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autumn-rachelle May 2018
We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.

We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.

We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.

We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.

We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?

Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?

Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.
the song of my existence.

any suggestions or corrections are always welcome!
Tammy M Darby Jul 2013
Happy Valentines Day

If Venus child
Come loves melody sing
I shall break the bow
And slash the string

If he dare to infect me
Trick my heart into desire
Seasoned on a spit he will be
Roasted in a blazing fire

Whisper sweet nothings in my ear
Tear off his wings
Turn my eyes from his tears

Not by the all the gods decree
Will I commit my love to another
Binding his mischievous hands
Return him swiftly to his mother

My warnings are clear
Towards me he point the arrow
His last sweet breath
This cherub shall inhale
Never more see the morrow

This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M. Darby
Francie Lynch Apr 2017
Many believe they know the law
Because they were arrested;
Others know how to teach
Because they too were tested.
If you have a religious question,
They attended church;
Mention you've an ache or pain,
They diagnose your hurt.
Should you bring up politics,
Republican or worse,
They'll explain Democracy
Cause they've been free since birth.
Admit your car is pinging,
Your faucets aren't behaving,
The oven isn't cooking right,
Your fridge is warm and shaking,
The air conditioner's out of whack,
Your furnace has turned blue,
They'll tell you what to do:
Change the thermo-coupler.
It's always their one answer.
Say you like this stock or bond,
An investment that's appealing,
They'll  discourse that all agents
Are cunning conniving stealing.
On Monday mention the big game,
They'll re-play, play by play,
As if you slept right through it.
If you hear a rousing band,
Attend a movie or a play,
Know-its are informed critics,
Once they were stagehands.
They pose as friends and family,
Waiting for an opening,
To disrupt with diatribe,
To display how much they know.
I know what I'm on about,
So let me advise you,
I'm a Know-It-All poet,
All I write is true.
Never miss the opportunity
To keep your mouth shut too
We all know them by name.
Egaeus Thompson Dec 2012
I don’t love you.
But if I did,
I would spend countless hours writing poems for you.

I don’t love you.
But if I did,
I would perform seppuku so not only I could remove the pain of you being with another man,
but I could show you all of the scars in me that you left behind.

I don’t love you.
But if I did,
I would construct convoluted, conniving catastrophes in which every man that hurts you gets the plague.
I would spend hours on your facebook hoping for a hint that you still care,
And not care that the amount of time spent thinking about the idea I have of you could be used to possibly pursue another,
Though all I want is to be wrapped in beautiful white cloth with you,
Swinging slowly in the warming sunlight and talking about nothing but everything is felt instead of heard and the intentions of what is said become blindingly more important than what is heard.

I don’t love you.
But if I did,
I would hold it deep inside, though the sight of your car outside his house at three in the morning and the news of your new job and new tattoos drive pins covered in ‘I love you’ into the pit of my stomach, promptly followed by bowling ball to knock them down.

I don’t love you…

…*but if I did, I would pretend that I don’t.
James Diamond Mar 21
Ah, Mediocrity, you pernicious and insidious killer!
You live through the Good Enough, the So-and-So.
You make dull the genius; a philistine of the sinner!
You slow the clock to maintain the status quo!
No matter what I do or how I try, you are always there,
Conniving in the dark, outside my imagination.
A villain of the artist indeed! A true nightmare!
The perpetual source of my mind's sedation.
Perhaps it is not you that is the real culprit?
Perhaps it is the ones that love you, that adore you?
I have indulged you before, ashamed I am to admit,
Your raison d'etre is profitable, surely tried and true.
But I have greater aims than you! It is Heaven I strive for!
The mountain that I climb has no place for a *****.
Egg May 2018
So often,
I find myself whispering
that there is no such thing as time wasted.

That there is a lesson to each loss
justification to the pain.

And I believe that.
I do.

I keep whispering to myself
that the time I spent on you
was not wasted.

Even though,
today it hurts
to remember the way we were
the way I could close my eyes and be blind to you.
I keep whispering to myself that you were not a waste of time.

That no matter how worthless and careless and conniving and disappointing
you turned out to be–
the things I learned from your failures
gave grounds to the time I lost loving you.

yes loving.

I loved you.

I cannot stop hating myself for the things that I told you.
that you are decent.
that you are worth more than you know.
Why do I feel like I owe you some sort of apology for that?
For nothing more than some misplaced belief
that you were better than you turned out to be.

Every time
every ******* time
I remind myself that you taught me something
that despite the pain and the reeling
and the way you punished me for becoming disillusioned to you,
you were not a waste of time
I want to scream.

Because you are a waste of air and space
and any other material thing you might have stolen from someone.

