"corrode" poems
Relaxing peacefully on her lap
Her fingers ran through his hair,
And,speaking soft, soothing words
Waves of calm caressed him there.
Delilah used her feminine wiles,
Honeyed words dripped from her lips,
A sense of serenity enveloped his soul
From her tender fingertips.
The secret of his amazing strength
Was reluctantly revealed to her ears
Leading to open the floodgates
Of times of sorrow and tears.
On her lap he continued to rest,
Unawares of her subtle scheming;
Carefully his luxuriant locks were cut
With scissors sharp and gleaming.
Little could Samson have known
The intentions of her black heart,
Her cunning and overpowering charm
Hit him as with a poisoned dart.
Samson’s strength suddenly left him,
As weak as a kitten he became,
Delilah had truly duped him,
Although it seemed to her a game.
As hard as granite was her heart,
No true feelings of love were there
Else, why would she hurt him
With no chance of any repair?
His life had a very sad ending,
Of this most people have heard,
It’s recorded for our perusal
Within the pages of God’s Word.
The lesson to be learned
From this ghastly episode
Is that disloyalty is as acid
That the heart can corrode.
Like a wilting yellow lily
Under the sun’s searing heat,
Samson’s strength melted
Into a pool of utter defeat.
Remember this we should
And be careful how we act
Lest our deceptive hearts
This drama we re-enact…
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
Currently there are:
Thousands of cars zooming down the highway at breakneck speeds,
Millions of lights illuminating the dreary road,
With the power of a hundred valiant steeds,
Causing the cement to corrode and erode,
Thousands of fossil fuels burnt merely to transport other fossil fuels,
Pollutants filling the air and altering our environment,
But these are the worlds most precious jewels,
All to feel the capitalist tyrant.
But hey... At least I have air conditioning in my F150 while heading to set off Chinese fireworks while celebrating the 4th of July.
The American Dream.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
Midnight approaches
Tick tick tock
Won't someone stop
The Doomsday Clock
From striking oil
Drilling rock
Thirsting soil
Aftershock
Deserted hourglass of sand
Shifts to resource hungry hand
Tyrants of time assume command
Greed consumes
This wasted land
First come the roaches
Tick tick tock
The bugs can't stop
The Doomsday Clock
With beehive brains
No voice to talk
And droning minds
Comprise the flock
As lone wolves feast
On sheep they stalk
Then fear encroaches
Tick tick tock
Too scared to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As violence claims
Each city block
Blood drawn on streets
Like sidewalk chalk
When Hatred's loaded
Gun is cocked
Beyond reproaches
Tick tick tock
How could they stop
The Doomsday Clock
When despots trade
In human stock
Waging war
Upon this rock
As profits slaughter
More livestock
The end approaches
Tick tick tock
No hope to stop
The Doomsday Clock
As poisoned skies
Corrode this rock
With toxic lies
Controlling hourglass of sand
Clenched by Atlas choking hand
Titans of industry command
Still Chronos rules
This dying land
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
A monolithic sculpture stands upon a hill.
Ornate work of marble marks the artisan’s skill.
Clad as a knight of yore, with stony gaze held high.
Pilgrims travel from miles around to fall under his eye.
Epitome of courage, virtue, and respect
effused upon the villagers traits they should reflect.
Elements gnawed at the stone but failed to corrode
the manifold of lofty aims the knight would bestow.
Dark years beset the kingdom causing disarray-
Tyranny, vanity, and deceit led the people all astray.
Artisan's work above, a shining icon of probity.
A resolute bastion against the world’s impulsivity.
A day will come when the people reach distress;
crying out, they beseech the artisan’s redress,
but long has the craftsman been journeying far away
humbly allowing his handiwork, the message he conveys.
Jul 23, 2021
Jul 23, 2021 at 9:26 PM UTC
Tortured people tell themselves the past never happened.
They sit and reminisce about memories that they created.
Their hands are brown and worn down,
looking like a sibling of the ground that will eventually be a tomb for their bodies.
The teeth are fake and so are the smiles.
Hair falls off like rusty leaves brushed by a breeze, warning of the death of winter.
Limbs turn into string, ******* hang, and guts grow; like pregnant, stray cats.
