Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"bidded" poems
... My Spirit, I dropped My neck, how tragic!— Oh, why was I doomed?— What a shame of love,— Beset me for living How poor was my trial?— That king caught me— Just to be his vice! Surely, I was a noble queen— 'Til the justice defied me.. Coined by 30 years,— Now deriving for 25 years, This automatic era seemed haste for me,— Where people work less with limbs,— And more with chained machines All tenses are verbose,— of such faint vision;— When all the dots meet,— Perhaps, gallops are faster than wheels. --... Whenever I daze in my reflection, I morbidly feel the bruised mark on my pelvis,— whence Homer penetrated it,— And this slit scar on my nape— of my husband's infidelity Oh fate, may thou all wrath in flames.. I was not an outlaw!— Thou all praised a sculpture,— And smashed it, when it was bore! Thou bidded swears— To a bedswerver's norms! My downfall revealed thy disgraced offerings— Traitors! —My poor, poor queen— Do not weep,     For I shall be great,— This lady will     dissect the hypocrites, and clothe     the faithful—     I shall be the image of your tragedy     and glory     This is the order of my commitment     I am a ponent;     I am a defender. Quote our testament: "We art the culprits and victims of our own plot. If an admiring rogue invades thy core, it shall weakened thou as culprit into an ever victim— To be held in judgment, and to be both perceived as no innocent." —The conviction of worldly accomplices,     This shall be the vengeance of an obsolete sentence.— Altaira, with me,— Thou art neither a corpse— Nor a bit of ash; 'Tis the time for ruling Your Majesty— Cheers to the jury..
0
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 3:34 AM UTC
fheyra
"Resurrection"– The Return of the Soul
... My Spirit, I dropped My neck, how tragic!— Oh, why was I doomed?— What a shame of love,— Beset me for living How poor was my trial?— That king caught me— Just to be his vice! Surely, I was a noble queen— 'Til the justice defied me.. Coined by 30 years,— Now deriving for 25 years, This automatic era seemed haste for me,— Where people work less with limbs,— And more with chained machines All tenses are verbose,— of such faint vision;— When all the dots meet,— Perhaps, gallops are faster than wheels. --... Whenever I daze in my reflection, I morbidly feel the bruised mark on my pelvis,— whence Homer penetrated it,— And this slit scar on my nape— of my husband's infidelity Oh fate, may thou all wrath in flames.. I was not an outlaw!— Thou all praised a sculpture,— And smashed it, when it was bore! Thou bidded swears— To a bedswerver's norms! My downfall revealed thy disgraced offerings— Traitors! —My poor, poor queen— Do not weep,     For I shall be great,— This lady will     dissect the hypocrites, and clothe     the faithful—     I shall be the image of your tragedy     and glory     This is the order of my commitment     I am a ponent;     I am a defender. Quote our testament: "We art the culprits and victims of our own plot. If an admiring rogue invades thy core, it shall weakened thou as culprit into an ever victim— To be held in judgment, and to be both perceived as no innocent." —The conviction of worldly accomplices,     This shall be the vengeance of an obsolete sentence.— Altaira, with me,— Thou art neither a corpse— Nor a bit of ash; 'Tis the time for ruling Your Majesty— Cheers to the jury..
Continue reading...
42