But here I am.
Tagging the seconds you cost me with merit.
because I will not give you my life like the others.
I will not give you anything else.
em Jan 14
i don’t want to lose you
i don’t want to be with you
i don't want to be without you
i don’t want you in my life
i can’t imagine a life without you

you make me crazy
you are crazy
you have no idea
how crazy i am

you have no idea
how much you make my head spin
trying to wrap myself around
your conniving messages
trying to understand
why you do this to me
trying to understand
why i still fall for you
trying to understand
my first poem on here! this one is about my experience in a relationship
MicMag Feb 19
Let's sit down together
And have a discussion
And by that I mean
Lots of yelling and cussin

To your own opinion
You're entitled - that's fine
But your view is wrong
If it's different from mine

If you don't echo my thoughts
I don't care what you think
You're bad for our country
Taking us to the brink

Here's the way it is
No room for debate
And if you don't agree
You're deserving of hate

Evil, conniving,
Dumb or deplorable
Lazy, elitist,
Whatever - you're horrible

Our problems all stem
From the other side
So much for United
We'd rather divide
But don't worry, our side definitely isn't like that at all
By Jennifersoter Ezewi

It drops daily like an oil
full of sweet fragrance and blossoms made in heaven

Lingering on the sofa of the
seraphic heart of mine
with ardent reception on a
daily basis

Screaming peace and love
to mankind;
Expressing the ***** of sagacity

As the wind of mirth writes
on the sand of time.

Your love is evergreen
and unremitting,
assured in the midst of storm
conniving the peace of all ages.

My love for you
is made in heaven
because you invented it
in a garden and commanded
me to do so.
you taught me how to love you as My Father,
Trust you beyond measure
And stand with my hands lifted up.
This poem showcases God's unfailing love for mankind which is being appreciated by those who knows the worth like the narrator.

Published on social media on 2nd April, 2017 by me.
Arianna Nov 2018
"Who is the fairest in all the land?"
          They inquire.

"Not I, not I!"
          Though many aspire.

Shall we?
Shall she?
Away to the woods?

Ah, to the woods!
To the woods we'll away,
To the woods, she...

          Like the moon that resided at her birth,
          Dappled between black hair and eyes;
          Small coral lips the sole color
          That dares blush upon her face.

"Who is the fairest in all the land?"
They inquire,
But this time:

          No answer.

Though many still aspire.

Sneakers changed for boots,
Nice skirts for petticoats patched and worn.

Now, to the woods!
To the woods...

And away!

We shall,
She shall...

          Backpack slung 'cross 'er shoulders,
          Pipe puffin',
          Knife gleamin' out 'er pocket,
          Trippin' over branches
          Through the wild
          Wild fern jungle
          Far west o' the kingdom
          By lightwaves in the looking glass ---

                       " HA! Well now, I'll pour ya a glass!"

To the woods!

To the west!

To the woods,

And away...

         Snow White
Her name, in those days,

Sullied now

With distilled disillusionment
And the warmth of foliage fair,
          The fairest
          In all the green land.

... Snow White?

More like "Off-White"!


White Snow?
White Wolf?
Snow White Wolf?

Or just a no-name,
Little No-Name-At-All?

No-Name, indeed,

                    Sharpshooter of prose,
                         Green as the trees
                    And red as the rose.

City girl gone vagabond,
A camp one day she stumbled on:
Seven bandits therein,
Drinking whiskey round the fire.

Seven bandits,
Brigands though they be,
Not devoid of courtesy,
And each in turn presents his name:


Seven bandits a-huntin'
Neither silver nor gold,
But greedy for days,
For the curious wealth of Time,
In its endless abundance
And simultaneous lack, seemingly endless.

One by one,
They pluck the days,
Bright and shining, golden
Out the velvet-lined pockets
Of the Abyss,

Stashing them away
Amongst the timelessness of the forest
And its foliage fair
          The fairest, fairest
          In all the green land.

Rich in hours
For thinking,
For supposing
Upon the Earth
In its way,
Prosperous in time to spare
For living
Stripped bare,
          (Survival minimum)

Thus the days passed mortal kingdoms by,
While for these merry eight,
The sun and moon merely switch places
In the sky,
Against the rhythm of the "hours".

And so they lived
In an ever-after
The borders of "forever-after",
Free from the times' a-changin'.

But along there came
At some last,
While the seven bandits were gone away,
A peddler woman,

          Strange and bent
          Beneath a distant burden of ages
          And dead weight
          Of days lost

And on 'er arm there swung
A wicker basket
Flowing over with pomegranates.

"You there, No-Name!"
She calls out to the girl,
An' our gypsy lass strides o'er.

