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MBJ Pancras Dec 2011
It’s not My will, but Thy will,
Let Me die on the cross for their sins,
And My blood pave way to eternity;
Yet My Soul is sorrowful unto death.
Abba, take away this cup from Me;
Yet if it’s Thy will, and not My will.
Father, Thy promise Thou made with the serpent
That Thou would put enmity ‘twixt him and a woman,
And I should bruise his head;
Nevertheless he should bruise My heel.
For this is Thy eternal promise for man
Who been formed in Thy image;
But been smashed himself with the deceiver.
Flesh is weak and tempting;
Yet the spirit is willing and godly,
For Me too passed thro’ the way of the tempter;
Yet cursed him with Thy Eternal Word.
Unfelt agony runs into My soul,
When I bear the sins of the world,
And who on earth knows it,
Except Thou and Me, Who are ONE?
Do men know Me, Who is in Thee,
And Thou in Me, hath stripped off Glory
And hath become a servant to them,
And made in their likeness with all humbleness
Carrying the cross of shame and abuse?
My sweat is as it were great drops of blood
And Gethesmene I pray turns red.
Who knows but Thou ought ought to reveal
That My blood be shed on the cross
Which is the symbol of the new covenant?
Father, in the beginning I AM,
And all things made by Me and for Me
Who hath come unto earth as the Light,
And I AM Thy Glory, full of grace and Truth.
My Father, here come My betrayer,
For his time hath come to strike Me
As he has to bruise My heel,
And I should then bruise his head,
For it’s Thy Eternal plan of mystery.
Here comes he with the spirit of darkness
Carrying lanterns and torches and weapons
Of unrighteousness and ungodliness.
Father, let Me finish Thy work,
But strengthen Me with Thy Spirit.
Now the betrayer hath sneaked  unto me.
Look, he kisses Me amidst the mob.
Am I his beloved for his kiss?
Yet he is My beloved.
He hath dipped himself in My cup of blood.
It’s Judas kiss bought for thirty silver.
He hath sold his soul to the roaring lion
Which devours the sons of Adam.
I made Judas My apostle;
But he  made himself the liar’s instrument.
The night I am put in chains in the realm of darkness
And I am left alone with none to share mine.
Where are My apostles, My disciples?
I remember Peter’s words
That he said he would go with Me,
And I know the rooster should crow
After his denial of Me thrice to go.
He is a mere man who knows not
That things written be accomplished in Me.
They drag Me, kick Me with their boots of sins,
I am chained by their unrighteousness,
And am whipped by their blasphemy of My Father,
For when I am rejected My Father is rejected
As My Father and I are ONE,
And who hath seen Me hath seen My Father.
My people spit on Me all the way
Where blood from My body sheds.
The thorny whips tear My flesh;
Yet I rejoice in My Father’s will,
But their sins sadden My soul.
I am dragged unto the high priests
Who’ve been awaiting My trial.
Even My disciples have forsaken,
And left Me alone, but My Father in Me.
Am I held ‘midst people of the law
Which was the schoolmaster awhile
Until I finish it with My blood.
Their trial with Me hath begun with bitterness.
And Peter is seen with a mob at the fire.
False witnesses spewed on Me, yet contrary,
Whose arrows stuck on My statement
That I will destroy the temple,
And in three days I will build one.
Behold, And they’re spiritually blind and deaf.
They spit on Me blindfolding My eyes,
And play prophecy of hide and seek.
Each spit on Me is a sin of  theirs
And their hurt in not on My body but soul.
They kick Me with their boots with spikes,
And the unrighteousness of My people bruises.
My soul bleeds not of Me but of their doom.
The father of lies mocks at My Eternal plan.
The liar can bruise but My heel,
And his head is already beneath My heel.
My people strike Me with the palms,
And they slap on  My cheek with prophecy;
Yet I hold peace to defeat the liar.
No man is found to paint the pallor on My face.
I am denied thrice as of My mysterious plan.
I am tried till the sun sinks at the horizon,
And I become the laughing-stock of My people.
I thirst, but not a drop of water I ’m offered,
Where found midst earthly meals the disciples of the liar.
To liars My Truth seems blasphemy
For professing themselves to be wise and godly,
They’ve turned scoffers strolling in lusts.
I’m ‘gainst the mighty liars,
Who’ve forgotten I AM Almighty
Having denied the Power of the Most High
Whose Eternal plan of salvation is for them
Whose trial against Me is vain;
Yet satan in disguise kicks My heel.
My angels were struck in pride in Heaven,
And so were drained off into hell
With their filth and lust in darkness.
They spit on Me Who is the Lamb.
The trial ‘ere Pilate take its roots,
And no roots of earth are of Mine,
For My Father breaks off every branch
That beareth no fruit in Me.
For they wear attires of pomp and pride
With no clothes of righteousness.
Hidden in the mask of flattery
Pilate hath no way to mark justice;
Yet it hath been the Eternal plan of salvation
In Me Who is the Lamb of sacrifice.
Who knows My kingdom is not of this world?
I’ve come down to speak the Truth
That hath made the governor question Me:
‘What is Truth?’
And who believes I AM the Way, the Truth and the Life?
For all have eaten the forbidden fruit
Which hath set free the son of peridition
Who is the father of lies of all ages.
And Pilate sets free a convict as is the custom
Which hath a way in the Passover.
Truth sets free the blessed souls from Death;
But falsehood sets free sinners from Life.
I’m whipped in flesh to bleed;
But I  am whipped in spirit by their sins.
I’ crowned with thorns and twigs:
The metaphors of sins and iniquities.
They throw around Me a purple robe
And cry against Me in sarcasm
That I would live long as the King of the Jews
Whose minds are darkened by worldly wisdom,
For My kingdom is not of this world.
They slap Me on the cheek with arrogance,
I remember Judas’ kiss on the same cheek
Who hath drowned in the lust of silver.
I make neither complaint nor not of repulsiveness,
For it’s My Father’s will to bear the cross.
Back to the porch of the palace
I’m made the season with withering leaves.
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who cried against Me riding on a colt.  
Their crown and robe on Mine are their hypocrisy
Who carried against Me riding on a colt,
They threw their cloaks of praise and shouts
Across the way I trotted upon on the colt,
They laid branches cut from trees,
And I knew they were clothed with filthy attires.
Their praises and shouts now turned to curses  and abuses.
I’m now thrown into the hands of disciples of the liar
Who is a like a roaring lion to devour.
Their faulty law plays in their hands
And laughs at My Father’s Rock of Salvation.
But I laugh at the liar’s defeated victory on Me,
For in My resurrection Death hath no victory.
Who knows death took its roots since first transgression
In Eden with the consumption of the Forbidden Fruit;
Yet in Me Life is sealed in Him to Eternity?
I’ve longed for Judas’ godly sorrow like the prodigal son,
But he was bitten by the serpent on the Tree
Where the betrayer tasted the Fruit and died.
He took himself to the tree of death
For the taste of the Fruit turned bitter to him.
Power of this world hath blinded Pilate’s conscience
Whose power hath been predicted over Me
With My self-will hidden in the Most High.
The Eternal plan of salvation hath tied Pilate.
Who washed himself in his self-righteousness
And throws Me out for want of  pomp and pride.
Now I’m in the arms of thorns and bushes
Laden with the cross of the world set out;
Yet My journey thro’ human darkness is for a while,
For the Reward of Eternity is awaiting Me
And the ones who are rooted in Me.
Each whip lashed on Me is the multiple sins of the world,
And the spikes of the whips tear My flesh,
