask where!
No peace he bestowed upon
his death calm, silenced slandered beloved Karijinbba!
he left behind...Me

Assassination of character is a method lawliars use to
succeed treachery stealing my perfectly aged wine and man

fooling my weary king of hearts
Jpcrdd

I felt so distant and small so,
I let his black hole crooked seol stich anchored to his drunken down free will and bank accounts
JUST HAVE IT ALL!

My dearest beloved deserved that ugly viper for being such a low self esteem coward!
blind blndfolded drunk *****.

And I changed my name to
"Amazing Grace"
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelina San-Gutier..is my birth namefor short
(April, 16 10;30 AM.)
~ my Perupecha tribe, Mex~
and my wings Bba=Ginny
5-19 -legally given by a judge
as a witness protection's new identity (not that I was hiding any deceptions.)
~~~~~
By; Karijinbba
All R. R. a memoir excerpt.
Have you been been so heartbroken by the insensitivity of the one you loved that you rejected who you loved the most in this life??

Have you ever been hurt so deeply that you deprived the object of your devotion of everything they ever loved the most to gain in you and from you?
It happensnto passinate firely lovers
like us..but I never **** to hurt anyone.
I LOVE LIFE!
if I didn't I would be
six feet under earlier.
Andrew Parker Nov 2017
Written on 11/20/2017

That awkward moment when someone flirts with you on a dating app and says "I like that you look masculine."

You see,
I never saw masculinity as a part of me.

My identity was always flamboyant,
wearing pink shirts and sashes,
crop tops with styling gelled eyelashes,
sparkling headbands and dazzling bandannas,
snapback hats featuring giant bananas,
I dressed with the raging flamboyance of flamingos!
Sporting a certain type of femininity that only a gay man knows.

All the trimming and cutting, and shaving and nairing,
for hours,
as time and body hair intertwined in the showers,
washed masculinity off my body down the drain,
Experienced electrolysis burns, but the pain
had infected my thoughts,
like each hair is unnatural.  

Purge it all,
Scorch and torch it all,
Leave nothing at all!
No trace
of evolution's flawed attempt to grace
me with an adaptive advantage to take on the world's harsh climate.  
I admit,
this hair entangles me and strangles me,
it also oozes out of me like pimples from a pore,
a ***** to testosterone,
poor me - a victim of nature's masculinity.
What a hairy situation I've gotten myself in.

--

Femininity.
Its bestowed upon me by society.
When I sashay or say hey gurl hey,
society recognizes these things as girly and gay,
not a very masculine way to walk or talk.  

Stereotypes about *** and gender are so easily manipulated.
Like a circus performer on the tight rope,
the suspense keeps people wondering where will I fall?

But hold me under a microscope and you will see it all,
a million molecules that makeup my femininity.
I wear skinny jeans and tank tops,
then get complimented on them by dude bros,
like yo that's tight- where'd you get it boss?

I bought it in the girl's section at Ross.

My toe nails painted and displayed for public view,
flip flops emboldened with matching turquoise hues,
Femininity is worn on me like a fabulous armor plate.

--

Fast forward to a fateful date during No-Shave November.
I remember,
growing out my ****** hair for the very first time,
I wore it like a mask,
portraying a fictional character who was masc-uline.
Bathing in manliness at this masquerade.
It was through this charade,
that I grew
... temporary happiness for me from all of you.

The compliments they poured in.
My once smooth canvas of a face,
waiting to be crafted into the Mona Lisa,
had been turned into an artistic masterpiece,
'Gay Man with Amnesia',
of who he used to be.
A painting of someone society wanted,
someone whose masculinity was outwardly flaunted.
But inside, I felt taunted,
each time they complimented
me and my newfound masculinity.

--

Then, it happened on Grindr,
a gay dating app.
This masculine mishap.

A stranger's message read, "I like that you look masculine."
It sounded even stranger in my head.
Their profile description read,

"Masc 4 Masc
Masculine man seeking other masculine men to hangout with."

That's when I felt it.
My mask had made me masc.

This particularly manic morning brought me to ask
myself in the bathroom mirror,
"Who the hell am I looking at?"

In sheer terror, I teared-up,
scanned the portrait of 'Gay Man with Amnesia',
and then decided to tear it up!