Whenever they die, their houses will be eaten by their children, and not even a piece of gristle or a picture frame will be left.
The house will be nothing but a sun-dried ribcage:
a discarded postcard with the address marked out.
The children will sit and talk of their parents, repressing the abuse and the inability to meet expectations.
The children will work in sterile cubicles, thankful that their hands will not be stamped by calluses, yet knowing their fathers would not approve.
The children will open up the dust-blanketed boxes and stare at old family pictures, not able to recognize the people who smile and have perfect posture.
The children will lay in bed with their spouses and say, to no one in particular,
'Why was it never enough?
What did I do?
Was it me?'
The children will be tortured by these words,
by lives that weren't in technicolor,
by the paranoia of being tolerated instead of liked,
by the anxiety that a paid-off house
and nice car couldn't alleviate,
by themselves.
The children will retire and will have realized that they worked their entire lives just to enjoy ten years.
Their hair follicles will let go of strands and locks,
like a dandelion being stripped by the wind.
The enamel on their teeth will corrode and, before long, they will be thankful for the sensitivity of their teeth because the coldness of senior-citizen-discounted ice cream will be one of the few things they will be able to feel, let alone put a genuine smile on their face.
They will sit on their recliners, stare at their keyboard-kissed fingers and tell themselves the past never happened.
Because that's what tortured people do.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
My home is made of grit and dirt
The taps run sweat,
the windows are shattered,
their glass clinging to frames
like broken teeth to gums in the mouth of a boxer.
My town is a fighter,
built of scrap metal and machines.
The streets are steel
and the river nuts and bolts,
its gears turn through rust
and parts corrode away.
Time turns it green, orange,
black with oil and grime,
but my city is a fighter,
made of grit and dirt,
and it lives.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
I love to hear how Ocean breathes
waves crash as Sea exhales
from afar, where you are, perhaps you can hear
salty breeze come kiss my face
wrap my feet in warm beige sand
a sight to my eyes, to see this face:
as the sun blushes, a sunset so grand
she'll soon hide her face
under the mighty blue table that is the sea
palm leaves wave goodbye to Sun
as she tells the seagulls to guard her Ocean
as I look at layered salty scapes ...
my figure hides in three storied bricked cliff
the Ocean, so solemly tranquil
a blue face, beige chin and forest green beard
... as the Ocean has gifted me this romantic sight
as the salt waves corrode at the clock
I see a path form over this blue face
high tides give way to a silver line path
yielding in luminant reflection to Moon
Moon cried this tear path across Ocean's face
hoping to meet me, but stops in the forest beard -
until Sun gifts me another day in grace
Ocean, grant me this sight again
to witness the romance of Sun and Ocean
as I wait for Moon to once again
cross a chrome path across the waters
to meet with me again.
Nelize © 2016
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC
1358
The Treason of an accent
Might Ecstasy transfer—
Of her effacing Fathom
Is no Recoverer—
—
The Treason of an Accent
Might vilify the Joy—
To breathe—corrode the rapture
Of Sanctity to be—
2.5k
An angel told me yesterday
To live
One has to die first
And I did
Now is this life
Where my thoughts corrode
My innerself
And mind takes over
My Senses
And finds no solace
The Chaos balancing two opposites
Continues to lives in past
Looks upto future
But never stays
In
The present
Is this life
Where all one does
Is to pay for
Past
Karma as they call
While one does not even know
How much balance one still has
To pay
How can I live my life
When
Whenever I ask the angels
They let me die
Another death.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 4:20 AM UTC
Run, carousel horse, run.
Try to understand the circles you’ve spun.
Staked and anchored to docile motion.
Acting out this ordered commotion.
The wooden platform on which you stand.
Turns to the song of repetition and demand.
Bright flashing lights and epileptic episodes.
Rusted machinery breathing out chemical corrode.
Dressed in painted costumes of false grandeur.
A perverse imitation of true splendor.
Children come to watch you prance.
They scream and order that you dance.
They yank on the reigns with savage cheer.
They poke and **** and hiss in your ear.
You’re nailed upon this dizzy ride.
Built from material and empty pride.
You live in a swirl of regret.
Time comes, it goes, then, you forget.
You’re an instrument of attraction.