And I bleed with the agony of lost souls,
Whom I’ve made for Glory with My Father.
Behold! A toll strikes this hour
When I hear the hellish roar at a distance,
And I know the traitor hath flung the silver
Which have no price for his destiny.
I shed tears for him but he’s lost
For his death is certain in My Eternal Plan,
And who could change it but Me;
Yet it’s all My plan of mystery in the Father?
They hit Me with a stick o’er the head,
And mock lat Me saying ‘Long live the King of Jews.’
A scepter of stick ****** into My palms,
A game of mockery is played  ‘gainst Me;
Yet I am as innocent as a lamb led to the slaughter,
As writ in the Scriptures with the design of My Father:
I’m oppressed, and afflicted down to death on earth;
Yet I open not My mouth to charge complaints,
I’m brought as a lamb to the slaughter,
And as a sheep before her shearer is dumb.
All the way I’m kicked to fall on the stony path.
Look! My knees bruised and torn for you,
Still are there moments of repentance from hypocrisy.
**! Here am I fallen on the thorny twigs.
Behold! My clothes are torn with blood flowing out.
They tilt Me with their pompous boots.
I try to lift Myself but laden with the cross.
Pity of sacrcasm plays in their hearts
And in turn a man from Cyrene is laid with the cross.
I carry the sins of the world for crucifixion;
But he’s made to carry the wooden cross behind Me.
Is it My Word that says unto you:
‘Take up your cross everyday and follow Me?’
Nay, but to forsake the world of sins
Be My doctrine with the love of My Father.
You cannot carry the cross I bear;
Yet you can carry yours beside Me.
Shouts of abuses thunder into My heart
Amidst the cry of lamentation across the way.
They hook Me up with scornful epithets
And the liar of the world bruised My heel;
Yet I walk the path of obedience to physical death
That My death on the cross shows Way to Eternity.
I hear the cry of My people,
Why do they cry with wailing?
Do they mourn over My trial on earth
Or o’er their sinful attires.?
Who knows, but I know?
They shed tears of emotions,
And who knows their sins crucify Me?
Behold! I hear the Nightingale’s song ‘cross the stormy breeze.
Is it the song of melody unto My people
For they murmur Nature too mocks at My trial?
But I know My creations are under My power.
They’ve painted the day’s sky with glooms
As their pilgrimage on earth smeared with sins.
Back on Me the cross is ****** and I’m knocked down,
And My face dashes ‘gainst rocks on the way.
The spiky rocks tear My skin to bleed,
I bleed and bleed till the last drop.
Little children kiss My bleeding cheeks
And they take the mark of My sacrifice.
The sun soars higher and higher
And each phase of My journey is of My Father’s plan.
I scale ‘gainst the steep hillock with lashes on My back.
The fiendish serpent laughs at Me,
And strolls with the exotic steps drowned in hellish dirt.
And I know he bruises MY HEEL:
But he ‘knows’ not I’ll bruise his head.
My disciples walk apart with arms tied,
For none can break the design of My Father.
The sun strikes the altitude and I reach the slaughter.
They drag Me unto the ‘place of the skull’.
Who’ve thought I would sleep ‘neath the grave
Which hath no future for death is once for all.
Their conscience is buried in darkness by the liar,
Like dried-up springs and clouds blown along by a storm,
Their thoughts and deeds lie in vain of glory,
All bundled in filthy rags of lusts,
Whose promise of freedom is spoken by the father of this world,
The mighty trap hidden with baits of freedom of slavery.
Who knows but My Father of My destruction of the Temple;
Yet be rebuilt in three days in glory?
Behold! They strip off My clothes to naked.
The serpent sneaks onto the Forbidden Tree
With a cynical comedy of errors;
Yet it bruises My heel with its bitten fang.
My Father drove out Adam and Eve from Eden
Who had turned unholy committed themselves to the liar.
Now the liar, he thinks, drives Me out into the grave.
But I will destroy him with My dazzling presence.
My garments  they part and share ‘mongst themselves,
And My robe made of single piece of woven cloth
With no seam found in it, thrown at dice.
Do they know it’s of the Scriptures foretold?
They lay Me on the cross down on the earth.
I recall My infancy couched on the manger:
How I was cared and nurtured by My human parents.
I was in the safe arms from bitter cold;
But now I lie sans comfort and in blood.
My arms are stretched across to be nailed,
Lost of strength My legs are pulled along.
My people watch the gory sight of crucifixion.
They nail My palms and feet ruthlessly.
How I healed My people from diseases
How I fed My people from starvation!
How I walked to listen to My people’s sorrows!
But they watch Me now lying on the cross.
Do they know of My death on the cross?
The nails are pierced deep into veins and nerves,
Streams of blood flow down unto My people;
But they kick My blood splashed ‘cross My face.
Unfelt agony and untold miseries crushed My spirit,
For they repent not of their sins but die
Forsaking My Father’s promise unto those who believe Me.
When nails are pierced Mine My Father strengthens Me.
I bear the pain for the promise of My Father.
They raise Me nailed on the cross.
Curses and abuses lashed on Me,
And they shout they’ve cut the root of the tree.
Alas! They do not know what  they do;
Yet My Eternal Plan of  these shall happen.  
I look at My disciples at the Cross
Whose darkened hearts I perceive.
Full of heaviness with a doubting hope
Of what will happen to Me and them.
They’re petals turned pale in the evening,
They’re the garden of Fall with no fruits bearing,
Like distant stars with faded light they look
My people fling upon Me mockery:
‘He saved others; let Him save Himself
Who claimed the Son of God!’
Not to save Myself is My advent to the world;
But it’s My Father's Eternal Design in Me
That salvation is for mankind in My Father’s likeness.
It’s written above My head of the Kingship:
‘This is the King of the Jews’
Who know not of My Eternal Kingship,
Not of this world, but of the Heaven.
Behold! The criminal on My left hurls at Me:
‘Are You the Anointed One?  Save Thyself and us!
Is he the son of Cain who turned a fugitive?
Is it not like “am I my brother’s keeper?
The convict on My right is another prodigal son
Whose sorrow of his filthy rags turns his blessed.
‘Lord! Remember me in Your Kingdom!’
My promise unto him hath crowned his a hope of glory:
‘This day shall you be with Me in Paradise.’
It is the prime of the day with beams of fire splashed across:
The sun is in its meridian lashing unforgiving rays.
Behold! The sun is darkened by the clouds of glooms,
It’s day but turns night as a premonition
What happens to the creation in My Day in Glory.
The temple of the city trembles at My Word’
And the curtain is torn in the middle,
Yea, Moses’ law turns unto rags with no price,
For I make the New and Eternal Law of love in Me.
Nightly day survives until My Last Cry’
Troubled with the heaviness of My people’s sins:
‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?
‘Yet it’s finished. Thy work on earth is done,
Father, here I commend My spirit unto Thee’.
Jesus Christ's ****** sacrifice for mankind!
Dayana Mar 2015
You distracted me from people
People who really mattered, and always will
You distracted me from the greatness of my life
My true and initial life
You brought upon what you assumed I wanted
What you assumed I needed
But dear, you were wrong
Oh how wrong
For all the mess you caused petrified me
And left you astounded so you decided to leave
You left me behind in a fire you started
Dry out of the water
But hey,
It's my fault, for standing too close to the fuel...
pk tunuri Apr 2018
If someone, you trusted the most betrays you.
People blame you for trusting him "Blindly"
and also quote "Trust No One".