I grabbed my electric razor,
grum grum grummm
as these blades grazed my face and chin,
I was offered sweet, soft, porcelain skin - my absolution.

pause

heh heh
When I came to and snapped out of the amnesia,
eager to see results of this restorative procedure,
the mirror was fogged with steam and slop.

I tried logging in to my laptop's webcam,  
for naught.  
The ****** recognition feature -- didn't recognize me
... but finally, I did.

Once again, I see the man behind the masc-ulinity.
I could write the loveliest poem ever,
A lonely dove went cooing by and by,
Yonder rill, yonder hill, yonder river,
Whilst it winged into a clear blue sky.
Lovely is the sky in her robes of blue,
Velvety blue I mean, as eyes of thine
Never bestowed upon any seraph,
That upon my soul kindled love divine.
I could croon the loveliest tune ever,
And whisper it upon rivers of time;
That fairly stream by and by forever,
A tune that in thy heart could ever chime,

  If only I could glance at thy bright eyes
  To once stray upon shores of paradise.
#Decasyllabic
#Shakespearean sonnet
PoserPersona Aug 2018
Riches begot with credit stock

Power bestowed with golden crown

Glory bequeathed with laurel wreath

Marriage beseeched with diamond ring

All things beheld 'til evening red
Birthdays from childhood
Are full of celebrations, is understood.

It was not any different for me
Till the unusual plea!

For my 13th birhday
The first time I gave away!

Instead of getting gifts
I contributed to the orphans by giving gifts...

Now I look back to those days
On how happy were they in all ways

I have given tones of gifts
To my fellow companions

But nothing can equalize the happy faces
Of the orphans in their mazes.

Even today I relish
The small gifts I bestowed
To those unknown orphans,,,
Is what which makes my life today
With a brimming hurray!

The way they valued my gifts
No matter how small
They looked at me tall,
And gave the happiest call
Which I would never forget at all!

Those were the real happy days of mine
Which are valued as divine
And will never decline
But I do hope will combine
To give more hapiness: for I define:-
We make a living by what we get
And make a life by what we give!.
Nickols Sep 2013
Dull lips give way to a finely sharpened tongue.
Soft skin slides underhand like roughly hidden scales.

You asked of me to bare my blood.
 Both times I cut my veins for you.
Both times you asked for more
And I bled once again,
for you, my Prince.


A hand touches my soul; held within the demons greedy paws.
All the while,  I wonder why, I let you continue to rein over me.
An insufferable plague you have bestowed over my brow.
Nay...
My heart.

My heart quakes from Lust's tightening grip.
My veins bleeding for you...
A card dealt from the sleight of a devils right hands.
A dagger in the left, aimed for the back.

- Hark -

The call of darkness beckons me on-wards.
Calling me home through the red fog and the vile pit of hatred.

When you asked for me; I was yours.
Then, when you asked for another,
I withdrew...


You are an enigma, in your entirety.
Oh, sweet angel
burden with a devils twisted soul.
You shall burn forlorn in a delightful blue flame.

*Alas, ask once more my Nephilim Prince.
Ask;
and I shall bleed my veins for you.