Something you don’t feel even a fraction.
But, like clockwork you whistle a tune.
Of smiles and laughter and undercurrents of doom.
Run, carousel horse, run.
Try to undo the damage you’ve done.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
I see my life flashing before me
Red siren, blue siren
This fathomless landscape bores me
Red siren, blue siren
These ****** destroy me
Red siren blue siren
My God I implore thee
Red siren, blue siren
To save my life.
They pump me full
Thump thump
Thump thump
They always have.
So full of drugs and lies
That corrode in the past.
They pump me full,
Right from the vein
They drain my blood,
With their disdain
They chain me down,
Right to the bed
They shock my heart,
Inject my head
Bump bump
Bump bump
This ride from hell,
Their eyes so wild
My wound does swell,
Does swell so large
Oh gangrene supreme
They shock my heart -
Cut out my spleen -
The room goes dark,
They shock my heart
Cut out my spleen. . .
Bump bump
Thump thump
Oh needle people,
Sticking me full.
Oh needle people,
Take me for a fool.
Red siren
Blue siren
I pray unto thee now
Red siren
Blue siren
I call out your name
Red siren
Blue siren
Because to these imbeciles
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
My life is just a game
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
I pray and I say!
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
Have mercy on me!
RED SIREN
BLUE SIREN
As these dogs,
They watch me bleed.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Empty, paralysed and in shock
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Plane-bombed towers stretch and implode
Bone dust smothers a city block
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Suicide bombs start to explode
None live to stand in courtroom dock
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Buses are blown up in the road
Red heart of a city they mock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Another gruesome episode
We’re held in a violent deadlock
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Where is the truth that we are owed?
Death’s time is set on Terror’s clock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Here you see a man and a hand
A reflection of opposing forces
What is and what should never be
An unhealthy, God-awful endorsement
Afflictions corrode from within
Stone-fixed in self preservation
A shattered temple confined
Or anew flower creation
To live, love and be loved
Surrounded by color and contentment
To be lost in the shadows
The wrong side of saturation
Cracked, battered, distorted and beaten
Shattered a mirror that opened a window
Shaped, fixed, filed and finished
Broken a bond revolved around no
A torn life set in stone
Here lies what are us
A life that should have never been
Metamorphosis of Narcissus.
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
Saying words meaning nothing, transfixed with "I"
it's startes every sentence, and if i could i'd end with I.
Only opinion that matters is my own, mastery is a poem.
syncing lines with words and words weighing me down like stones.
Thoughts so sad they corrode my morals like acid.
sitting on my bed, it starts and i become homesick.
Pathetic as i once was and even more so, can you believe it?
still smiling and laughing at jokes never said, hoping to break even.
We're going out, it's all on me, except for the money and the driving.
your phone is probably blowing up from all the numbers you're dialing.
never not gonna do what we did last weekend, eh?
Slow jamming to oldies in a "Smoke that bud" kinda way.
Chain smoking for fun, and laugh at silent jokes.
planning our next unknown move, totally stoked.
A Queen is just a pawn with fancy moves, you say.
those weren't queens but it doesn't mean we're not kings, i say.
They were ordinary but we made them out to someone extra-ordinary.
Alright lets stop this nonsense, thinking about people who don't deserve it.
my emotions are swelling and empty, complicated i don't know how else to word it.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Let me spin my wheels
A little taste of the long flat road
I’ve forgotten how it feels
A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Make my chainwheel hum
A little taste of the up hill grind
Thirty miles and some
A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Way out among the farms
A little taste of dust on your lips
My metal soul would calm
Climb up onto the saddle, Bobby
Clip into the pedals tight
Feel my frame respond to you
You always crank me right
Stay with me in the saddle, Bobby
Our ride will be as sweet
As the wash of lactic acid
From your shoulders to your feet
It’s good with you on my saddle, Bobby
I know you feel the same
You push my pedals hard now
And laughing call my name
Lean easy in those corners, Bobby
Accelerating the while
My frame is all aglow now
On your face I sense a smile
Flying home with you, Bobby
You get the adrenaline kick
It makes you sprint the last half mile
And smooth out the left hand flick
A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
I am waiting stem unbowed
Come find me soon and ride me
Before my rims corrode
A little taste of tarmac, Bobby
Make me spin my wheels
A little taste of any road
Or forget how good it feels.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
The air feels heavy in the daylight.