But have you ever seen anyone pointing their fingers
at the person who betrayed you, looking him in the eye
and asked him why would he do that to you
or how dare he betray you or anyone?

No! right?
I feel, the people, the society encourages this betrayal and the betrayers.
If anything such happens around you,
stop giving free pieces of advice and
stop backing him(the betrayer) up.
You better warn the betrayer not to betray anyone
and also quote "BETRAY NO ONE"

What kinda foolish statement is "Trust no one"?
How can you not trust anyone?
So everything you do is just drama!
Acting like you trust him/her,
that's where these betrayers come from.
They are you, who sit silently when betrayal happens
You got to trust! Nothing works without trust!
Why is it, not trusting anyone even an option?
Let's say let's "BETRAY NO ONE"
Worldeater Nov 2014
The empty sound of wind coiling
Through hollow vessels whispers
Groans of unheard secret
Unseen from the lips from which
Its voice echoed  
Carrying a lace of touch...
Tis a familiar one,
But still a foreign tongue garnishes
The walls betwixt and between the ears.  
A hum, a song,  
An earthly reflection of love through
A faded sense of albatross...

A thickening dissonance
Between the soothing delay of
Fingertips buried in the roots of a
Sentient heart
Wrench and twist
The angel's song through a
Seasonal mind
Resonating the lost and the torn.
The Betrayer.
And in turn,
We always destroy what we've
Come to love.
DATE OF THOUGHT:08/03/2010

Thanks to the eastern wind that blown
Now I know the truth
Tha your smile is just a plastic one
My trust you finally ransomed

Your target I realised now
Nothing else but my trust
And the bond we share
You just broken

Where to hide?
The cloud is crystal clear
What do you have to say?
You are unmasked

My trust you barter
With nothing but
Your fake and rehearsed smile

Now I know why your smiles
Does not reach your face
You naught
A betrayer
You bogey

Be your own counsel
What have you to say?
Can I still trust you?
If you were me, would you?
MBJ Pancras Dec 2011

Thou art 'twixt the Warrior and the betrayer,
Does the Warrior teaches thee good?
Does the betrayer seduces thee with his lie?
What are you betwixt the war?
Thou art squeezed between the Power and the dust,
Will thou escape from the battle between God and Satan?
Thou wilt escape from the Fire if laid in His Arms,
Or thou wilt fall into the agonizing teeth of the betrayer,
If thou stroll in the pleasures of lawlessness.


Supernatural game with supernatural weapons
With its beginning when ego raised its hood with its legions
Against POWER  in Heaven to sit on HIS THRONE.
Blasted into the hellish agony, losing his crown
With his legions ego personified raised war from all regions.
God and Satan : Who wins the battle?  It is God, the Creator shall win, and it is His eternal Plan.
Mystic904 Nov 2017
Left myself behind for Thy sake
Modify me through soul's remake

O' Lord! can't be more of a betrayer
Still though, I yearn for a divine remake

My heart is in Makkah
My heart is in Makkah!

Eyes can't bear watching, but none bothers
I ask for protection, for me and my brothers

Extreme suffering, such a cruel massacre
I ask for Jannah, for me and my brothers

Over our heads have we turned ******* n waste
I ask for purification, for me and my brothers

None cares for the sufferers as though not human
I ask Thy attention, for me and my brothers

My heart is in Palestine
My heart is in Palestine!

I plea to be bathed in the divine henna
In the home of the Prophet, madina madina

In the land of peace, make me offer a prayer
For me, my fellows, in the heart of madina

Revive once again the brotherhood amongst us
Like them ansaris and muhajirs of madina

Can't wait but for a chance or an opportunity
Offering myself forth, take me to madina

My heart is in Madina
My heart is in Madina!
MBJ Pancras Jan 2012

Thou art 'twixt the Warrior and the betrayer,
Does the Warrior teaches thee good?
Does the betrayer seduces thee with his lie?
What are you betwixt the war?
Thou art squeezed between the Power and the dust,
Will thou escape from the battle between God and Satan?
Thou wilt escape from the Fire if laid in His Arms,
Or thou wilt fall into the agonizing teeth of the betrayer,
If thou stroll in the pleasures of lawlessness.


Supernatural game with supernatural weapons
With its beginning when ego raised its hood with its legions
Against POWER  in Heaven to sit on HIS THRONE.
Blasted into the hellish agony, losing his crown
With his legions ego personified raised war from all regions.

Silence is what brings me to the keyboard.

Silence is the most forgiving thing, also the most condemning.

Never before hearing silence have I ever felt so insecure, never have I felt so free, so sure, never have I felt worse about myself as a person.

The silence has always given me everything I need and taken away anything that I’ve ever wanted, you see, my mind processes information faster than anything or anyone else. Not math or science, just thoughts, the series of movements never ends, thinking, rethinking, losing thoughts, remembering, wishing to forget. Along with my quick-silver mind, I can’t forget, anything, ever. Remember that time that you did something bad? Anything? I remember that every second, every minute, every hour. Every time I was wrong, every time I forgot something important or didn’t do something I was supposed to; I can’t just shrug it off, the thought of neglect or inferiority never leaves, it just gets harder and harder to not think about. Remember that time something bad happened to you? I was robbed once, I can see everything except the faces, I didn’t see them then and can’t see them now. The feeling of being robbed burns through me, fear, horror, sarcasm, lack of will to fight, lack of will to fight for an object, I cared so little about things then.

You may be reading out of curiosity, maybe out of boredom, maybe even out of true, pure, finalizing interest, because interest is always the enemy of silence. Have you ever sat in a room with a loved one and been completely silent? Seven out of ten times, I am, even if there’s noise. Before you ask, or even assume, we all assume things unfortunately, but before you do, I’m not deaf. I may be a bit blind, but you’d only think that would make sound stand out more. Only it doesn’t. My mind processes sounds just like everyone else, that’s one of the few things I have in common with anyone. Not saying I’m alone in this world, that would be conceited of me, but I certainly don’t feel similar to anyone, to anything, I did once, but that was before the silence overtook me.

When one talks about silence, I feel it only fair that sound should also be spoken of. Everything makes a sound, no two sounds are perfectly matched. Though we may hear two sounds that seem similar, no two things are exactly the same. Ever. Remember when you were young, how everything seemed so loud? The age of ten was the last time things were loud to me. Not to say that my ears have become any less sharp, that my senses have dulled, but that was when silence overtook the sound. The sounds are only a blurry memory to me now, maybe someday someone will show me the beauty in sound again, but for now I’m stuck in my own silent world.

I wish this were a two way communication, though things would still be silent at least I could read your lips, your words, your body language, those things never truly lie. In a way silence breeds the truth in all of us, in another it brings out the most horrible lies. I like to think it makes me more honest, but no one likes to think of themself as a weaver of lies and betrayer of friends. But we all know we have at least once and in the silence, not my silence, but your silence, you will feel, hear, and touch all these things as I do.

The silence makes me want to confess to the most horrible things I’ve done, to be modest about the most heroic, it makes me want to boast and brag, to lie, to do anything to just try and have someone stop the lack of sound. I’ve tried to scream, though my voice is just as silent to me as the outside world is. In a way, the silence is darkness, yet, the silence is light.

What would you do to end your silence?

Would you fight? ****? Would you be dishonest? Would you betray your friends and family, all for the sake of getting someone to say words that could honestly reach your ears?

I wouldn’t. Not anymore. And I certainly wouldn’t suggest it. I tried every bad thing I could think to get someone to talk, actually speak words to me. The English language is nothing but sounds now. Broken, failed sounds. Not that any other language is any better, they all just sound like silence, not even static, true static, which most people equate with ghosts or some other form of other-worldly something. That would certainly be a gift now, but I would never ask, could never, for something as unneeded and unwanted as static.

On the other hand, would you be a hero to end the silence? Would you fight countless monsters, not all of them necessarily realistic just in the hopes that someone you saved would say something? Would you put out fires? Defeat enemies? Could you even? I could. I tried at the very least. I was even brutally honest for the longest time. People don’t much appreciate that believe it or not. No one wants to be lied to and no one wants to know that they can’t follow all their dreams. Unfortunately for everyone, myself included, we’re all lied to, and we most certainly can’t follow most of our dreams.

The silence makes sure that I remember this. Three seconds from now I won’t care to try and talk to anyone. I’ll let this communiqué fall from my lips and try my hardest to forget that I ever wrote it. But we all know that won’t work. The silence that helps me sleep is also the silence that keeps me awake. How do I sleep? I wonder that just as I wonder how to rid myself of a silence like this. The short answer is that I don’t. The long answer is more complicated than I’d like to explain.

But the Silence, I feel I should treat it like its own being now, its own perfectly horrible, evil, monstrosity of a heroic being; the Silence doesn’t forgive, much like me it doesn’t forget, the only difference between the Silence’s memory and my own is that my mind screams at me, screams in the Silence that permeates around me. I never remember how hard or horrible my mind thinks before I sleep, all I see is the images that make up my dreams, rarely do I have nightmares, but it wouldn’t matter even if I didn’t dream, Silence fills my mind, my heart, my soul.

Do you remember the first time you were ever discouraged from anything? That first time you went to speak and realized you couldn’t so instead you cried? That is the exact feeling that I feel in the Silence. Knowing that no matter how hard I scream that my voice is utterly and completely incomprehensible. What would you do in my position? For that matter, what would I do in my situation? Some have told me all I need is a modicum of patience, others have told me that I never should wait and should only take action. Neither plan has ever worked for me.