This was inspired from me playing Devil May Cry way too much. Call me a fangirl, and I'll probably just laugh and agree. *le sigh* I think I might have a cartoon crush on Dante. (so there in fact, Virgil as well because they are twins) *sighs and shakes head at self*
Sydney Rose May 2018
beauty upon a delicate creature
innocent young brown eyed girl
perfection bestowed in every feature
every fishers’ catch, shining pearl

perfect from day one
yet she couldn’t see
skinny must be done
perfect then she’ll be

the world was her oyster
everything granted within smile

yet beauty was a destroyer
sudden death of a child

sold the devil her soul
fantasy turned to reality
one’s life desirable goal
perfect she’ll finally be

deceived by image in mirror
years of starvation to the bones
glass of ugliness suddenly clearer
lost completely from her homes

harmful inability to love
all of the world but herself

time revealed a life
truly better than this

repetitive periods of recovery
one’s wish irreversible
beauty uplifted the misery
weight eventually stable

one thousand four hundred sixty days
hidden silent all these years
one thousand four hundred sixty ways
held back brown eyed tears

her name was sydney rose
the girl who suffers with anorexia
ryn Jan 2015
Been a week since the new year arrived at dawn's door
Seven sunrises had passed making way for many more
Resolutions, wishes, aspirations cast into winds of new days
In hopes they'd be carried forth on each dawn's new rays

Let us welcome the fresh air that come
Inhale it deep as reminder that we're luckier than some
Let us embrace the opportunity of time
A privilege bestowed so we could still pen in rhyme

Let us cherish the love from family and new found friends
Shower upon them the gift of verse that never ends
Let us strengthen existing virtual and physical connections
Reinforce them with kindness, fortitude and good intentions

Let us sieve past experiences that mar us black
Dispense with animosity, ill thoughts and considerations that lack
Let us trudge forward into the unknown together
Hands in hands and hearts to hearts into the unforeseeable future


No matter who you are or where you've been
We'll all get our fair share of twenty fifteen
We've all been granted if you'd only take advantage
In the great book of life, on a fresh, brand new page

Do note that this is just ideal advice not so much as a plea
I know the journey is long, arduous and never easy
I hope these words I've penned would lighten your load
Little bites of wisdom (I hope) for the long meandering road

I can't promise the rise of the nightly moon
But the sun will rise where you are; and it will arrive very soon
This is me being optimistic. I don't wear this garb for too long at a time so I'd like to spread it for as long as I have it.
.
Matt Sep 2014
There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.

Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.
Will Rogers III Feb 2015
Thank you God for existing,
Thank you for the beautiful trees.
Thank you for persisting,
And thank you for creating me.

Words can not describe,
The new joy I have in You.
What can I fear with you by my side,
Caring for me when I am most blue?

I hear snores from my roommate,
And see first light of day.
So I sit here and contemplate,
What next I could say.

Perhaps only time will show,
What You have upon me bestowed.
[composed on January 16, 2014]
ICN Jun 2015
only you can understand the pain that i’ve been through.
cause you’ve been forwards and backwards as many times as I
And lying on our backs we arrive
at the gates
the gates of infinity
the recipes written down
and the past all is we’ve got
to hold on to

As I spiral into oblivion
All I can think about is you
As I drown in my eternal misery all I can remember
Is that there was a time
When I thought everything would be all right
There was a time
When the world didn’t seem like such a bad place
When I didn’t notice all the corruption
And when the eruptions commence
I shall remember your name

But as my grasp on the earth recedes please,
Please don’t forget me

As a pawn in your game
I can’t safely say
What I feel
However I renounce the position of pawn
And demand the position of queen
For no one but me understands
What’s been clearly bestowed in your hands

Hidden away in eternity
Lies the key to immortality
And as your memories begin to accumulate
Mine slowly starts to fade away

But don’t worry my dear
It’s all still very clear
Forget me not, darling
I’ll forget you, in the morning.
Vincent Nov 2014
Standing outside the coliseum
He wipes his tattered brow
As he waits in chains
And what remains
Of a worn and used nightgown

The oak doors creak as they slowly bow
He walks the axis road
The dogs at his heels, he knows, he feels
Pains that have been bestowed

A table is set upon which blades rest
The choice of which he makes
He reaches forward, picks up the sword
No room here for mistakes

The helmet is hot, he feels his breath
As he walks upon the field
He is a trapped snake inside a crate
He raises up his shield

His adversary stood there watching
With a shaking fretful eye
They prepared to fight until deaths bite
Took and run them dry

With one fell swing of the sword
He brings his foe down
The steel glistens in the sunlight
Enhanced with the smell of blood

The crowd cheers and roars
What do they know of it?
The life he has taken
It cannot be replaced

He is trapped inside
He cries for freedom inside
Slowly he dies inside
Inside himself.
