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Jason Oct 2015
You better watch out!
You better go hide!
You better look up
and see the witches fly-
Halloween is coming to town!

It's the season for the deceasing
You'll always stay out late,
Eating candy and
trick or treating
While you scream and shake!

Oooooh, you better watch out
You better go hide
You better look up
and see the witches fly-
Oh Halloween is coming to town!!!
Sing to the tune of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town."

The original works and writings of Jason Deegan.
All Rights Reserved. ©2015
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...

circumcised: to purify spiritually

On the eighth day,
from my nativity,
circumcised,
as is the custom of my
wandering tribe.

marked thusly,
perma-identity carded,
thusly begins the path,
a pink-bricked road this one,
not to the Mighty Oz,
no phony curtain pulled aside,
where anyone goes to get
spiritual purification
for a price

Ah, you suspected something else,
something explicit,
not me~style,
give you honey,
road provisions,
come along for the observing his
clickety clackty clock

Ready?

For where we venture there is only
one exit,
And you are so not ready - I am who I am and I am
not ready too...

every line an enunciation,
every stanza an annunciation,
Angel Gabriel, a solo duo, unlike
Beyoncé and Jesus
we be on our way to any kind of purity,
poetry can buy

who knows what awaits us,
could be catholic, universal,
even the uncircumcised
get a chance to enunciate.

let me offer a clarification.

proclamations and sensations,
conditions and exploitations,
brown eyed girls, and surfer boys,
functions and malfunctions too,
abbreviations or adjudications,
conjugations in the congregation,
exhumation, the final excommunication,
I shun none,

I enunciate this:
false starts and junction boxes,
too many so so tired,
when can I lay down my shovel
and cease the decreasing deceasing of the body

this day nears complete,
and soon to eat
the last meal,
and still I ask

when can I lay down my shovel,
when will purity be mine,
my spirit's circumstances
repeat the commercial,
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...

forgive my abstrusion,
my metaphors always offer perfect laxity,
choose the interpretation that pleases most
and my drift is toward the end of days,
when will my brow be a motif of
anointment and crowning head birth?

This is my Enunciation.

I cannot yet lay down the shovel,
and this writ is as of yet, still uncircumcised -
completely incomplete, it will be finished
when the spirit says
you are the purity,
the trinity of two hands holding two others holding two others holding two others and the chain is perfect because
it is broken perfectly, a forever repetitive respective handle with care
process

Forgive my visionary words that
give little clarity,
so summary due you,
This is my
Pronoun citation
I am
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate
on my way to the purity of spirit.
It just happened  on the way to sitting down to supper.
Ember Bryce Sep 2013
We write because there is an unexplainable magical phenomenon surrounding us called conscious.

It is what expanded in the very beginning, it's will evolved everything living.
It invented these elements, that binded to create compounds.
With the help of gravity and expansion, these natural chemical compounds slowly started structures.
Other elements were produced, binded, and reproduced, exponentially manifesting other life.

Thankfully, consciousness is beautiful.
And it has an exquisite pattern that boggles the mind. Astronomers, mathematicians, scientists, artists, and other mortal men are astounded by it (even if they don't know 'it' yet). Because of this pattern, known as The Fibonacci Sequence, also relates to geometry, dimensions, and space, creates "The Flower of Life".

Look up into the stars and you will see them all pointing out, all moving still as one, there will be one brighter star that seems to serve as the center point for the flower. But focus on another and you will see the flower there too. Howl at the stars and you will see a dimension of movement as they shine a tail reacting to your vibrations. (I wonder if that's what wolves always see).

It is because of this pattern that the compounds "fell" into place. They happened upon a dimensional line and shaped nicely into spheres that includes all their elements they were attracted too. They followed the Sun and other stars for the light and a leading center point. Our rock (this planet) just so happened to be perfectly away yet close enough to the Sun, and had the right kinda elements, that it was able to form a livable habitat for something..

It was the first four main elements that came alive with activity on the surface of this land. Earth, Water, Fire, and Air started oozing, spilling, swimming, forming, into a place that gave way for the compounds that make up the cells of plants to sprout. Bacteria grew also out of cells and atoms and ****. Bugs and other simple creatures where the first to be bestowed upon this mass. This consciousness just wanted to grow, however way it can or does, it did. Even as reptiles, as dinosaurs, as birds, as sea creatures. The consciousness that started the craziness was snot stopping any time soon. It was going through trial and error, how we, everyday, always do. The consciousness just wanted to grow, to do, to be, it needed to replenish it's energy through eating whatever else it had created, it needed to reproduce so as to continue, and it needed to die to make room for the new and improved. But this consciousness is always there, always around, flying everywhere.