Ever waited for time to pass while looking at a clock? That’s my entire life. Every moment seeming more Silent than the last despite that things never seem to change. Sure I’ve changed locations, but I’ve changed locations before and nothing is ever any different. Would you like to see inside my mind? That would probably help you speak to me, help me hear your words. But then again, maybe the Silence would only overtake you as well. For the sake of an attempt I have never tried, I’ll do it, free-thought writing, granted it will be much slower than I think. Just read it as fast as you can while understanding, but remember, don’t speak, don’t hear anything but the Silence in your mind,

Empty, but not. Women, memories of every one I ever met. Betrayal, both by me, and from me. A day where the sun doesn’t rise, but only falls again. Hoping this will be poetic. A name, not mine, not yet. Falling stars that bring me silent wishes. Hoping these words will speak to someone who isn’t me. Laughter, the sweet sound, I think that’s what it is. Complete Silence. Time elapsed, two seconds.

Not everything is simple and clear, many thoughts are more focused, like holding a magnifying glass backward, I squint my eyes and can see the world as it is, but with them open all I see is blur, Silent blur that reminds me that in a way I am all alone and in another that the entire world is watching me with narrow, scrutinizing eyes.
I'm sorry to say that this one is massive, no rhyme scheme like my others, more like a memoir over a poem, but in its own way I think it has managed to be the most poetic thing I've ever typed.
Raj Arumugam Feb 2011
Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
One on top of the other
still with flesh and organs all intact
and making all sorts of crude noises
and getting into this messy business –
getting your bed sticky and wet with sweat;
ah, you beings of flesh and blood and ecstasies
unlike me
just bones and a mere ghost me now living
lonely and in airless worlds
sent there by you my wife under that man
and you the man who helped poison me -
now you are over my wife
and you raise your **** to the gods
Hheeee…heeee….heeee… Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
I’ll be back every time the two of you fornicators
make love in my bed – shame on you, you murderer;
you took my wife, my home –and can’t even afford
to buy a new bed;
and you even use the condoms I left in the wardrobe...
Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
but I’ll be back every time the two of you close each other
like two palms raised in prayer ;
and I’ll pull the mosquito net down a bit and peer in
to see the two of you naked in bed
and I’ve got a bony tongue
long enough to lick the both of you!-
and to see me with my horrendous eyeballs
your phallus will shrink immediately;
and that woman, my former wife and eternal betrayer,
who mixed poison into my rice and shrimps
- every time she sees me, in her shock and fear
she’ll **** you out of bed, every time for sure...
Heee! Heee! Hooooo….
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
It's a bit too late - but be warned, this is a rather crude poem - so all of you who are pure and spiritual, stay away...Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..poem based on Katsushika Hokusai's The Ghost Kohada Koheiji, Ukiyo-e color print
Timothy Nov 2016
Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheared the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed,
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!
How often have I blest the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree,
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And slights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful ******'s side-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove!
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their chearful influence shed,
These were thy charms—But all these charms are fled.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain;
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choaked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall;
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintained its man;
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life required, but gave no more:
His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain;
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose;
And every want to oppulence allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that asked but little room,
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene,
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green;
These, far departing seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs—and God has given my share—
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to shew my book-learned skill,
Around my fire an evening groupe to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return—and die at home at last.
O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care that never must be mine,
How happy he who crowns, in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state
To spurn imploring famine from the gate,
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending virtue's friend;
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,
His Heaven commences ere the world be past!
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I past with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young,
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school,
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, solitary thing
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wintry ****** from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place;
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain;
The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire, and talked the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and shewed how fields were won.
Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings leaned to Virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies;
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was layed,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns, dismayed
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Even children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest:
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school;
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he:
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge.
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For even tho' vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering sound,
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired,
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place;
The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay;
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew,
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row.
Vain transitory splendours! Could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall!
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train;
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art;
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain;
And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey
The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds:
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth,
Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth;
His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green:
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies.
While thus the land adorned for pleasure, all
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female unadorned and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes.
But when those charms are past, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed:
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed;
But verging to decline, its splendours rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprize;
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms—a garden, and a grave.
Where then, ah where, shall poverty reside,
To scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And ev'n the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped—What waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share;
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know,
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn:
Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!
Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far different there from all that charm'd before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore;
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men, more murderous still than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parti
Gary W Weasel Jr Feb 2010
How I wish the blade upon you
Your lips are benign to all
Yet your heart, malignant.

You believe that you know my pain
That you think I deserve it all
So should I gouge your heart?
To give you a sample of it?

You had no shame to embrace
One committed to another
Your selfish ambitions are the death
Of you.

You're not even worth the dust of Earth
Your touch of cold
The steel of Brutus' dagger,
Into Caesar's back.

Oh how your statue has evolved,
You never cared about me

For if I am true of your intentions,
Then God's judgment will rain upon you.
Written: September 13, 2009 @ 4:50 AM CDT
Evie Hammond Jul 2015
Hunched, gorging on the pain of others
Innocents, betrayed by acts so like your own
For what? Some twisted pleasure?
Denial? Or simply masquerade?
Foul incubus, disguised by pilfered light
An electronic reinvention of your tale
Wallowing, greedily perusing torment caused by proxies
Judas! Betrayer of the Light!
You'll be unmasked
And truth laid bare for all to see
Trolls. Many kinds. Why do they do it? An age old problem. Nothing new. This focuses  on a certain kind of troll. The fake friend. The abuser who pretends to counsel the abused, the thief who pretends to be a benefactor. You know the sort.
Think .
Don't feel intimidated.
Fear is what you keeps waiting.
Expression turns to vibration.
Thus Fear is a stimulation.
Painted the ceiling
to view unconscious feelings.
Your words present perishable meanings.  
Wrote this quickly without thinking,
spoke to you without taking a deep breath
there's no time left.
        Understand depression
is the focus on hopeless motives.
Progression is the negativity
transformed into this art form for all of us.
**** being deep.
One try. One love. One lie. One liar or lyric?
As these spirits watch me.
This parable mocks me.
The first joke contained the essence of truth.
We are jokes that are laughed at.
Move closer to your world my friends.  
Third density binding.
I cannot describe it.
Everyday we develop rust.
You can never be the best
unless you can complete the competency test
of contrairy opposites.
Betrayer moon
color blue
the body has no use
if the mind is enslaved
but you still have to choose
sometimes not choosing is a choice
the Sagittarius has a powerful voice.
We must train to increase our strength
the final test is presented
when we least expect.
We eye ball
but see nothing
so what's next?  
A new generation of martyrs
dying for the wrong purpose.
I'm mad they can't prove what their worth.
Decisions shapes destiny.
This psychical attraction
they just want to hear me
to relax em.

So come along
pathetic poetic marathons
head warrior Sargon
came to spar
searching for who you are
answers for Darwin.
He kept us starving
stuck on a bias
the world cannot apply it.
I don't think one knows
how to change the future so fluently
look at what you do to me. (Writing)
Who can mirror me?
Confused with every theory.
Is pleasure really the highest good?
If the thought is there
then it's a
physical trait to the universe
and your fate.
Constant change.
The mind resets each day.
Each minute.
Each second    
The memory helps protect it.
Nobody can **** with you
because you're YOU
just remember you're YOU
**** my name
its all about details
so see it's wrong
when he wins and she fails.
See what I see.
I know you seek perfection.
Eyes greet and meet to
the unconditioned mind.
These age dependent thinkers
call me weird for being myself.
Scientifically you're not in my realm. (Time)
For I wrote this in the present
which is
your past
but you call it the future.
The most influential
get turned into a joke
as the fake get their story told.