"Look here, lass, at me basket:
The fruit I bring is ripe and red
As youth and summer,
Fresh as the pangs of first love.
I'll sell it ye fer but a pence,
If you would like to try a bite.
How d' ye answer, me hearty?"

No-Name hesitates,
But the ancient mortal
Places the fruit
In our rosy maid's hands.

With reluctance,
With foreboding,
At this stranger-of-the-world,
The raggle-taggle Sans Nom peels back
The crimson flesh,


But one


Seed and,

Holding it a moment between her fingers...

Swallows it...


                    To the earth.

Aye, down she goes, fair Anonymous:

Bitter nectar
Drips from her lips,
Stains her rosy fingertips
          Dark as blood.

There she lays,
Our vanquished heroine,
Upon the forest's ageless floor:

                         Sharpshooter of prose,
                                   Green as the forest,
                                   And red as the rose"

She was,
Once upon a time,

She was...

From realities of decay and paper preoccupations,
In pure being of the world

In the world

Of itself,

By probing antennae

                    ... Conscious and corrupt...
At once poisoned
And liberated
By strange ivies
Of realization,


          Some tainted
          With presumptions of enlightenment,
                    Others with false perceptions
                    Of possibilities for perfection, and
                              Still others, by fear alone.

Thus, with one bite
It bites,
The bleeding rot
Of ineluctable years
In a luscious guise
Of bittersweet temptation.

Now, though, the question
In the body of our heroine:

          "Does it bestow
           A monstrous kiss of death,
           In moving blood to flow,

Sun and moon circle round,
And around;
Under darkness
The bandits return
To find...


                         You know.

And for all the days in their possession,
They could not count
The moments in eternity
Of which their nameless friend
Could never now partake:

          Only one interminable
          Swinging back-and-forth
          Of the cosmic pendulum
          Between light and dark,
          Dark and light.

Loneliness and loss evade increments of quantification,
And for every answer, the questions resound infinitely.

No-Name, No-Name,
Sprawled upon the forest floor:


                                                      ­         White.

          Seven bandits travel
          To the south.

                                                To the south!

                                                To the south!

                                          Through the woods...

                                                   And away!

          And Time moves with them.

Still, there she lies,
Slowly melting,

          Beneath the snow
          Once her name,

Becoming one with the black earth
Now cold
Guarding the warmth
Of dormant life.

Under the caress of snow,
And between the shades,
A metamorphosis:
Her form has changed,
As all must.

          The snowflakes upon her skin
          Turn to a silky pelt of white,
          The shadows to dark spots,
          Her hands and feet to silent paws,
          The coral of their soles
          Now the only color to bloom upon her.
          Antlers now adorn her skull
          And a feathery tail sweeps out behind her body,
          Long, silver, leopard-speckled,
          With the blurry kisses of a thousand mortalities .

The eyes alone remain unchanged.

          Leaf brown, flecked with amber green,
          Earth in Autumn,
          Ringed with grey skies
          And the ghost of violets.

Changed thus:
And thus:

          Soul realized.

How this came to pass,
No one can know.

The shock of life
Into dead connection
                         ⸺ A necessary interjection! ⸺
Catalyzing the detection
Of a heartbeat yet attuned
To potentialities for affection,
For good, in-a-world
Existing minute by the minute.
Inspired by the fairytale (albeit loosely), sleep deprivation, a bottle of wine, personal experience to some extent, and two random country songs. My mind ran away with this one, hence the length... D: Ah well. And yes, she transforms into a reindeer-antlered snow leopard at the end.

"In Time" by Mark Collie:

Also, "Straw In The Wind" by The Steel Woods.
Yenson Aug 2018
When we finish with you
you won't know who you are..........

Hey, Mr and Mrs Salt  of the Earth
of Majority Wins Avenue, Socialist Estate
Wigan and George Orwell Park
Red City London

do you want to hear something
please give me a bit of your time

I know I am not a white thief
I don't go breaking into my neighbour's house
and stealing from them

I know I am not a drunkard
begging borrowing and stealing
so I can get wasted and drunk again

I know i am not a liar or bands of liars
who go around destroying innocents reputation
slandering and vilifying to cover my tracks

I know I am not an envious jealousy ridden inadequate
throwing mud and obnoxious falsehoods to damage
an innocent person good name and character

I know I am not a psychotic sadist degenerate
getting neurotic satisfaction from causing pain
and distress to another

I know I am not a weakling and a lily-livered coward
a back-stabber and a faceless ***** who is an anodyne
bully incapable of face to face confrontation

I know I am not a shriveling gutless wimpy poltroon
hiding in a gang of samenesses  engaging in a shameless
war against one man

I know I am not an uneducated or semi-illiterate half-wit
riddled with ignorance, prejudices, bigotry and ill-thoughts
notion without rational validation