Other habitants of this universal consciousness has seen our Planet, and they were pleased. Good and Evil wanted to help or destroy.

The weather, and geology, are also still a part of this consciousness, and with their elements and the expanding evolution of the atmosphere and core of the Earth, were able to evolve as well. Other animals came about as a reaction and adapted to the ever changing environment.

Finally, the consciousness that exists in every thing that tells it to move, to change, to do, to be, to create: started having emotions.. Thus, humans were created. We still have that older consciousness of wanting to do, to be, to create, to reproduce. We have viral qualities of latching on to a host and slowly destroying here (Mother Earth), we have plant like and animalistic qualities becuase we have a male and a female that reproduce, we feed, we grow, we protect, we crave the Sun, we crave acceptance. But now we also crave Love. We encompass compassion. We have consciousness, and we KNOW we have consciousness, we not only think and make decision, but we know that we are. Isn't that crazy!? I believe many animals are starting to think this way too..

We embody emotions, the greatest being love. Fear was an emotion for the first creatures on this Earth, it is slowly evolving to Love. Fear made us make more. As bacteria and viruses, we fear deceasing to nonexistence, so we become stronger to keep up with the cures. As plants we feared being over powered by others, so we reached out our limbs and branches to touch closer to the Sun. As animals we fear other animals. As humans, we know what it is to love and be loved.

Some Earthlings know the powers we carry, and of the Mother and Father.
Some give praise to these every day, because we are the children.
Some don't, some have lost what it means to be.

Some have evolved in the opposite intended direction. Which is silly to say because as consciousness' only meaning is to grow, be and do, with this statement, consciousness is going in the 'right' direction. I do not know yet why there is good and evil sides of consciousness. did one come as a result of the other? were they nth part of consciousness at the same time? Can we all agree we need both? (cannot feel pleasure without pain, etc) or can we see what it is like with just good surrounding.. then in that case, who is to say what is good: The child dancing in the rain, watching her garden grow, catching droplet on her tongue, would say the weather is 'good'. The lovers' getting washed away in the flood trying to save each other, would not. But all this is 'the way things are'. Anyways..

to be continued
Eslam Dabank Nov 2023
For the first time ever; I truly do not care
    if you, him, or her wished me a happy birthday;
But, I wouldn’t mind if you did. Though it is fair;
    I am one of the lesser friends; I am a boring play;

A play so fake; I am of made up characters,
    Sometimes I am the flattering villain in smiles,
And at times I am a copy of the Westerners,
    At others, I am gullible, yet I never am;

I pretend to be; but I am miles away,
    For interesting I am not; so funny at least be,
Says my brain; for maybe they will remember,
    That my birthday was today; It is an endless plea:

I always remember and prepare pages of wishes,
    For almost everyone, but all I get is 4 days late
One liners sent out of guilt; to stop the guilty itches,
    Not out of care, love, or from genuine friendly state;

I deserve it; for again; I am merely a boring play;
   A paradoxical headache of weird introverts,
And annoying extroverts; I barely even weigh,
    To a normal person; I am made of endless alerts;

Alerted, focused, attentive; all on your acceptance;
    I am what I feel you want me to be; a nice man,
A racist gangster, a diplomatic figure; I am resemblance,
    I resemble everything I see in you and scan;

I am stardust that was never meant to shine,
    I am a thread; intertwined as I feel pleases,
I am a road with temporary signs; I am grapes;
    For you I squeeze myself into juice; or ferment

Into wine; I am a fake play where you write scripts,
    I submit, because all I cared about is receiving,
A birthday wish. On that one day in the entire year;
     I do not want even want gifts; because when you don't,

I feel like I am ceasing to exist; slowly deceasing
    from everything that we were: teenagers ambitious,
WhatsApp stickers collectors, School runaways,
    Kids deceiving; it feels like I am dead; for the dead

Do not receive birthday wishes; I feel peerless;
    A white beans *** lidless, a body complete limbless,
A walking sickness, a moving flesh in stillness,
    unpardoned by my faux and obvious silliness.
  
I do not care about not getting birthday wishes;
         But I cannot not overthink what it means.
Andrew McElroy Jan 2013
Is it I - the one
Me, who has to
strangle on this
side of
the morning?