Then must I always bear your endless accusations?
They all prove false, but still I have to fight them.
If I happen to glance at the marble theater's topmost row,
you pick some girl in the crowd to moan about;
or if a beautiful woman looks at me wordlessly,
you charge she's using lovers' wordless signs.
If I compliment a girl, you try to tear out my hair;
if I criticize one, you think I've got something to hide.
If I look well, I love no one - not even you;
if I'm pale, you say that I'm pining for someone else.
I wish I really had committed some such sin:
punishment hurts less when you deserve it;
but as it is, your wild indictments at every turn
themselves forbid your wrath to have much weight.
Think of the little long-eared donkey's wretched lot:
continual beatings only make him stubborn.
Now look, here's another charge: Cypassis, your coiffeuse,
is cast at me for defiling her mistress's bed!
The gods forbid that I, even if I yearned to sin,
should find delight in a slave-girl's lowly lot!
What man, being free, would want a servile liaison,
or wish to embrace a body the whip has scarred?
And furthermore, the girl's your personal beautician,
and valued by you because of her skillful hands.
Is it likely that I'd approach such a trusted serving-maid?
What would I get, but rejection and exposure?
By Venus and by the bow of her swift boy I swear,
you'll never find me guilty of that crime.


Cypassis, expert at dressing the hair in a thousand ways
(but you ought to arrange the tresses of goddesses only)
you that I've found quite polished in stolen ecstasy,
fit for your mistress's service, but fitter for mine,
whoever was it that told of our bodies joining together?
Where did Corinna learn of our affair?
Could I have blushed? Or slipped by a single word to give
some sign that has betrayed our furtive joys?
And what of it, if I argued that nobody could transgress
with a servant, except for a man who was out of his mind
The Thessalian burned with passion for lovely Briseis, a servant;
the Mycenean leader loved Apollo's slave.
I'm no greater man than Achilles, or the scion of Tantalus.
How can what's fine for kings be foul for me?
And yet, when your mistress turned her glowering eyes on you,
I saw a deep blush spread all over your face.
But how much more possessed I was, if you recall,
I swore my faith by Venus's great godhead!
(You, goddess, bid, I pray, the warm Southwind to blow
those innocent lies across the Carpathian sea.)
Now give me a sweet return for the favor I did you then,
by bedding with me, you dusky Cypassis, today.
Don't shake your head, you ingrate, pretending you're still afraid:
you can please one of your masters, and that's enough.
If you're silly enough to refuse, I'll confess all that we've done,
making myself the betrayer of my own crime,
and I'll tell your mistress how often we met, Cypassis, and where,
and how many times we did it, and how many ways!
Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,

There lies a necropolis where the dead lay glowing.


The undercroft beneath my ribs inhales frailty.

The tombstones of the truth here reminisce of failing.


An Acolyte to the corpse of Babylon,

The basilica spire, lies thereon,

A whisper of what had there been,

Before the Plague, the demise of Men.


A Monk to the infected Abbott,

The cathedral drowning in the cab’net:

The darkening secrets, too much to let go,

The flowing blood, too much for the snow.


A Coquette to the blistering Brothel

The modern meretricious hostel,

Lays Her cradled head down to rest,

The false hopes of a Prince, there infest.


The memory of a malignant massacre,

The Cancer spread like fungus on cadavers,

He tried to scream with no chords to make

The sounds emitted to keep the worms away


A Father of a Failure, afraid of the mirror,

As well as his own damnable creator.

The dissolution thereafter commences,

Although none change his recompenses.


The Leader of a glorious tribe there fallen

Rotting, decaying, like the rest of the solemn

With all respect, I know not His name

Forgotten in time, as was His fame


A “Friend” to a Martyr turned to a Betrayer,

Betrayer embroiled terms of the conveyor.

Martyr’s eyes and entrails are now long gone,

Though not with time, his head absent along.


A Dread-Worker to His mortuary,

His concept of death one day did vary,

Found were His diaries of a necrophiliac,

The town had him drawn, and quartered at that.


A Navigator of the salted sea,

He lays here now, bereft of memory;

It took His ship, the rocky cove,

His body here, His soul with Jones.


A Prophet of a fictional God,

He said he’d save the sacred sod,

And yet no miracle ever made He

His followers putrid now, festering.


The Violinist to His melody,

Forgot to eat, His mortal form craving,

Developing the perfect serenade,

He fell starving ‘fore having writ the last grade.


There is no judgement among the dead,

Except for what we give unto them,

They sleep soundly, forever eternal

Caring not who lay next to them, fraternal

Are they, and with silent kindness

Accept those also sharing their blindness.


The piercing shallow eyes,

At least for those who still have them,

Lack vision of the sky,

Or of the flowers who up to it stem.


Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,

I feel a chill inside my spine that takes advantage fully,

The necropolis has inner bliss

It lies under ground and in our midst.
Gavin Barnard Mar 2015
I can feel my skin eroding away,
The sludge that fills my veins,
The chemicals I breathe and eat,
And my sense of purity vanishing
With every step I take.

With petroleum Limousines,
Fabricated killing machines,
Artificial body parts
And insignificant counterparts,
I'm losing my sense of who I am.

Mother nature is the host of this party,
She gave us everything we need
To live life on her property;
And all humans did is make believe
That she was always the enemy.
Moza Mahmoud May 2013
I felt as cold as ice when i saw you with her.
I did not scream, i did not shout, i did not cry,
all i wanted was to die.
Without shyness you looked at me,
your eyes full of betrayal,
like a predator trying to catch its prey.
When i was running away from you,
you lied to me that you are regretting for losing me.
that is a question without an answer to.
                                                                                       MOZA MAHMOUD
L A Lamb Sep 2014
Write about being seen, really being seen.
(Remember to go with your "first flash," and write for 10 minutes without stopping or thinking.)

I was so humiliated. Besides feeling humiliated, I felt like I was on display. Each step I took down the hallway, every person in every little group glared at me, glanced away, and the whispers were buzzing. I felt it unjust, but I knew I brought it on myself. I cannot say I felt betrayal, as I was the original betrayer, (well, he was, but our emotional volley had collapsed with the weight of my action) but I hated him for savoring the revenge of my ruined reputation. I knew the pain I bestowed on him wouldn’t go away, but his smug satisfaction of broadcasting my shame only added to my humiliation.

When is graduation? Exactly two months away. That was April first, and I would have my high school diploma June 1st. I was a survivor, for my whole life, and although it was awful, I knew I could get past it. Still, every step I took in the hallway following that dreaded day, every move I made, every word I spoke, every breath I exhaled– was noticed, and I was judged without given the opportunity to provide an explanation of my perspective. High school rumors were ruthless, but what was worse is when it wasn’t a rumor. It was a scandal.

Even though no one dared to ask about it, to obtain information from me, I knew they all knew. Everyone knew, and once the basic information was known, details were not important. I wondered how many other girls experienced what I was experiencing, having to hold their head high and act proud despite the shame. It was strengthening, inadvertently, but the only other option was to hide away and avoid everyone. Even with a reputation, I couldn’t do that. Peers whispered and laughed degrading words, female faculty cast judgmental stares and all male teachers avoided eye contact, to avoid any association with me.
There was a kingdom by the sea
that had a name
but most called it just
The Pearl of the Coast,
because that is what it was.
The riches within the city walls were more than an outsider could fathom,
and a bustling economy promised to keep it that way.
The Pearl had been led for half a century
by a wise King
and a just Queen.
Between them, they had one daughter,
who was pretty enough to truly count as one of the riches of their city.
Suiters came from far and wide, hoping to get
of her fair beauty
before the fickle girl brushed them off her shoulders like mosquitoes.
It had no true spoken enemies,
for the walls and army were too great to conquer
but riches
bring dark men
to plotting and scheming.

There was a band of other kingdoms-
all prosperous, but not quite as much so as the Pearl
who were jealous and greedy
and coveted the jewels of the Pearl
all for themselves.
They would plan together,
but none could quite figure out how to get past the huge walls
and the spears of the watchmen.
But once, to their conniving company came
a Dark Magician
feared all around for his power and his wit.
These Kings of lesser kingdoms, though,
they saw only and opportunity to be seized.

They promised the Magician a share of the riches
if he would help them bring the Pearl to its knees.

The Magician, after little consideration,

From their greed, he fashioned a Homunculus
shaped it like a handsome young man
more handsome than anyone could be born as
and sent him to the palace.
The Princess was vain and swept off her feet
by this new young man
and soon took to calling her.
There was one, though, who saw through him.
Perhaps it was his own jealousy that cleared his eyes,
but a young Sorcerer,
the closest friend of the Princess,
and the only man who had ever loved her truly,
warned of the Homunculus.
The Princess, smitten, was outraged.
The warning given by a friend only encouraged the relationship,
as those things often do
for children love to see themselves as Star Crossed Lovers
and the fickle Princess estranged herself from her oldest friend,
though the Sorcerer stayed loyal.