Morning noise falls through the cracks.
Like unwelcome guests.
I do nothing.
But breathe in. Inhale. Corrode
Heretic lungs weighed down by sighs.
Combust. Purify. In fumes of nicotine
And smoke of papal white. Aware
Each breath burning away at life.
Eyes that see no oversight.
Curtained in ******* light,
Fade out of view
The room is shun away
The world lies flourish
I have made an enemy
Out of the Day.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
I have lost all control.
Having kids was not my best idea.
I am at my wits end.
Why does my bathroom look like it snowed?
Stop climbing on that coffee table Leah!
I have lost all control…
Do not play in the road!
Who puts pimento spread on a tortilla?
I am at my wits end!
These socks should not be a la mode…
Im selling you kids to South Korea.
I have lost ALL control.
Why is my banister starting to corrode?
I’m going to need stock in IKEA…
I am at my wits end…
My sanity is leaving by the busload.
Who knew crayons cause diarrhea?
I have lost all control!
I AM AT MY WITS END!!!
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:55 PM UTC
Finally you dissappear from my writings,
My stanzas are pure with live philosofies.
I want to write about democracy and dictatorship,about nature and existance,books and paintings,fashion & lifestyle.
I am free from the love and hurt poems you bound me to write of.
Finally,i have found a new muse.
One that will not slowly corrode my passion for art as thou hath been doing.
I am writing about freedom.
I want to cross the boundaries of my imagination and land exactly where im supposed to.
Perfection.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Everything is happening so quickly
so many negatives surpassing the
insignificant glimpse of positives
that never seem to suffice,
there’s always this light at the
end of the tunnel that everyone
speaks of, yet i continue to see darkness;
a journey down this long tunnel brings
no illumination but only a continuance
of nihility, the damp walls
seem to bring the chill humidity
closer and closer with each step,
the droplets echo the narrowing,
flickering lights dissipate at passing,
the gag sparking stench of sewage
and ***** make the voyage to
light even more unbearable than the
previous hesitant inching towards
the so called spoken about bearability of life,
sudden scintillations of light bring sight
of russet, worn doors, consecutively placed,
discoloured of crimson roadkill,
I open the first door and see a woman
tied and bound, gag in throat,
beads of sweat turning the white gag
to watered milk,
the dirt beneath her nails entwines with skin
and blood dredged by her own fingertips,
to front is a tray of what seems like
torture tools
*intrigued, I slam the door
and avoid a kiss
from Judas*
The next door, I open and see a man
sitting facing the corner,
wrapped in a flickering fan,
staring at a wall of carvings of ticks and dashes,
to see arms of cuts and gashes,
with a tray next to him
comprised of razors and knives
he sits picking at skin of bruises and hives,
tempted to grab the tool and corrode self,
with the reflection of whats within, I slam the door
and avoid
Finally the third door
eagerly stares to
me with anticipation boiling veins,
I press my ear to foreshadow,
I hear a cries; a man of hatred
and a woman of pain
I open the door and find a bottle of whiskey
I take a swig and feel as if Judas kissed me,
Within the third door; walls
with peepholes to confirm the calls
on the left I see the sliding knife
over-panting roadmaps of russet to
the neck of the bound woman,
the screams are deafening,
they present a vibration,
stuttering thoughts, and releasing the fixation,
prompting the admiration
to view the second door,
I see myself, in door 2
tremors and convulsions
seeing blood expel every vein
as the verticals
halt oxygen to the brain
Departure brings me
to the abysmal realm of society
where the burden of negativity
proves to provide no proof towards what
differs between the endless, narrow
tunnel-visioned cesspool of bone marrow
and psychosis driven visions and the
narrow pathed voyage of life.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
I got real "gems" within
with my heart so polluted
obsolete genes making 'em so deluded
fighting among self
while ringing thy bell
turning my inside into live hell.