With the lashes
of dew still
dripping, tripping
off of the
edge of
the fire.

Reminders
left there - all curled
up and slowly
deceasing
down into
the open eye.

Fog languidly
sweeps up from
our hollow valley
and begins to
eat away

slowly and slowly
into our
lives; Built on
chaos and
disarray from

Each other.
Can
you feel it?
Can
you feel
the thunder?

The Majestic,
The Majesty
Of the
Unknown. . .
The whispering
voices.

Awakened by
her songs
in the soggy
morning light.

A crack in
the shades,
reveals a
world

waiting to
be found,
when you
decide

to be a
man and
put

your shirt
back on
and

realize that
you've
just

dreamt
that
same

old dream

again. . .
Dougie Simps Mar 2014
Can't function, I.... I Can taste the passion in her sweat. Light kisses. Confusion...I can taste the venom in her lipgloss, I feel the hesitation in her heart with every breath.
She takes over control, not allowing my hands to explore her land
Telling me to keep my eyes closed...placing her soul in my hand
Blood pressure rises, rises like the pain of a fever
As she diggs her nails into my skin, as she makes a sceptic out of a believer.
Eyes closed so I can't read her.
Was this all planned? Was I drugged with honesty? Am I just another victim, the captivation of a queen sized cell, holdin a lying man?
my ink absorbs in her body, passionate writings forming on the wall. The sunrise, with goodbyes and kisses. The moment you know she'll never call.

*** was her weapon...small cuts from her seduction, as I attempt to break from these lust chains...Drained from toxic pleasure, infected, deceasing slow.. from a woman's lustful rage.*

$.€.X||
*** kills
Rae Aug 2017
I'm a withering flower
slowly deceasing,
turning black in the colour
in the winter, freezing.
- cold -
ran into a whispering angel at the cemetery today,
customary to have a small ceremony
when the monument finished,
the grave now well and truly marked,
an unveiling held, the kaddish said,
a small stone
placed upon the monument,
a five thousand year old tradition,

started by Jacob

we line up to place our rock of ages goodbye token,
an opportunity to angel whisper one last goodbye,
but good bye is not on my mind,
no, my own approaching deceasing dead,
for the pains come regular now
in the places that means trouble ahead,
and no one knows but me

so to my friend Al,
who once asked me
where do the poems, the words, come from,
I whisper in your six feet underground ears,
though I swear I hear ya laughing both
right behind me both
at your jokes, and at me,

“see ya soon, buddy, see ya soon”
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/376358/with-each-passing-poem/

https://www.shiva.com/learning-center/death-and-mourning/unveiling/
brandon nagley Jan 2016
i.

Once on the bier, now far beyond the cerulean,
Once benighted in death's uninvited,
Now sipping on empyrean cloud's, that stretcheth past the Caribbean.

ii.

All once fogged, bitten by snake's and dog's, stumbled upon
The log's, of quietus in the abyss; awaited I for deceasing ship's, to carrieth mine billow's, to darkened dungeon hell-made Pillow's- awaiting with mine name.

iii.

Thus, I was delivered throughout all that pain, mine old-self was slain, given rebirth again. Given I another chance, from God other's dismiss; sent to I, was mine daffadowndilly spring, from God who heard mine ring's, as mine mouth screamed and wailed. He answered all in detail, the finest wine to man, he gaveth me the best of plan's- with darkling queenish strand's.

iv.

So with a humbling poetic stand, I holdeth a ring inside mine hand, and I shalt boweth lord, O' God first to thee; then I'll lowereth mineself secondly, to mine queen, to slippeth a ring upon mine sweet.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Bier means- a movable frame on which a coffin or a corpse is placed before burial or cremation or on which it is carried to the grave....
cerulean means - deep blue in color like a blue sky.
Benighted means- in or overtaken by darkness.
Empyrean has to do with the sky .
Quietus means- death.
Billows are waves.
daffadowndilly means in archaic tongue-  an archaic and poetic variation on daffodil, a yellow or white spring flower.
Darkling is poetic for darkly or dark.
Seb Tha Guru Sep 2016
It seems like blessings keep falling in my lap...

I make poems for free, more so really on freedom.
Obstacles and demons surround me, Somehow I beat em.
Inspired by Chance, so I'm taking every chance like a rapper, moving through the chapters while doing my praising dance.