One night, however,
the King and Queen,
who themselves were quietly against the union,
were murdered.
The cause was clear:
The guard turned to the Sorcerer,
for he had been turned down by the Princess,
and was, as they said, Hungry for revenge.
Only his past friendship saved his life,
and he was imprisoned in an empty tower a mile outside of the Pearl's walls.
He howled to be set free,
and the Princess would listen from her widow's walk.
Only when the howling stopped and was replaced
by a bitter silence
did her heart break.

After her marriage to the Homunculus
she started to wither
and hid herself in her chamber.
The guards would often see her wandering the grounds at night
wringing her hands and moaning in sorrow and paranoid fear.
"He might come back," she would whisper
and then burst into tears.
Often she was mistaken for a ghost,
and her parade of visitors slowly trickled to a stop.
Meanwhile, the Homunculus had taken control of the Kingdom.
He actually did more for the economy that the past King and Queen did,
for he had opened up trade with a shady band of kingdoms
that everyone had sworn that they had been in a Cold War with
just yesterday...

It had been nearly twenty years
when the Magician demanded that the band of kings
pay him for his work.
They had been ruling the Pearl from the shadows for some time now,
and he was ripe for his due.
The Kings' greed though had only inflated after they had their prize
as had their pride.
And they,
The Magician was outraged.
He called back his creation one day in March.

The Homunculus knew that the sword of Damocles was ready to drop,
and hastened in his escape
over the years
he had grown attached to his Queen
and it pained him to think of her suffering along with him.
He warned her himself
that the Pearl was to be destroyed spectacularly
and then he fled,
and she never saw his face again.

The Queen was horrified
and looked out over the people who she had neglected for twenty years.
No longer a beauty,
but a frightened old woman.
She knew what she had to do.
Grabbing her travel cloak around her,
the Queen rode as fast as she could
to the tower outside of the walls.
Her old friend was still sitting there,
chained to the wall.
Never had the woman seen such squalor, and it broke her heart all over again.
His hair was long and matted,
not peppered, but smeared with gray.
His robes were those that he had worn on the day he was taken away
crusted with filth.
The tower was falling down around him;
huge gaping holes where windows had been
mocked the poor Sorcerer
and the fireplace that should have been maintained by guards
was nothing more than smoldering coals.

The Queen fell to her knees and begged his forgiveness,
begged him to save the city that he had been shunned from.
But so many things about him had changed,
and all of the kindness had leaked from his eyes.
He rose onto his feet, and the rats skittered away.

"You fool!" He cried,
"I cannot save them!
The Magic coming has already been set in motion, and I,
I have not eaten more than rats and the dirt from the floor in more than twenty years.
I am hopelessly weak, with only the strength for one more spell. "
He grabbed the Queen's hands, the sorrow of his broken heart overshadowed by rage.
"You will watch this tragedy, for it is one of your own making!
I curse you so that you may never die,
never sleep,
not till you have worked the labors of every servant
of the world begins to burn!"
With that, he pushed the shocked woman aside
and, scrambling to the fire,
swallowed the hot coals
and died there in front of his betrayer.

The Queen could do nothing but watch
as the sky turned black,
and the sea rose up
and swallowed the Pearl.
The screams of her people were silenced quickly,
leaving her alone
with her thoughts
and the body of the only man
who had ever
loved her.
Cazandra Leia Oh Jul 2012
life a double side dagger
heart a total betrayer
mind's an assassin no matter
for all thou knows
deep in our souls
none are innocent
just covered with

there's no definition whether life is good or bad .
there's a lot we can't see with our mind always playing tricks on us .
almost everyone in life we see , we think we understand ,
but like us they are all pretending .
Maman Screams Jan 2014
I've been writing of hopes and dreams
Seeking happiness from this life takings
Who is it meant for you're wondering
Is it for me or for the general viewing
Or am I reaching out too short within
Till you forget your very own living

I'm a fool fulfilling inquest of a portrayer
Illusions to soothe the eye of the betrayer
Creating encryptions lock to every scribbles
Even a space I can spare no farther

Lets just **** this rhythm and blues
Death is inevitably thats what i conclude
Now let me make this clear and true
Only through my poems you'll find the clues

But don't be mad if you get confused
For we are twins alike I hint you
Maybe through my riddles you'll produced
Or you could just give up its your calling too
For the end of the day eventually you will
Spent your nights stuck on your own puzzle too

©2014 Maman Screams
Brady D Friedkin Apr 2017
We entered the holy city with palm branches to welcome
Parading in as they sang 'Hosanna!'
They honored Him as if He were their king
As if He had come to set them free
Oh how right they were, the Promised King, come to set His people free

We shared in communion with the Lord and the betrayer
On the eve of the darkest day in history
Hate brewed at one end of that table
While love stirred peacefully on the other
And all of us living in blissful ignorance in between

We celebrated the passover with our master
And we prayed that The Lord would not pass over us again
That instead He would stoop down to us and save us
But we denied Him in His hour of need
We slept soundly as He was betrayed by us

Like a lamb led to the slaughter, He gave His life for another
They beat Him within inches of His divine life
They cast lots for his garments, and spit on His bloodied face
No longer did they yell 'Hosanna!' to welcome their king,
But they yelled 'crucify him!' to condemn their Divine Lord

They drove nails into his frail hands
He cried out to heaven asking why The Lord had forsaken Him
He declared in defiance ‘It is finished’ and He passed on to death
They threw a sword into his swollen side
His holy blood and holy water spilled to sanctify the earth onto which it fell

So silly they were, they thought that they could **** God
That they really believed they could depose the Lord of all with mere nails
But the sky darkened, and heaven turned away as to not see her Lord die
The earth shook and the world changed
Suddenly all knew 'surely this man was the Son of God'

The once bright and beautiful sky turned suddenly dark
The earth shook violently in disapproval that her creator lay dead on her face
The warm humid air turned suddenly bitterly cold and dry
For the promised Messiah had been defeated
Death itself had victory over the world, and the world knew it was so

There, on the cross, lay the Life of the World, dead
The Light of the World had been snuffed out, and the world left in darkness
The hope of all mankind suddenly vanished
The steady hand holding the world wavered in mourning
And darkness covered the seemingly God-forsaken earth

Who are we at the foot of the cross that stood silently?
We stood by and watched the promised Messiah be taken away and killed
We reap what we sew, and will now live out our days in darkness
Without hope we shall suffer for all time, a punishment fit for our crime
We crucified the Messiah, we gave the Lord to death, we killed God

For three days the sun did not rise
For three days the world swayed unstable
The demons danced in the darkness
Hell was victorious
Because for three days, God lay dead in a tomb.
A poem for Good Friday. It ends in hopelessness, because at the end of the Good Friday narrative, Jesus' followers truly believed that He was dead and would not return. To see the completion of the poem, another will be posted on Easter
Rachel Samson Oct 2013
   Love is just an illusion
   Filled with anguish, despair and confusion
   So stop your happily ever after imagination

   For a while, it messes up with your mind
   Then it leaves you out of your mind
   Until you become blind

Love will never bring happiness
It would just lead you into sadness
I dare you try cheating
And you will have the power for everything

I am a cheater
I do give romantic love
that would make you feel like heaven's above
I am s sweet lover

I owned your heart, your mind and even your soul
I owned everything that you own
I am a sinner
A truly betrayer

