Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Umi Mar 2018
Complete, four wings stretched for you as an obsticle, big and ominous, they block the light of the sun as it crosses your way,
He will promise you that over walls you will go if you obey him,
Paying from the rule and standing proud with spiteful intent,
Or maybe he will make you believe to be able to shoot over the sky,
What a trecious act of misleading lies, leading to greater falsities,
The cards of fate are already dealt, do not sell your soul, do not lose,
Filth comes in many classes and ranks which cannot be conveyed,
Evil knows tricks into your heart which cannot be explained at all,
His footsteps will leave their mark on you once purgatory is served,
Burning up and feeling priceless now would simply be foolish, dull
Waiting for the cracks of a shady eternity once he breaks his promise,
Beware, the sweetest words might be a game of seduction for you,
Clouded, lost, uncertain of its outcome, struggling for the light inside,
Make another move, you won't be able to turn back, broken light finds no place in this realm of unending decisions to be made today,
You will see it is true, but then it will be far too late for realisation,
Each soul has it's given date, now as beneath the soil do you want to be laid with your records flawed, at last it comes to heaven or ****,
Will you decide now or will you delay, my precious treasure,
He will promise you wealth from amongst the heavens, to lead to poverty from the deepest ****, a cricle you won't escape from,
His promises are transient lies, all he wants is your soul which dies
Do not listen, turn away, do not become a silly devils prey

~ Umi
em Feb 2016
It's not a big deal to tear apart the happy picture I posted.
It really doesn't matter.
But it did.
Because a month ago I couldn't smile like that
A month ago I would've been afraid someone would see right through me
A month ago I was afraid of people like you and I guess I still am.
The big deal is, even though I wasn't meant to see what you were saying I still did.
The big deal is seeing that happy picture on her lit up screen made me feel for the first time since I've been happy, that cut wrists would make this feel better.
What you say matters. Don't make the mistake of thinking that a ***** look or hateful remark won't really affect anyone. Every action has a repercussion.
May we not discuss long run dividend payments model today?
Student asks.
Can you suggest which Deal Model is suited for us?
Lecturer replies:
Deal or No deal
Posh eggs or humble eggs
were not at BREXIT hands
A voice of Saint chanting:  
Where there is a will there is always a deal.
Is this the best moment to have a silent choir class instead?
Lecturer announces.
By Angel. XJ/27/03/2019
Dominique Dec 2018
One inhalation of the sky
To separate the murky sea
And reassure you as you cry
The clouds still hover by your knee.

Two puffs of moonlight left behind
As products of the midnight rose
Then let your sorrow be refined
As angels let their weak wings close.

Three champagne bubbles of a laugh
A courtesy sent by a friend
A flash of lightning in the dark
Like vaulting over to the end.

Step four is harder than the rest
As it depends on nature's strain
Abandon sunshine on your quest
And wallow in torrential rain.

And halfway there it's number five
And rhythm marks a saddened truth
A little song to drown alive
A beacon in such inky youth.

A devil's dance at number six
Invest in favouring your greed
Some crime electrifies the mix
Prioritise things you don't need.

At seven let yourself break free
And choke in sympathetic arms
Unscrew the lock and break the key
Because your friends contain some calm.

Except, at eight you'll be alone
Reciting old quotes that apply
And spending hours on your phone
Relating till your eyes are dry

At number nine then, here it is
The scent of fear that smells like grace
You tune your blood to lightly fizz
And brush the tears from off your face

Ten gashes end the whole ordeal
Of shortened breath and shaking hands
Though sunsets bleed the way you feel
No one else will understand

It's not a choice, it's a command.

Now your mind is stressing less
You've cured the chaos with a mess.
(Please don't follow number 10)
Tristan Brown Jun 2018
"It's Alright"
I hate those words
Because when dealing with death
They are complete lies

But what should I say
Should I lie and tell him
It's alright
When I know that isn't true

Should I burden him with the truth
That it's not alright
And his hero is now a ghost
Never to return

I think and I try
To find somehing else to say
But my mind blanks
When I need it most

So I lie
And tell him It's alright
Because I don't know what else to say
This is the beginning of a a series of poems about death and the journey that we take in dealing with it with this being the beginning   and ending at acceptance and growing from it.
Seema Jul 2018
There has to be a way
To say
Whatever I may
Losing myself again and again
As the pain grows in my chest
Trying hard to restore my sane
But none retrieves,
To stop the pain
Tears give way to potholes
The depth unknown,
Hiding my face
With silent mourn
Beggy, sunken eyes call to you
None pay attention for
Some may just come along,
Asking for more
A drink or two is good enough
Thanking the bar when served at night
Counting my tears, bearing this love
Emotions, rise to fight
A guilt in my throat, struck my senses
To wake up from this hangover feel
Pleading myself in a hurry
I made death, a fine deal...