I started from the bottom.
Now I'm here, not the top.
Clothing brand, book and album, all ready to drop.
Jesus loves.
Jesus saves.
While we're stuck in our ways.
Let's all catch the wave, pray, hope and smile for better days.

Basically training but I've graduated.
Like the last kid getting picked, but I participated.
Patiently waited, for elevators, now I'm taking the stairs.
With every step I'm growing up that's why I cut my hair.

I'll give him praise, all the way til I'm gone.
Hopefully before deceasing, the family is on.
We'll eat good.
Thanksgiving, yet it's misunderstood.
Blessings on blessings forever, falling down like they should.
Raquel Stewart Jul 2014
its cold where i live
and i don't mean in a city or a town
i mean where my soul lives
my body lives in a city made of lights and dreams
while my soul could only dream of having dreams and touching lights
there are days where sounds are just my own
songs are made by the slow thumping of  my deceasing heart
water that seem to only come from the creases of my dark eyes
tears
i call them
my mind begins to question whether or not its alive
alive
dead
alive
dead
alive
dead
it keeps repeating.
reality becomes a distortion
make believe becomes reality
death seems easy to grip
easy to hold
easy to love
easy to accept
and as my soul watches it's body walk around the streets made of lights and dreams
it curls itself ready to go *****
Copyright © 2014 by Raquel Stewart
We Are Stories Feb 2015
My world!
My beautiful world!
Your mouths are endless fountains of profound shouts and
I have seen the things you breathe in man's hearts and
I've tried to tell my brothers that they're lies,
But we keep letting your voices in every time.

My world told me that poetry was supposed to be my only thing
And my only way of expressing my inner me.
It told me lies about who I was and how I should think.
It told me that I need to write like I bleed this ink.

My God!
I don't want anyone else to think that I'm still in love with me!
You are the only thing I want to see
And your hope has grounded me by your streams!
I'm in love with you and how you fill up my dreams!

I'm not an aching, brooding, bleeding, receding, deceiving
Deceasing, cheating, repeating voice with a black heart beating.
I am your son!
I don't know how you allow the dust of the earth
To be rebirth into your arms and claim you as a father!
My voice was always meant to be singing love songs to you.
Recently I've been dying to sing again.

I want you to know that
When I go that
I just wanted to hold my God's hand
And dance with him forever.

I want you to know that
When I go that
I honored my father with my lips
And used my fiery tongue to bless and encourage.
Nash Wolfe Dec 2014
My heart can only take so much pain

That I won’t talk about.

My eyes can only bring so many tears,

Then I have to let it all out.

All this pain you caused, I don’t know why.

Everything you said turned out to be a lie.

I guess my love is not meant to be,

Every time I go after it, it turns against me.

So here I am surrendering.

Hoping one day life would bring something worth remembering.

I want to mean more to this world;

But people just see’s me as a little girl.

My heart is split apart;

It is being pulled two ways.

Stumbling day by day

Until my heart heals, I’ll forgive you.

Until my heart forgets, I’ll forget you.

Until my heart can love, I will love you.

Until my heart remembers, I’ll remember you.

Until my heart lets go, I’ll let go of you.

Until my heart can be set free, I’ll fly to you.

At this point I am just confused;

Which way should I choose?

I hope this will all come clear,

And all this pain will just disappear.

But until my heart forgets, I’ll forget you.

Until my heart will let me love, I will love you.

Until my heart remembers, I’ll remember you.

Until my heart lets go, I’ll let go of you.

My heart is broken, deceasing away

I penetrate alone, a waiting for the day.

But until my heart finds the answers;

Until my heart says good-bye

Until my heart lets me go,

Then you can have my heart

Until the end of time.
Leo Cunio Jan 2015
Slowly bleeding,
Dreadfully dreaming,
Forcefully seeing,
Wearily deceiving,
Finally....


Deceasing **.
I am gone.
Ashton Sky Dec 2015
It is as though I am standing
In a crowded room
Hollering "MERCY"
From the peak of my lungs
Hands trembling
Melting onto the floor
And not a sound to acknowledge me
Not my screams
Not my cries
No eye contact can be caught
I am deceasing
Dramatically and loudly
Surrounded by everyone
Surrounded by no one
I have feelings to feel
wen i see scars of inhumanity on
faces of dictators i feel vanishing them
wen i see developing future on the
ruins of rich past i feel deceasing them
I have feelings to feel
wen love is not adhered to its compassion
i feel loving the losing tears more
wen a child is not addressed with innocence
& reckless survival is a quest i feel questioning
every living being
I have feeling to feel
wen world is progression in every field
and sack of humans are roaring beneath
i feel conjuring unanimity