Yes, I am a cheater
I've never been a loser
Curse me to eternal hell for my many sin
I played this game each day and I always win
Heather Moon Feb 2014
Oh Sea Goddess
you're beauteous form
reflecting in the inhabitents or mystic creation.
Dolphins and mermaids.
You're hair like the wind of a diving gull.
Temptress and betrayer, smooth or chopped.
Sun like a melon, you're favourite company.
When you send whales through the air, sea foam wisps. Washing gently to the shore and softly kissing stranded driftwood and drying seaweed.
Playful like a boy, who still takes the moment of reading in the sunlit air and breathing in the pleasures of you're holy mystic presence.
Salty sweet scent, gentle symphony.
Oh Sea Goddess, how I live for and love for thee.
Samantha Bauman Dec 2013
sometimes I feel like I am drowning
though I am on land
I get so stuck in my head,
I forget everything
until someone reminds me again
that there is a fire inside of me
and I am the only one who can keep it burning
I will take this world head on
I will be a force that you will not forget
I will not live with regrets
because life is too short for these thoughts
and yet I am underwater
and I can't seem to swim
to lose the will to live
is something of myself I will have to forgive
my mind is my own betrayer
the most cunning liar
I keep going back and forth between mentalities
and it's exhausting
I try to find the middle ground
swim up for air
but when I am under,
I'm so scared that nothing will be up there
I know that so many others care
but I feel alone everywhere
I am so selfish
my life isn't that bad I am told
but this sadness gets old
same little pills, white and yellow
to keep my mind under control
my little mind saviors
from my mind betrayer
and yet my heart beats
and I am here
I am alive in the least
this is something I can beat
there is no demean I cannot defeat
I  am a warrior
I am my own savior
I will find recovery
I will be happy
I must promise this to myself
instead of everyone else
they do not feel what I feel
I can't keep promising to others
that I will stay on my feet
my own potential I will meet
and I will read this poem later
and know that I had made it
Time, I found you, sky was clear blue…
Lake-fish plays, sunny summer days,
Flowers of Spring, brown guitar string
Ease our hearts, playing own parts…

Lonely wooden bench, narrow little trench
Save us for sure from being so impure,
All the way down, white long gown
Makes you my bride, tomato sun dried…

Micro-oven hot, tequila double shot
Nothing else matters, whoever scatters,
Only you & me, floating on the sea
Watching our sky, ready to full-fly…

So many days, we’ll remain always
Both of us care with faithful share
Wish to be there, lowest depth layer
Seems flatland, the life we planned…
You are my girl, precious hidden pearl
Love you always; bird in the cage
If you ever feel, stay there until,
Ever free you are, to fly forever …

But be ever sure, what you endure
Goes truly wrong or misread song!
Betrayer is better than wrong mind setter,
Love’s always new, can avail only few!…

Wish you my dear, nothing to fear
You’ll find me, in middle of the sea,
In troubled rainy day, I must say
I’m here with you, a friend so true…

Look up the sky, white clouds dry
Amid the Blue, only me & you
Will remain forever, ever & ever
I’ll love you, Honey days are still sunny… 

~ Anwar Parvez Shishir ~

Dhaka Bangladesh
It's a VALID poem of LOVE forever whatever the situation is there. I found so many unhappy couples around but I couldn't find the exact reason for their early breakage even before starting their life together... This world is so beautiful and its human being is even more beautiful but the most beautiful thing is LOVE itself and the LOVE for the LIFE-Partner precisely. I have lost my LIFE-Partner forever who happened to be by my side always being shadow, she is my LOVELY LADY, she is LOVE, the LOVE that only few can avail in one's life...If my reader found this piece of work beautiful in expression, if it touches anyone's heart then share it happily with your BELOVED ones instantly, it must make lady so happy & blessed by all of you... Best wishes & thanks to all of you.

a p shishir
Alexa Aug 2018
Suddenly, it's not love anymore, it's a memory.
I'm alone, drunk in a bathroom and my thoughts don't crawl to the section of my brain where you are located.
You don't have a place in my blood, I can count on one hand the times I've said your name in the last year.
Does that make a sinner because you were once my God? I'd swallow every syllable uttered in my direction, scripture licked from my lips, and wipe my face clean with your affirmations.
And I was clean-bogged down by a perpetual hangover and hands that won't ever stop shaking and hair that never smelt like anything other than your cologne and cigarettes- but I was clean, I was saved.
And every time I knelt before you, I was saved again and again.
So call me unfaithful because I have forsaken you, though long after you did me, and you did, you did.
You've been gone so long, I can't even remember what your voice sounds like.
All I have is a memory of a grin plastered on a face, all teeth and a head reared back: gleaming, mirth incarnate.
But that image can't force me to perform ceremony in your name anymore.
My eyes will only water, no streams fall down my face.
The earth you walk on now is scorched, by women who no longer see your face any time they close their eyes. You are Moses in a desert with no followers, just an endless mirage: a girl who will never love you beckons you further and further. And I am sure you are thirsty.
Then, call out my blasphemy, I swear I won't hear your accusations over the litany of curses muttered along with your name.
I am Judas, I am Brutus, in the last circle of hell, for I am betrayer of the only religion that ever made me feel whole.
But I couldn't spend another prayer on my knees.
Can't stop biblical references, rip.
Fatıma Jan 2014
Cords are becoming loose,
Affections floating the boat
To the island of Disappointment

Oxytocin no longer rushes
Staying stagnant
Until a trigger releases the manacles
Tied stiffly

Assumed there is a chance
But you waived the golden opportunity

Embarked on the journey
Of self-indulgence
Into your picked avenue


Hypocritical Not I
But you showed me
I will decry
CH Gorrie Jul 2014
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.

Camellias? Still in April.

Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;

The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.

There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.

Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—

A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.

The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.

Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)

An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.

The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.

End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.
The Unbeliever Jul 2014
Is it so hard?
to reach for what you love
to not tip your hat to fate
claw your way out from the cage
its all in your mind anyways, right?

the breadth and depth of mirrors
a broken, twisting, reflection
always looking, falling, back
living for a broken past
making the punishment
the present

Everyone lives their own dark reality
So hard a lesson to learn, myself?
those silly, hated, optimists
realists on their high horses
They only hurt themselves, myself

Its the truest treason, a betrayal even, of the soul
when all it is is a fair, and balanced, and perfect
meal of broken, slivered, and horrible glass
a tongue of sharpest and cruelest diamonds
slicing, cutting, splintering the insides
pinching, twisting your lungs
breaking your heart

Is it so hard?
when you wrote the words yourself?
you build the characters
in your life, in theirs?
not for what they are?
Jr Jul 2012
All I see...Now that vision fades
Is a past life...Full of many mistakes

All I see...Is a past of regrets
A past of hate...One that sadness begets

Crying to skies...A full moon
Life full of lies...The End soon

Crying to skies...The time nears
Withering ties...Bonds to disappear

Yet I world cast away
This sorrow...a betrayer's dismay

Yet I see...your world born
A death to mourn

A coffin...nailed shut
Death...Life, it cuts
devante moore Dec 2015
For money and gold
For you
His life was sold
Gave his location
In sin you gave into temptation
Then with a greet of a kiss
From your deceitful lips
He was betrayed
By you
A heart that was lost and filled with greed
But in this transaction you went insane
In your realization
You tried to get reimbursed
But your faith was sealed
For the prophecy had to be fulfilled
And as you stood at the top of the hill
Beneath a tree past its prime
You hung yourself
Until the kicking in your feet went
Deceiver, desiring only to ensnare another, in webs of selfishness.
Thief,  lurking , luring innocent  victims into the pit of darkness.
Murderer , robber,  you smile believing to have conquered any doubt with lies thicker than honey.
Priceless moments of life led astray by trickery , laid upon chambers of the innocent heart
Slowly, slowly,  murderous betrayer, fulfilling an ego with self love that will forever be unsatisfied.
Experienced trappers should be aware, not to allow their feet to stumble in a trap set for others.
Wickedness befriending the liar, balance the scales, ravenously tearing breathing flesh from their bones.
Till nothing is left , nothing, but the shell of  insatiable unrighteousness
Max C Styles May 2016
I don't know how it came to be
To have so many holes in me
But here I cry
By and by
Bleeding from the heart
Where so many rivers start.

I cannot explain
This inexorable pain
As I cross this river Styx
Wondering how I'd come to this
But here I am
****** and Dammed
Crying cold tears
Wondering what fate nears.

I remain here with the ferryman
Wondering how I was ever a merry man.
Crying my tears of blood
Just as any man would.
Touched so high in grace
****** for all my race.
So burning is this torment
Yet cold, silent, and dormant.