©sim
Fiction. Spilling imagination.
Riane Vas Feb 13
Dying didn't hurt too bad.
But leaving him ,
Hurt the most
She didn't want to go .
So she begged death for more time
But her clock had stopped.
And her soul was fading.
But she wouldn't leave,
She couldn't leave.
So death offered her a deal,
A deal that let her,
Live, a dead life .
A deal she accepted too fast.
And deals made with death
Are binding forever,
If only she knew.
I might continue this story. Let me know what you think of it. Open to any notes or suggestions.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Suddenly, twelve poems flavored Christmassy came to me to give away for the fun of it, the hello of it, I may say, corn, that's okeh.

Thursday, November 01, 2018
1:14 PM

So what?

that justifies, just ifs this olde dude from the desert,

into real-ification in 2018 Christmas forever story,

Wow. Who knew? Little drummer boy, remember?

What can I bring to him? Who even mentioned
us giving? Honest, what could you give

Christ, the anointed, promised, messiah, message
******* up to be angel choirs in heaven's spotlight,

good news, aka the gospel or spell, which is no unintended
causality, BTW. be tee dub, we say.

the good news, the scary angels sayed, that not too cold

night to be out and about with the little lambs, that time
o'year, good tax collectin' time,

celebrate that. Taxmass. Okeh.

This is a Christmas story of the sort that can twist things other wise twisted to be untwisted in this peculiar way.

Wicked is as wicks are wont to be, twisted wit' a bit
o'this
the ****** things all explode. Abit o'that, they light a candle in the thinn-ist-light-o-night,

And, when the battle's over,
"IT IS FINISHED" has been muttered,

we won. That's done. Merry Christmas,
God rest ye, merry, gentle men,

twixt the trenches, 2018.
Jah, twelve days of Christmas, twelve poems, to me it feels like Christmas, opening well bought, hard sought gifts from unexpected realms of reality. You get what I'm sayin?
ryn Jan 2015
.
\       |       /

\               •think my               /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\   fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more   /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/        bulb come on really quick•hope-        \
fully as soon as I flick on
/               the...switch•               \
|   ooooooooooo   |
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••
ooo
L Oct 2018
Im losing track of time again.

Lost in words, lost in my own head.

Theres so much to see, so much to do.

So little time.

And it slips from my grasp like how sand slips through the fingers of a clenched fist.

Theres no fighting the flow.
    So why try.
Dont bother. Youre gunna end up getting swept away anyways. Deal.

"*******, its dark outside."
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2018
why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now ***** and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted chemical organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...
zee Mar 14
Her pleas were a song
Continuous, poignant and long
For who would hear her inaudible pleas?
Chained up in a tower, pleading for keys

The tune was a lullaby
No matter how much anyone was to try
The songbird was imprisoned by the immortal agony and revel
She’d made a deal with the devil

Not knowing of his penalties and tricks
She knew what’s done is done and blunders are difficult to fix
Though even to the most oblivious it was clear
That she was to waste the rest of her immortal life in fear

And so, as she seemed to her subjects as mighty and great
Her own verdicts, her foolishness and actions were like a hefty weight
She wore them under her own skin
Incapable to bear her own sin

Her reflection was something she could not see
For all she sought to do was to get rid of its provoking face and flee
Her soul had been sold
For everything around it, was damp and cold

The devil is not someone rational they told her
Alas she did not heed, therefore misfortune she did stir
The contract was inscribed in blood
And now she was a fearful flood

No one heard her soundless cries
And saw her endless tries
No one heard her hushed pleas
And saw her heart freeze

But her soul had been imprisoned in everlasting misery
And all she had was an aftertaste that felt bitterly
The bitterness of life
Had cut into her humanity with a knife

All she ever aspired was to find meaning
Not turn out to be demeaning
Or be the motive people sealed their doors at night

And why men carried guns with fright

She may have been the fiend of the town
With a malicious crown
But all she craved to be was an angel with wings
Though all she did was dangle from the devil’s strings
Zane Safrit Mar 27
The CAFO trucks roll past
Smelling of hog **** and ***
Their passengers squeal maga,
We are not afraid, they cry
Our **** is in your water
You breathe our **** all day long
Who’s crying now?
Maga, they cry. Hahaha

Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2019 by Zane Safrit. All rights reserved.
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
Is it wrong to feel mistreated?
To never be accepted?
I believe there's something wrong,
and I'm trying to stay strong.
But I'm not sure if I can deal with this anymore or any less.
Brother Jimmy May 2017
Fidget spinner
This year's winner

The latest fad
All schoolchildren had

To have

"We have to have it!", they exclaim,
"Last year's toys just aren't the same!"

A nine dollar trilobular spinning wheel?
Why would you need one? What's the deal?
"It demonstrates conservation, Dad.
Can't we PLEEEEASE get some?"

Conservation?

"Conservation of angular momentum"

So it's educational, eh?
Oh, okay.
#fad
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
One can never be friends with the devil.
Just as he smiles easily, he can toss
you in the oven.
The wise words of my mother loool!
Lyn ***
Next page