I have feelings to feel may masses start to feel my feelings
Along my feelings i feel to roar loudest & evoke masses know what can be done to feel my feelings
This Quadriplegic Heart

This quadriplegic heart
gone the way of the dinosaur,
deprived, feelings deceasing,
mind and body carrying on
as one dead and existing.
Solitary isolation my prison shroud,
worn,  and no one comes near,
tender touches and tender words,
memories confined to a fading past,
as I embrace loneliness like a lover.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021
Jim is the author of two books of poetry “Musing On The Cricket Game of Life Part 1 1/2” and “An Extravagant Way of Saying Nothing” both available on Amazon
Duncan Brown Apr 2018
Loan me a pyramid
Methinks I’ll create a desert
And a few things laid to waste
Hamlet’s now been discredited
His girlfriend went to his head
And the bald bard is now dead
Put that in your jest good fellow
And play with it until’ it’s finite
Cos’ I’ve got a life of my own
Dramatists an’ their princes
I ask you; who needs any of 'em?
This skull will paint the town
An' the treachery of Elsinore
A deep and blood soaked red
Life's much better red and dead
At last this poor, poor Yorrick
Wants his rich an' cold revenge
The pink champagne's on ice
An Ophelia's really quite nice
Twice a maiden for half the price
Chaining daisies for her prince
Will she jump or shall I shove
It’s jolly difficult to determine
If she’s coming or if she’s going
With half her bunnery to a nunnery
Or all her nakery to a bakery
It’s all really quite *******
I must mismatch that doxy later
She's such a lovely little mover
An’ quite the mountain shaker
She’s wasted on that lunatic
Besotted with his hollow crown
And everyone loves the mad prince
The odd fellow’s such an infinite pest
And an absolute calamity of error
Now the loser’s love will love  
This fool who looks and acts
Like me, a prince with brains
That's my own unkind of justice
Laced with the sweetest contempt
Her father was a broken pawn
Shop keeping’s in his blood
He had madness in his method
But his ambition was quite flawed
Shallow depth betrayed his thought
He could’ve have been a contender
Not just a two bit part of a player
Upstaged by a curtain. How tragic!
Death by drapery; don’t you just love it?
His son is now a polished footman
And such an excellent head waiter
He spends his life in glass mirrors
Reflecting on his boney features
As I make sure he waits forever
So much better never than Laertes
That’s my motto for another day
He may count himself so fortunate
He was such a snappy dresser
(Do take me to your tailor
I'll deal with your leader later)
‘Tis a pity he was such an idiot
If brains were more his fashion
And skulduggery were his judge
He might have fared much better
Of characters faithful to a grudge
He could’ve lived much longer
I'll make him beg and borrow
At my very own convenience
Then dispatch him to his father
That eternally serial draper
Ashes to ashes and curtains to curtains
There’s a poetic justice in that
And it’s ever so sweetly prosaic
I might even copyright that
It’s so great to be (sic) on the up
And watch the shallow pale cast
And all their precious thought
Come tumbling, tumbling down
Life’s just great for a vicious close
Horatio; a name to conjure with              
Is now my personal skull dresser
His life is in his hand held mirror
And vanity was his saving feature
But not enough to save the creature
Vanished in the puff of a hairspray
Mist and then tragically unspoken
By all outside his fractured image
Hair today and bald tomorrow
More in boredom than in sorrow
That’s the way life goes in Elsinore
A place of lunacy and ditch fillers
Bedevilled by ghosts and spectres
Wearied by the mortality of trespass
But lovely for their dramatic effect
With dreary words in opaque coats
Whose only life was useless death
Haunted by their unbroken breath
Killing the living is as easy as pie
Deceasing the dead takes real talent
But some how I know I’ll manage
Burying them is a different matter
Perfect for the professional digger
Such simple souls with nice shovels
To gouge their own infernal trench
'Neath the crust of an all receiving earth
Their trade is part of my obsession
And their undertake is imminent
I’ll ditch them with an eternal trowel
And let them shovel hell as well
Isn’t that so me, generous to a fault
I’ll let them share a double vault
Two messengers and a message
Arrived in time for their departure
Later’s so much better than sooner
When your life’s the dying business
Overtime’s a bonus. Die one get one free!
Who’d resist such a generous bargain?