But I am no betrayer.         No, Not yet
No sin increases my fare

Charon does not bring me to that gate
But rather back home to finish my fate.
For I am not dead
And it is not living that I dread.
I have only been shown this torture
So I may avoid it in future.
I have no place in that weeping forest
Just as Dante, I was but a tourist.
But so my sorrow deep and cold
Should not permeate into my old
But rather it shall remain
a past pain.

O I shall remember
these such foul members
But it is that which makes me
Not breaks me.
These are that which become me
For I shall not succumb to these.
And so these folds shall make me
Till I feels these holes,
These rivers in my heart,
These tears of blood,
This passing of the laurel,
These faults within my ore,
No longer.
Ashlyn Gallant May 2015
Aimee sits beneath the Cypress Tree,
A yellow carnation adorns her hair.
"Pardonnez-moi" she whispers to me
And then she hangs her head in despair.

In confidence I gave her the dagger
She used to pierce my heart,
"Je suis desole," she cries out,
Mourning for the bond she tore apart.

How am I to forgive her treachery
When Ophelia's madness stirs my soul?
"Croyez-moi a nouveau, " She pleads
As the mask of grief takes control.

I walk away with a heavy heart
And try not to see what I leave behind.
Farewell my friend, till we meet again
May your new life treat you kind.
Filmore Townsend Oct 2012
factions warring,
numbers dwindling.
her body is the keenest weapon.

               time spent in guise of enemy,
she becomes one,
is one,
has always been one.
rebel and free-thinker,
turned infiltrator,

a kiss as distraction.
a hand embracing body,
pulling her closer,
driving both weapons through the heart.

crimson stains,
                       life flows free,
          a heretic ******.

“In the name of His Ever Vigilance, this one dies alone.”
Jon Shierling Nov 2013
“Why talk?  If you do not listen to me?", he asked. He spoke to her in Kurdish, the language of her misty childhood memories. Simon had guessed, but did not know, could not know, how deeply she was speared by this simple statement, spoken flawlessly by a man she thought she knew. She ceased her melody, and as the chords faded away, so her warmth disappeared. Her eyes watered...cleared, darkened. Memories long buried, embalmed with religious care, rose again out of the shadows she had banished them to. "How dare you speak to me like that. Who do you think you are? How do you know my language, my childhood?"

"You talk in your sleep..."

She leaned forward and slapped her friend across the face. She knew there was something wrong with him, knew that there could be no such thing as unconditional companionship, as real altruism.
How stupid she was, how naïve to believe that she might have found someone who didn't want something from her, who didn't have a price.

Simon, who knew the alleyways and alcoves of the past like a lover knew his partner's body, should have been more concise. But it wasn't in his nature to approach personal history with spotlights and pragmatics. Ta'ra was accusing now, calling him hideous, a betrayer, one who steals sweet things in the dark from lack of courage. "It's not like that Ta'ra, not an ugly thing like you make it," he tried to explain. But she did not want to hear, did not want to listen as he tried to tell her how she cried in her sleep on the long drive from Cadiz, how Clara told him a little of their history together in Morocco. "So Clara told you so much did she? I should've known she'd pout to somebody as soon as she could, as soon as I wasn't listening! So what else does she tell you? What else does she say about me when I'm not around? Or do you do more than talk hmm?"

She was standing over him now, guitar abandoned like an orphan, her green sweater all askew. So close to him he could smell her. "It's not like that Ta'ra, she cares for you, wants the best for you, and I...I..." he trailed off. "You what? You fantasize about me, you put my face on those ****** you find in the bars and cafes?" She slapped him again, crying in earnest, and he knew that the choice now was his.
I don't know how to continue this now. The choice here will determine the entire rest of the story, and I don't know which direction to take. Shall courage and warmth win, and the past be overshadowed? Or, should I let regret and the shadows of the past determine the arc of these characters, who really are just reflections of myself?
Mark Nealy Nov 2010
What am i ?
the betrayer; embracing
there lies
his guilt
her shame
nderstanding nothing with loose lips, creating
the cultist; with
there dignity
his voice
her distress
          My high quality facade is
the shadow; causing
there insanity
his experiment
her instability
          Without care, its eyes fade and voice dims into
the nothing; blaming
there conformity
his understanding
her ambition
Rebecca Karlsson Jan 2014
I care about you Tomorrow's Girl
But you are right to fear me
I can be uncharitable
My intentions, sometimes dishonorable.
You do well to distrust me
I do not always wish your best,
even as I pledge you my loyalty.
Your desires are interpreted through my jealous filter,
the Maya of my own creation.
I will wish you ill,
And neither of us will know it.
Beware, I warn you from a higher perch.
I have also trusted in a Yesterday Girl.
My deceiver she was.
And wounded I was by her
In the very sanctuary she had created for us.
Above all suspicion,
She cradled me from weakness to strength
Then coldly abandoned me with the scars of her desires.
But she is not dead.
She whispers to me still, of promises unfulfilled.
And I listen.
These I must pass to you Unfortunate Friend.
I can choose nothing else.  
Release me from your grim judgement,
As I have long-forgiven my beloved betrayer.
You too will wrong your charge.
You too will give a Judas kiss.
OnwardFlame Feb 2016
Fake plastic beads endow my wrist
Mascara-less lashes, lamp crown on my head
One of the tallest girls in the room.

I've got so much going for me
I've got the world at my finger tips
But my heart aches and whispers your name
Still today.

I thought, lets all be real cool
Like, drink that whiskey up
Fill up our tombs
You can't respond back to that text message picture
I thought we might bond over how I look
But you chose not to reply.

Technology is an angel and a demon
Appearing like vignettes on my shoulders
Too proud to seek out
But falling asleep in false lashes on my bed
Reminds me of all the times I waited in lingerie
And the Betrayer chose NYC, instead.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."
The Betrayer said, his grin must have been filled
With diamonds and mice
Building mines within those rigged white teeth
Blue eyes so dangerous, I drown myself any time
I ask for him to lick my blood
But I'll be in New York City so soon
Perhaps we will have those intense
Fleeting moments
Of laughing in the streets, holding each other
Laughing like Goose & Duck
So very in love
Tie me up and cut me up just like you use to
But its me that does the leaving in the end
But you predicted we had this 3 more times
In our future
Maybe I need to spice up the pain I've felt in Chicago.

I'd never been told such a thing till
Peter Pan with his ringlets of flowers
And lemon orange filled lies covered in dust
Pointed it out, just like all of the thousands of times
He made me feel insignificant.

Its amazing how another human being can have the power
To do such a thing
I drink coffee in bed this morning
My face becomes my business card
Going on dates with interesting
But the wrong men
For now, I look down at my invisible clock
In order to represent the urgency of time
But the mundane invisible quality to it all
My God, I miss Philadelphia.

What an easier time that all was
As I bebopped around the corners of the city
There were only so many places to go,
Only so many people to see
My little apartment now belongs to another element
Of the harmful and heartbreaking past
Will I ever fully recover?

A gluten for punishment
I get so caught up in the pain, the heartbreak
Imaginative, paranoid, sensitive
Its what makes me a true artist
Many exclaim
But I take apart the pieces
The confetti filled feelings
Examine them, order a slice of pie to go
And I know I've gotta dance in the forest like fire
Even if we didn't get to that take.

I want so much more
Than you could
Than any of you could ever
Ever did
Give me.
But just like that I remember the big sweaters
My hair black, that Halloween show
I feel like I have spent my life sad about some man.

But I have these moments
Where I think, surely he is going through the same
If not much worse
And I do think thats true
As Peter Pan scrapes and grapples past the memories of me
Moments of wanting to be good he shows
But he will always choose
He always did
The option that makes me feel the most alone.

So I let him.
As other women around me are less strong
Less brave with their supposed convictions
I don't judge, but I recognize
The cave of lost love is a maze
At some points in life you might be brave enough
To leap in and leap out
But Peter Pan,
You have found yourself a spot
Gutted it, stuffed it with Winnie The Poo & Ninja Turtle
Colored it with silly string and batches of *****
And its me now that has to walk out
Without looking back
At the world I can shake hands with
But not dwell.

— The End —