The Things I Wish I Could Be

I wish I could be
one of all instruments;

the singer whose voice
transforms his audience into a choir;

the writer who drops his reader's guard
making a beautiful decimation of every self-made fantasy;

the actor ripe with nominations
whose prestigious Oscar breaks him open before the world;

the photographer who captures moments worth infinite words
while instilling that perfect piercing silence;

the painter of elegant simplicity
or ponderous complexity in every brush and stroke;

the icon strangers seek for reason
looking upon for inspiration;

the husband who gives and comforts
appreciating the angel he's been bestowed;

the father wise and guiding
with enough laughs and smiles to last their whole lives;

the chef and the baker serving only the best
scrumptious entrees and desserts;

the encyclopedia of experience
answering questions obscured from the web;

yet beyond all things
I wish to greet death with a smile
knowing my life, however lived
was worth those years.
There are so many things to dream of being...
Amitav Radiance Sep 2014
Too much power
Bestowed on the unworthy
Left power powerless
Going berserk within
And causing havoc outside
Ridiculing the essence of power
Shin Apr 2014
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
I felt the warmth caress my cheek like
the light of heaven radiating down
on me. Looking up I saw my mother,
with eyes blue, and a dress smudged by her youth.
Laughter and love streaked down my face and it
could be said this moment was infinite
in all of its grandeur. But we knew of
this falsehood, for god left for the stars and
you were my angel, but the men took you
too. They marched in; their tin guns rattling
to a tune I didn't know. The storm grew
on until finally, I looked and saw
mother taken into its gaping maw.
My limp retreat, hastened by the need to
escape the reality laid before
me.
As the sad scurried escape continued,
I felt my most intimate seams begin
to tear. The contents of my creator spilling
onto the cold ground. Those tin toy soldiers
surrounded me, and I realized something.
“A ragdoll can't flee”
With an air of vengeance, I took their bait;
biting down on the cursed fruit bestowed
to me by our nonexistent savior.
With a smile I split my seam and screamed out
to all the fallen toys, and fallen joys.
“Hush now men, mother, and me this is life;
this is love, and can't you see what it doe-”
My thought grew dark as a cold tin soldier
finished the job, and I joined my mother
within the ash.
A poem written, and obstructed for class.
SøułSurvivør Aug 2015
♡><♡><♡

on bare boards
the glit'ring gause
graceful gesture found
an arabesque
an aching pause
apropos to concert sound

lithe lustrous girl
scarce woman grown
pours out her beating heart
to stretch with every
muscle owned
in pain for love of art

pure grace she is
just as a swan
soft white and deepest black
she sways and lilts
her own will gone
on point with arch of back

a strong male
who leaps and soars
stately carriage bounds
to show his love
unto his core
and sweep her
from the ground

no person in
the world knows
the dancer's struggle, care
they only see talent bestowed
as he lifts her in the air

the grueling practice
hour on hour
the hardship and the strain
taxing body til it's empowered
the tutelage of brain

hour on hour
same movement learned
feet bound until deformed
to ache, oh yes, to hurt and burn
'til she has perfect form

but all this pain
which we don't see
is never all for naught
for the roses she will be
for the applause
she's fraught

for when this girl
is on the stage
she will, as a swan, fly
and with great grace
she'll turn the page
and then, as woman

die


soulsurvivor
(C) 8/1/2015
The swan Odette is under
An evil spell
For love of her Siegfried
tries to **** the magician Rothbart
with a crossbow. But the arrow
strikes Odette instead
She dies as a woman
In his arms.
Carrying her he drowns
himself in the lake

But all this tragedy is not for nothing
Odette's maidens are freed
from Rothbart's curse
and are forever changed.

♡><♡><♡
Omnis Atrum Jun 2015
The Mycenaean people carried Tiriseroe as a god
his valor with the capacity of any three men
and he rose into the divine realms,
but still his body fell with age
when time pressed into his existence
and he received the fate that is bestowed upon us.

I carried you over the the threshold of my temple
my hands with the power to shape water and sand into flesh
and you floated above them weightless,
but still my lips trembled with desire
when they pressed into your skin
and you received the blessings that you bestowed upon me.

In the same way that you receive my words through text,
my words with weight much heavier than you
and they sink below you like anchors,
but still my ears rang with distress
when the spoken words pressed into my brain
and I received the contempt that was bestowed upon me.

If Tiriseroe, with all of his valor,
could not overcome the fate that he faced,
then I would be foolish to believe
that my hands and words and the blessings they bestow
can overcome the fate that awaits us.

— The End —