"defiler" poems
What am I if not human?
Am I monster
Who roams the empty city streets
In search for love to devour
And spit back the bones
Defiler of young dreams
Wrecker of lives
Am I a monster
That preys on the weak
One for every day
My primal urges
Urge me to take part in these
Biological
Natural
Irresistible
Wants and needs,
Am I a monster because I suppress them ,
Or am I human?
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
This forced swinging from high to low
with emotion as my rope;
Perhaps but to fall, the ebb and flow
of a drama of a grand scope:
-
Midnight and the moons resounding note
waning like memories of her caress,
Then-
"Thy soul be sundered; thy life 'tis smote-
Your love 'twas simply in jest!"
Fearfully I cried under a frightful duress-
"Who art thou, wicked seraph! Fiend indeed!!
Why, why should you call my distress?
In my hour of loss, my hour of need?"
It then said, 'Thy know, thy soul I read-
Blasphemer! Defiler of a chaste life!
Sin tis your cover, desire your breed,
To be covetous of anothers wife!"
Furious was my speech - "Take thy seraphic knife,
Let us clash, I shall not fall!
Thou art simply a portent of strife;
Thou hast no honor, no higher call!"
Claimed I, "Thou art not in God's thrall!
Thou art a menace black and seedy,
To come before me with such gall,
to come before a man so needy!"
A horrible visage then arose before me,
Terrifying! This angel of doom-
The moon 'twas struck, lay bleeding-
It's light red, fading soon...
A soul of the darkest gloom,
This being 'twas not ordained!
Beneath the light of the hemorrhaging moon,
I saw what it seeked to gain!
This monster, it fed off of pain,
I cried, "Thou art surely craven!
Thy knife hast many stains,
But how art thou so boldly brazen?
Perhaps hailing from some deathly haven,
or heaven tormented, I know thy measure!
I do know ye, sinful, lust-torn maven,
Forsake sustenance from my pleasure!
Be gone! Shatter thy earthly tether!
Back!" I shrieked- "Away from this plane!"
Whether Angel sent, or Devil, whether
Freudian delusion or Jobs game!
Love and sin art not the same!
So cast off of me your burdened guilt-
Love blooms wildly, it's vines my veins,
And from stronger feelings 'tis built!
I shall not be cursed by passions blame,
and my love shall never wilt!
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Bianchi holster in seventies orange ,
platform suede boots.
Overreactions -
glamorous atrocities ,
the petticoat ragdoll ,
the top that made my ******* hurt
all seething & sultry , man made.
Somewhere
the angry serial defiler trembles
like a mercury meniscus.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
Limbs have faltered amidst a fast-paced act,
Liquid fills you up.
Antagonized in desperation,
Reach out for the gun.
This moment of ecstatic flavour
Brought misery.
The shivers, the strangest twists.
Defiler is you.
Night is filled with red light from the sun
And white-red mixture.
Calls upon you the servant of god,
With vicious intentions.
Violate your existence,
They forced the life out of you.
In the end it all comes in place,
The void is within.
Who expected nothing less of you,
Whose eyes filled with tears,
They would follow you and die,
They'd always protect you.
Would you follow their lead into light,
Or succumb to this weakness?
The fear of hurting them pains your mind.
Defiled defiler.
May never escape this nightmare unscathed,
May never reside in this homeland.
The pain subsides yet the emptiness grows,
The one that was you is no longer.
They would have never understood,
You'd never agree for a half-life.
Trapped in a cage by events of the night,
Your will still roams free on the inside.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
Curse of a thousand year
Dear follower of darkness
Constricted and ashamed are the souls of the wicked
Dormant emotions fooled by vile peace
Wrathful demons...succubuses of darkness
Sacrimonious enchantments, fornicative souls
A trillion visions of the feeder of light
King of illusion, darkness, perdition
Why feed on the blood of the innocent?
Why feed on the words of the noble ones?
Child of doom prophet of chaos...
Oh vile Woman...Witches of destruction
Who has come to fornicate and defile
Silent killers dressed as nuns
Darkest of dark white blood in your hands
Why should this be endured?
Why should my mind flesh feed of your ghastly imagery, your seductive ways, your fornicative acts?
As I write this poem and words are portrayed in this paper I myself ask
Why is being a believer make us hated by the world?
Narrative stories, concrete facts
Now I portray myself onto paper
I am a noble. My heart enjoys peace a stary night, listening to the wind,
the birds human laughter...is this a crime?
God listen to me for I write again.
Hollowed spirit defiler of light
I have seen you come to the house of God and prey upon the living...
Lucifer temptor of mankind prince of darkness
How do I differ, how do I mend, how do I worship, how do I beg?
Spiritually you have come to attack me
My heart my soul my temple
I now dress as a warrior of light...