High rankers behaving like bankers
cranking up on money
weak got taxes ramped up
feedback mechanism didn't got me backed up
my hand's burning
it's more interested in drugs cranked up.
world within, so bizarre
worshipping 9 days
on 10th exploiting the avatar
immune system's malfunctioning
exterminating none entertaining all
stand up for something, "Nah dude, they'll make me crawl".
condition's critical need some dode
ain't working to flourish, all they do is corrode
making my core scrambled as a puzzle
suppressing every positive struggle
my existence's that of a mine
mining glitter degrading divine.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 2:13 PM UTC
Seashells, twigs, and sand.
Brick, iron, and mortar.
Something as weak as shore debris
will be carried away with the tide,
but what of the iron?
It will corrode and the mortar
will wear away.
It’s the same as the sand castle.
It just takes it longer to
fall apart.
They are also the same because,
at one point or another,
someone took the initiative
to dream them and create them.
True, I am the master engineer
who created the stone fortress,
but before that I was a child
and all I could build was a sand castle.
I put hours into making it perfect,
only to have it rinsed away
by the afternoon tide,
never to return again.
But I suppose that’s alright,
because for those few minutes
that they castle was finished
I was happy.
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 5:35 PM UTC
See me. Hear me. Converse.
Generally I hate people.
Maybe if I got to know you,
I could hate you too?
I despise various types of self,
15, 16 through 19.
If life is a high court I judge all
for their discrepancies.
Procrastinators need now,
believers need reality,
liars need honesty but honestly
we’re too sensitive for honesty;
speak or hear. So I speak clear right here.
Hear right. Arrogance needs insults,
the self-righteous need to take a look in the mirror and find their own.
False reflection, false affection.
Attention needs to be looked after,
Naïve views need blindsighting.
You can’t love hate; if you hate love.
White lies make me get dark,
why bark if you’re not a dog?
Quit ******** deceit carries a receipt.
I’m just a flea itching to bite.
Eternal fuse, refuse to explode,
re-fuse, implode. Exposed.
Corrode societies iron clad prose of civility.
Severe sincerity.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
There was nothing in this vast landscape of delusions, only illusions.
A flower, a friend, a gift, a betrayal, a tear, a shattered mirror and perdition.
The music of the euphoric nothingness enticing the darkness,
calling for the shadows, everlasting, never ending.
I know, I deserve this. Always threw the stone and looked the other way,
the sin, the penitence, the lament, the void, the shallowness, the meaningless.
Living each day a moribund marionette moving through the crowd an empty mess.
The ticking, the hunger, the instrument, the mending of the ending,
but then came you. An unexpected gaze wondering through my maze.
Navigating each passage as if though you knew the way, a hindrance.
Let me corrode here please, go away, I thought. I never said it.
You remained here almost an embodiment of the hope I sought for so long,
Perhaps this is another of my creations, a desire from the dire.
Your hands are tepid, driving the frigidness away, maybe it's real?
An hour, a day, a week, a period of time slowly passes.
You are hope, my hope, my desire, my wish, my light and gentle day.
I found the impatient clock fast-forwarding each hour until the time had come,
to see one another.
Your world was intriguing and vivid everyday was fun, every night a pain.
Without a warning you brought the richness of the paint in to the callousness of mine.
The sky once again blue, the birds with songs, the grass now green my world anew.
Mere words such as “i love you” can't paint paint the picture, for it was more.
And yet here I am again. Alone.
Alive, not dead, back on the path to my journey.
Collecting, standing, walking and eventually running through the paradox.
Anew, exhumed, hope plastered once again against my chest,
and as I cry, tumble, fall and learn;
Each days is new, each meeting a joy and each moment thanking you.
Good-bye! I bid farewell to you, let our past be remembered beautifully,
and the present lived and the future build, as once again;
I construct, destroy, collapse, laugh and dream.
As today the ticking resumes and I commence from where I stopped.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
Weeping shards of bacteria hearts
You were my king of hearts
And I traded you in
The flush I received had nothing to do with poker
But poke my heart you did
You nudged the slumbering beast and upon the moment of its awakening
It became human
Humanity made it corrode that which it loved
I saw the rust weighing down your easy smile
And my eyes wept
But the beast sang out a tune of fierce nothing
I learned from you all things and nothings
Except I love you
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Your words--
They grate and corrode.
Rice and birds--
Explode.
Rage wells,
It overflows.
No more silent spells,
We're grown.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC