"bloodcurling" poems - Hello Poetry

Midnight strikes You’re on my mind Silently wishing for you to be mine, again Those wishful thinking, kills me slowly In this slow silent solitude But you, in the biggest magnitude of happiness While, I, a mess How could you leave me alone In this winter cold Shivering and sheathing From the bloodcurling lies spewed

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Mar 16, 2015

Mar 16, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC

noorulain

silent solitude

Midnight strikes You’re on my mind Silently wishing for you to be mine, again Those wishful thinking, kills me slowly In this slow silent solitude But you, in the biggest magnitude of happiness While, I, a mess How could you leave me alone In this winter cold Shivering and sheathing From the bloodcurling lies spewed

12

Only those with the wisest minds -the oldest eyes, remember the days of love truly lost. The woman with the rage speckled iris, the man with the world-heavy curved spine, Holding aloft thy heads as the wisping breaths of each memory tortures and threatens to crack. Like mere puppets dangled on a string are they. The heavy ambiguity collapses the lungs, the heart torn from the cavity from such pure and sheer anguish that one would think thine eyes had seen many a scorned sky. But nay. this is neither scalding storm nor bloodcurling encounter tis nout but mere consequence Consequence that comes from tasting the sweet nectar of thy goddess affection; The honeycombed effect of forged kisses under the stars; The rippling shudder of the pulses as skin meets skin. Eyes caressing over mounds and peaks of soft flesh and pray! My sweet, sweet maria the smell of youngling dew As one awakens from the deep, soothing slumber that follows Each blissful frolicking under the devious eye of the tangent sun. Aye. Thy beauty is but a hideous monster scarring the vessels of the ventricles as they lay. But as sure as day and as righteous as the gods are we addicted, Like fresh salt in a wound after the ****** high. Pain crashes blindly against the unravelling ribbons of sobriety Lustfulness takes under like the crash of the star spangled wing on the wave; And you my wistful lover! My dear maria; Are the amphetamine to my warped and harrowed heart.

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May 26, 2016

May 26, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC

dionnemelissa-newman

The Harrowed Heart

Only those with the wisest minds -the oldest eyes, remember the days of love truly lost. The woman with the rage speckled iris, the man with the world-heavy curved spine, Holding aloft thy heads as the wisping breaths of each memory tortures and threatens to crack. Like mere puppets dangled on a string are they. The heavy ambiguity collapses the lungs, the heart torn from the cavity from such pure and sheer anguish that one would think thine eyes had seen many a scorned sky. But nay. this is neither scalding storm nor bloodcurling encounter tis nout but mere consequence Consequence that comes from tasting the sweet nectar of thy goddess affection; The honeycombed effect of forged kisses under the stars; The rippling shudder of the pulses as skin meets skin. Eyes caressing over mounds and peaks of soft flesh and pray! My sweet, sweet maria the smell of youngling dew As one awakens from the deep, soothing slumber that follows Each blissful frolicking under the devious eye of the tangent sun. Aye. Thy beauty is but a hideous monster scarring the vessels of the ventricles as they lay. But as sure as day and as righteous as the gods are we addicted, Like fresh salt in a wound after the ****** high. Pain crashes blindly against the unravelling ribbons of sobriety Lustfulness takes under like the crash of the star spangled wing on the wave; And you my wistful lover! My dear maria; Are the amphetamine to my warped and harrowed heart.

24

I never met my grandpa, he fought in Vietnam. He didn't die in battle. When he got home, he attempted to pick up the pieces, of his shattered mind. The unimaginable things he must have done all for the sake of fighting for his country. The cruelty he must have seen all for a government squabbling. To return, with angry faces meeting him, as if it was his decision to go to resort to arms, as if PTSD wasn't enough of a punishment. He returned to his family struggling to acclimate to the environment. Tried to shake off the horrific nightmares of war that led to bloodcurling screams keeping the entire block wide awake. He returned to his job construction work, paving roads seeking solitary work, afraid he would snap. One day, he crashed. Pinned into the machine on a hot June day. As the sun baked the blood in his face this man paid for whatever sins he committed, and then some. slowly, he inched his way to Death's doorstep, with a crooked smile, and a guiltless heart, finally having peace, in a life of turmoil.

0

Jun 7, 2014

Jun 7, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC

lane33

Found Peace

I never met my grandpa, he fought in Vietnam. He didn't die in battle. When he got home, he attempted to pick up the pieces, of his shattered mind. The unimaginable things he must have done all for the sake of fighting for his country. The cruelty he must have seen all for a government squabbling. To return, with angry faces meeting him, as if it was his decision to go to resort to arms, as if PTSD wasn't enough of a punishment. He returned to his family struggling to acclimate to the environment. Tried to shake off the horrific nightmares of war that led to bloodcurling screams keeping the entire block wide awake. He returned to his job construction work, paving roads seeking solitary work, afraid he would snap. One day, he crashed. Pinned into the machine on a hot June day. As the sun baked the blood in his face this man paid for whatever sins he committed, and then some. slowly, he inched his way to Death's doorstep, with a crooked smile, and a guiltless heart, finally having peace, in a life of turmoil.

33