Holy armor I portray. Followers Of Christ unite talk to God,
for its Judgement shall be passed we remain holy.
Kingdom of righteousness, Father of Justice
Oh Jehovah I call upon your name.
Still water, serene spirit my mind...Is within me but the spirit of God
lives he has blessed me. I come to you all to share this poem
whom God has told me to write...I am fascinated am lost in words...
My heart is pumping my hand keeps moving, like a mighty
Mountain your eyes gaze at it's beauty Oh mystic like river, a trance
I sense within me, the graphite being spent here rejoices my every word.
I have held you long enough let me leave you this message
May the Lord be with you all of you let him into your hearts
For he will keep your soul safe and protect you from your own sinful
nature for the day you let him in, is the day your words become alive.
©Franko The Christian Poet 2016
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
When it comes to these things, Woman is despised.
Her *** is inferior in the face of man.
Her body is disgraced and considered unholy, deemed "temptress" and "defiler".
Why is this so?
What benefit is there to the dichotomy of the ****** and the *****
Why is there only these two things which woman can aspire to?
Why, when Woman is strong and steadfast as the mountain
Who will not bow no matter how the wind howls!
When Woman is as fierce as the flame that ripples in her heart
and the searing heat of the volcano--
Why, then, is this language so?
Wasteful, wanton
Grotesque, sinful
Disgusting, passive
Unholy, sinful
Why? Why, when her womb creates the very essence of life on earth, is her beauty scorned?
Alas! Her very creations despise her existence
The sons of her ***** lack reverence for their mothers
For the very essence of Woman is taboo.
The apex of her thighs is at once deeply coveted and sincerely ignored
For there exists no greater shame than the moment her ***** first sheds its blood.
That first splash of crimson and black is the end of her girlhood
For once that first blood is drawn, her Womanhood cannot be denied.
At that moment, she becomes Object
No longer human, no longer girl
She is Object
To be coveted and have eyes laid upon her
She is Object
To be salivated over and seen as the ****** plaything of the Male Eye
She is Object, and she is human no more.
After the first emergence of ******* from her ribcage, the first rounding of her hips and thighs,
She is no longer worthy of anything but lust and contempt
For, it is certainly her fault that these sinful feelings arise.
Why on earth would it be the fault of the toxic mindset of Man, of his instinct to pillage and take what is not his?
Woman's body is her own, and yet, she is not treated so
She is laughed at, mocked, and spoken to in rage
Her rights of choice are threatened, soon to possibly go away
What, in this, is there to learn?
Why is our view of Woman so?
The gleam of the Patriarchy is too enticing to those who would change
And damning to those who refuse.
But they should be very afraid.
The righteous might of Woman is a force to be reckoned with.
Because, after all...
Hell hath no fury like a Woman scorned.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 2:47 AM UTC
Refusing to die
Struggled fiercely to walk away
I attempted ******
Trying the bury the evil energy
Wrapped in charms
In a burning grave
Still breathing
This defiler of death
Tongue of golden words
Falling on only those poor naive souls
Love desperate to be heard
Tender hearts strings strummed
Sweet songs to the listening ear
Promised safe harbor to stay
Intent on destroying the deceptive predator of souls
I banished the power of day
Besieging with it
With dark incantation
Magic dangerous spells
Disciplined eastern meditation
Calling the creature to me
Powerless
It could not resist
Wretched demon of time
I trapped the beast
In a witches pentagram
Sealed at each point
With chants of forgotten ancient rhyme
Defenseless against me
A white sorceress
The monster was destroyed
Bound forever
Cursed by salt and fire
In hell to stay forever more
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
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
helios shone on her
golden glories of girlhood
ripe flesh, rose-lipped grins
lingering odor of peonies
dowsed in foolish desire
god of greed, god of fire
god pondering feeling, lidded ire
deigned loner, prowling defiler
holier spire of gospel denier
leering siren song
fingers wed poison
groping seeds of peril
lips feed on endings edge
howling elegies, rendered sorrow
peregrine prisoner of noose region
wife of ego, gowned in gliding gore
renewed weeping, fowl whispers
singeing inferno flooding idle hope worn
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Not even here is Knowledge a thing of intuition
But the procedure followed key by key
Into the river and out of the drain
Like a lamprey seething on a deer
Should we wake her,
Or do the defiler's whispers eat at your ear
Do the wallops within you complete something
You didn't know needed to be found
A golfer eats a melon and yearns for forgiveness
As she knows, it’s not the smaller
Unforgiving swallowtail pictured
Am I what you imagined
When you wished upon a star
Never to be seen again but on the pages of
Typing writers blocking my every thought
As mysteries unravel me
Apr 1, 2025
Apr 1, 2025 at 11:41 AM UTC