I know I am not a wanton hedonist who is unable to resist
satisfying lust or seeking pleasures regardless of more
pressing responsibilities

I know I am not a two faced hypocrite, a fraudster or cheat
who misappropriated and behaves without conscience or
considerations about others

I know I am not a cheap, small minded, vengeful, hateful
and irrational follower who joins other like-minded fools
in a unjust and unfair actions and deeds

I know I am not a wicked, perverse, heartless, soulless, cold
and pitiless damaged human who acts without measure,
compassion or due consideration

I know I am not a sneaky, conniving, twisted, disingenuous
sadistic, cowardly conspiratorial plotter who acts with others
of same kith to cause hardship, pain, sufferings to another human

I do know That I believe in hard work and earning a living honestly and when I had the opportunity that was what I did
I did not steal from anyone and then blame my bad choices
on them

I do know that I treated everyone I came into contact with
or related with fairly, on merit, without prejudice, sincerely, honestly and with due respect, except if they are house burgling
drunkard, wastrels, anti-social and Racists neighbours.

So dear Mr  and Mrs Salt of the Earth, friends and Defenders
of Crooks, Burglars and All with nefarious activities, wrong-doers and the Shameless

I do know at least that I am not any of the noted above, if this
thus mean exclusion from your Union and banishment from life,
I accept my sentence..........  

I thank you for reading

P.S.  Please feel free to come and **** what's left of ME!!
DEW Mar 2018
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.


When you’re evil and conniving corruption is key.
Maybe that’s why they try not to ever let me see.
I’m not in it for myself it’s all of humanity.
I got blinded by hate because they set up my fate.
Now I’m trapped and I don’t even know if I want to escape.
My whole life is a charade, because people treat life like a game.
Maybe it doesn’t seem bad but it drives the good insane.
Why do they feed on those with good intentions?
There’s so much to say that I don’t know how to mention.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder but I see nothing good.
Is this the type of life they live?
They just **** away all of the good.
So why can’t they find it in them to just work on themselves?
Instead of ******* people over and putting their souls on the shelves?
So why can’t people just see things from a different point of view?
Is it really only me who thinks life is this misconstrued?
I don’t know what’s next but their plans are filled with hate.
Maybe that’s why I can’t get off of this god forsaken page.
Everyone seems to be liars, thieves and run off of greed.
They say they’re evil, but all I see is hate filled planted seeds.
So what’s the point in living like this?
******* people over to get themselves out of remiss.
And I’m not innocent either because they turned me into someone worse than them.
But the difference here is now I won’t accept a good hand.
They distorted reality in a contorted sense, all to get what they want and steal what they need right out of people’s heads and chests.
So why the **** won’t they just give it a rest?
Theres no need to put people through constant tests.
I tried to make people see but I couldn’t fathom what to do next.
Things don’t have to be perfect, but it is life itself.
Maybe that’s why I’m usually cautious and now I’m starting to dwell.
So what’s the next plan? I don’t know what to do next.
It’s not all up to me but I’m sick of people’s *******.
So as I hope no one else has to suffer like me.
I’ll just hope that those who need can learn how to see.
A petition for forgiveness
Filled with happy lies and conniving rights
Sourcing change from numerous why's
Oh my, what a life to hide.

Building hope from where the past has been
Only to grieve from what has been
But never have I dream't of love so divine
Until I met you, and it all came alive.

But why do I cringe at all that I have
Only to weep to have it all back in mind
I'm sorry, isn't what you desire
But my love, its all I own in this life.
21st NOVEMBER, 1999
You're a young woman who posted a photo
of her lovely self or, for that matter, an image of any
good-looking woman. Now, you're a popular poetess
with a sizable following--most of whom are men
continually conniving to get into your pretty
poetic *******.
Ashwin Kumar Aug 2018
May woe betide you
May the worst of calamities
Strike your kith and kin
May you lose everything
That is dear to you
Every penny of yours
Shall be consigned to the flames
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Serving as divine retribution
For the bundles of cash
That changed hands everyday
Faster than the speed of light
Throughout your deceitful existence
Filled with lies and blackmail
Before eventually finding a safe haven
In your classy, upper middle class dwelling

May woe betide you
May every happy thought of yours
Be ****** out of your conniving minds
May your life be reduced
To one full of manic depression
One incapable of coherent thinking
Thus dwelling only on your failures
Till you eventually succumb
And self-destruct
With a flash of blinding light
Such that, all that is left
Is an unrecognizable form
A wretched caricature of regret
With your souls torn asunder
Leaving the world a little happier
A poem which is meant for my ruthless, cunning and treacherous ex-house owners in Chennai

— The End —