Certainly not a haggling fool like me
Most consanguineous with his deed
The King and Queen were in their dream
Before they met their nightmare      
Now they’re gone to match their deeds
And the kingdom is quite empty
There’s nothing left in their possession
A perfect state for my accession
The hollow hat suits this skull
At a jaunty and a rakish angle
And Ophelia will look great on me
Do bring that doxy closer to her maker
She can bring her chain of flowers
They’re perfect for the occasion
Tonight’s the night for her accession
Tomorrows the date of her departure
She can take her mad, mad prince
To that too, too solid earth
That gladly awaits their tenure
And I’ll be king of the castle
It’s so true; nobility fits me like a glove
And power is my one true love
Down the below and up the above
But alas and alack it came to an end
The doxy brought her princely friend
Who wasn’t quite full round the bend
Neither was he my best friend
With a daisy chain in every hand
And designs upon my scrawny neck
He stretched it ‘til it made that sound
Which left me crumpled on the ground
Rattling bones and kicking legs
Gasping for that sweet fresh air
Which forsooth was never there
And thus it was I met my fate
Both outrageous and unfortunate
The shallow earth consumed my flesh
And stole my ****** hollow bones
More in vengeance than in sorrow
They let me rot for all tomorrow
Perished by their flowery garotte
The precocious pair claimed the lot
Castles, kingdoms and a ****** moat
And all that rots in old Denmark              
All by the method of their madness
And I their puppet on a string
I do believe they planned it thus
To leave me squirming in the dirt
To take the blame and feel the hurt
A cat’s paw for the embrace of death
By the doxy and the scheming heir
My my, my, what a precious pair
Death by daisy chain, how pathetic
A comedy more tragic than divine
I’ll never be able to live it down
And they will never dredge it up
Alas, this last poor Yorrick’s gone
And all their ***** doings are done
Less in grandeur than in greed
The beggars planned the ****** deed
And all I got was this floral ****
Oh what a foolish fool dies in me
And oh what a pity rules in Elsinore
A greedy prince an’ a scarlet *****
That’s their lot, there’s nothing more
Except this one true final score
The bald bard knew the old trap door
Concealed a fall in the rakish floor
Is everything wormwood, wormwood?
That’s the question, and there’s the scrub.
Michael Marchese Jan 2020
Footprints
In the once
Frozen tundra
Where hunts
Of mammalian
Mega-fauna
Fed for months
The forerunners
Who tread
Never lightly
Though impacted slightly
The snow-packing,
Packs of tracks
Fleeing them nightly
Yet still none escaped
Extirpation events
Imminent in the state
Human nature’s
Expense
A propensity
Intensively cultivating
Immense cities
And firmaments
We’ve invented
Still plentifully drenched
In its carbon-based
Thinking
With senses entrenched
In an ubermensch quenching
His thirst for extinction
Another coaled-age,
Icy gaze
In the blinking
Of time’s
Neutral eyes
Rising tides
We are sinking
Like links in the chain
To oblivion’s depths
Anchored to
What remains
Whence prehistory slept
Undisturbed for millennia
Secrets in keeping
Contained
A methane
Climate change’s
Deceasing
A species from breeding
And breathing the air
And with no heir apparent
Forever unleashing
Destruction inherent
Inheritance-reaping
Peace-speaking
Tongue lizards,
Heart blizzards
Heat-seeking
A homeostasis
Of polar sun-tans
In a verdant oasis
Of frigid wastelands
Travis Green Aug 2020
My body was brick beaten, hardly breathing, bleeding,
screaming, stunned, shunned, slumped arms disarmed,
harmed, fractured, scattered, a weeping sea filled with floating
memories, a boulevard exploding with bullets.  I was
scrambling to find the missing pieces to my masterpiece,
a runaway rhythm dozing off to sleep, indifferent, stricken,
sickening, overstretched muscles slammed shut, ripped
apart like a slashed star, shipwrecked, distressed, bumps
and bruises stinging my bleached skin.  I could feel the world
smothering my shadowy words, my broken breath harboring
damaging and crazed verbs, chopped centimeters and perimeters,
dazed meters growing weaker, drowned out with no power
and life.  I had never felt this way before, like a meandering
mountain stream, like a swallowed dream, like my serenity
was fluttered, cluttered, unable to dictate my current state,
the instrumentals incessantly increasing and deceasing, a helpless
harbor with no starter, a knifed syllable, a fatigued period,
a scared exclamation mark dropped and parked.

— The End —