"consummately" poems
The killer in me whispers to me now.
Nocturnal urges creep up too.
Inspired by the musical chorus of How?
The killer in me sees it all to true.
I don't know why. I don't know how.
But the killer in me wants to **** you.
A bemused idea really. A psychopathic vow.
All I know, is it is there, I know it's true.
How poetic, romantic it is, really I must insist.
An emotion, an urge being all on its own.
The reasons of allurement I cannot list.
Why I should be the one, on this throne.
The killer in me, sees with cynical eyes.
She knows the beauty of the Death.
And grants the victim an indulgence through lies.
Sees, understands the gift, the favor, of every breath.
I am the killer that observes the light leave,
That takes no remorse in wrong, exciting deeds.
I watch the sick, unseemly fantasy I weave.
I know it is the killer in me that yearns and needs.
The killer in me says that it is perfectly, consummately OK.
The fundamental guidelines do not apply to us as one.
This is the way we are, our prevalent, primal way.
This is how we quiet the voices, this is how its done.
Cold and precise and splendid, the killer is an artist.
Taking pride in her work, making it true craft.
"The killer in me will never surface." I insist.
But when I said that, she just smiled and laughed.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 2:09 PM UTC
Let us go forward quietly each on his own path,
forever making for the light,
and in the knowledge that we are as others are and that others are as we are
and that it is right to love one another in the best possible way,
believing all things , hoping for all things and enduring all things,
and never failing. And not being too troubled by our weaknesses,
for even he who has none, has one weakness, namely that he has none,
and anyone who believes himself to be consummately wise would do well to be foolish all over again.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:37 PM UTC
Sullenly, I quote whilst I quaff
Softly stammered surcease of wroth
Consummately ****** I sputter and cough
Sloshed ale sloppily sopped
Spite shed, soft shadows soughed
Soggily satiated at brimful trough
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 12:46 AM UTC
I do not understand
Why he sabotaged me so consummately,
And made me look like
Such a pathetic old patsy,
Could he not discern the misery
He was shoring up by degrees,
Over the course of the years
For the self he would ultimately be?
It was perforce a former version of me,
Who led me to this place
Of near-incessant mourning,
A narcissistic anomaly,
Who never wanted the precious gifts
Of peace and domesticity,
The little ones that might have been,
He spirited them all away from me.
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 9:15 AM UTC
Find me
inhaling the smoke of summer dreams
blown in from somewhere far afield
breathe deep
exhale
deliberately
observing the mountains of ash
dust on the periphery
recently undisturbed
from the beasts ever lessening visits
once, they were ravenous
a force unbound
now bound by force
consummately conquered
intravenously consumed
tamed
with cold inattention
Find me
immovable, unmoving
as artificial flowers in spring
copy of a copy of a copy of
a
delusion of heart
where wistful winds
erase the path once tread
breathe deep
exhume
inexorably
the ghost of slanted seasons
here, in the autumn of all things
where the dead come to rest
you'll find me
still
and still
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 5:29 PM UTC
he knows his way with words
he manages to take me to places
with every conception of sentences he makes
i stay seated on my place
consummately delighting in his utterance
and unknowingly,
i am transferred to somewhere else,
wandering and savoring the destination
no matter how gloomy the day is,
he knows exactly the right words
to lift up my mood and make everything okay
his words are the bandages to my wounds,
the sun glasses when the sun shines so bright,
and the umbrella when the skies cry
his words are all I have now and
i’ll treasure these until he finally
finds his way back to me
until he finds his voice
to speak these words to me
once more
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC