Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero
this is a work in progress
Fritzi Melendez Nov 2017
I am tired with the feeling of being dismissed, criticized as to what I'm going to do next.
I am tired of forcing myself to choke back the tears, hide my barb-wired stained arms behind a long sleeve sweater.
I am tired of fidgeting to keep my sleeves past mid fingers, because my knuckles are swollen and bruised green and purple from yesterday's misdemeanor.
I am tired of insomnia always wanting to be held by me, being woken every 2 hours as if I was tending to a crying baby.
I am tired of running around and around my brain, always overthinking until I go past insane.
I am tired of how my energy stops out of the blue, leaving me nothing but to stare into the wall dazed and confused.
I am tired of making people run away from my presence, love and hurt and leave me until I'm left too sick to keep myself barely on balance.
I am tired of walking with wobbly and scraped knees, my palms are bleeding with skin peeling off, barely able to write more sad poetry.
I am tired of being hurt by everything and everyone, they say my heart is a blessing, but it has cursed my life since the day I was born.
I am tired of the cruel criticism towards me, years upon years of insecure comments that developed into PTSD.  
I am tired of having to rely on someone else's heart just to make myself feel worthy and complete, I can't help sharing my entire heart just to get it back again obsolete.
I am tired of the sickness that tells me good morning each day, opening my mouth to cleanse my body of the food from yesterday.
I am tired of looking at my skin in the mirror, as my rib cage becomes more visually clearer.
I am tired of breathing in the oxygen plagued with depression, opening my eyes to a vast blur in my vision.
I am tired of smelling the fear raid out of my body, their eyes watch as I shake and choke on my spit as I drown in the sweat caused by my anxiety.
I am tired of feeling incomplete, my hollow heart filled with thoughts of the night my soul fell to my feet.
I am tired of crying on the bathroom floor alone, shaking with ***** dripping from my mouth whilst trying to type for help on my phone.
I am tired of wanting to be loved and adored, knowing full well they'll leave me when they get bored.
I am tired of scrolling through my phone to fill the space of pleasure, because his name is screamed to me until not my legs, but my brain makes me shake as if I was having a seizure.
I am tired of being vocal about my mental illness, if it only brings me back into a bigger mess.
I am tired of ruining everything I touch, shattering like a fallen sculpture, not being able to fix it much.
I am tired of thinking until I get ******, screaming with every  punch on the wall because I'm alone and won't be missed.
I am tired of dreaming what could have been between him and I, instead I begin to think of different ways to die.
I am tired of seeing my window sill every morning, thinking about how I can just jump from it so I can avoid today's daily dooming.
I am tired of talking without words to speak, instead they're drowned out by wails until everything turns bleak.
I am tired of being told I'm going to be a failure, only because my suicidal thoughts have made me unsure.
I am tired of the pressure for me to do better in school, knowing they are just going to insult me for being an emotionally unstable fool.
I am tired of the tears kissing my cheeks goodnight, only to knock me out with the help of the looming monster that is impossible for me to fight.
I am tired of feeling and being weak and fragile, telling myself I'm strong are only words filled with false hope dripping with vile.
I am tired of the days I feel happy and alive, whilst also telling myself this is temporary and will soon deprive.
I am tired of my mouth being sewn shut as to not mutter a single word, trailed off when it finally unravels to people who refuse to have me heard.
I am tired of the numbness in my body after I break down, realizing the man-made tornado had once again ripped into my lonesome town.
I am tired of being alone and having no friends, because I'm still trying to heal from the knife twisted deep into my spine from the last person that wanted my life to end.
I am tired of keeping myself in captivity, when I know that I can free myself to feel amenity.
I am tired of the bipolarity in my decisions, always asking to be left alone but cry when I'm not given attention.
I am tired of being the family burden, an annoyance who can never do right with flaws that can not be undone.
I am tired of getting tangled into the constant mess I put myself in, they say I keep doing this to myself as I place my problems on my head with a pin.
I am tired of being ******* to the strings, in which exhaustion plays and moves me like a puppet's unescapable fling.
I am tired of being tired all the time, it's becoming so hard to find words that rhyme.
I am tired, I am just so
Tired.
Lately has been nothing but terrible outcomes and I feel worn out and exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can keep these shallow breaths going.
Grace Jordan Aug 2013
Bipolar.

The toxic word flickers across the blue screen, taunting my tears into reckoning. Everything makes sense now. Now I know each time my feelings crash there is no reason, no problem, no answer. Just disorder. My disorder. It’s swirling in my veins, intoxicating me like a drug, and sometimes I like it.

Each manic moment is incomprehensible perfection, with I as the center of its universe. The world is mine to own, the Gods mine to control. Every movement is unstoppable, the energy seeping out of my very pores. Words come easily; all I am is a flowing expression of the beauty within. Nothing is above me, all are below. I am flawless. Why can’t everyone be so perfect?

Yet each depressed crash sends me spiraling into a darkness I have never known. My nails become bitten, my hair a tangled mess. Every turn I find myself nothing but alone, no one around to notice or care or even see. They are better, everything’s better, as long as it’s without me.

I am a cyclical monster, luring in my prey before dragging it into the pits of my own personal hell. Every shattered shard refracts inviting light, yet they cut deep and only capture people in a lethal web. I am breakable, unfixable. Every shade of me I thought I understood is now a vague gray. Is this smile mine? Are these tears real? Am I feeling pain or is it just the chemicals and synapses dancing haphazardly in my brain, concocting this uncontrollable body that I do not know?

I cannot hinder my blood from screaming for help, but my heart cannot tell what my lips refuse to speak. Lips lie when I try to hide, the habitual sin I can never break. People must be punished for their sins. Locked within my prison, kept without my food, begging to be unchained yet pleading to cement my sentence. A prisoner cannot **** when they are dead.

He asks to help, but he is ignorant to the truth. My arms pull him close while my heart shoves him far away, dooming my flicker of a fantastical romance before it begins. It shoves them all away. The choice is shove or break. No one deserves this, the swirling vortex of uncertainty, depression, mania, unknown. How could I break them too? The only paths before me are to lose them or hurt them. Losing them would **** me; hurting them would **** me. My heart will be murdered either way. How inevitable it is for me to be dead.

This disorder is not terminal, yet its killing me quietly, so slowly, and forcing me to feel alone in even the most crowded room. To become an alien in my own world. They want to save me, but they don’t understand, she doesn’t understand, I am too afraid to understand. It won’t be spoken. Only on paper can my iron heart ease, only alone can I say what I know is real.

Bipolar.
Tea Feb 2012
superhero holding friendship

I admire, I spectate , I watch and learn and notes I take
On a thunderous beauty, on this breath taking sight
Quivering breath at a mountains height
Those close around I fear they might drown
Terrified of what’s making change
Terror stricken, I flip through pages
that would never be re-written, never changed

I’m waiting for struggle, for flailing arm
for loneliness , peoples pulling up guards
Fences that we build and view as our shields
Just a horrible thing ,that wont let me in
Misunderstanding transforming
Now it’s a black mask of confusion, dooming

I panic at thought spinning around
Head is to full ,I feel for the ground
Darkness threatening my light life
I gasp for friendship and understanding
Then you flew in with a quiet landing
Tiptoeing around you lift me off the damp dirt
Wiping the darkness of my clean world

A new view of refuge, I need and needed you
Just a boy with good intention
Transformed into a superhero holding friendship.
Together walking side by side
we sort through what’s wrong and right
We plan a way to save the drowning
Climb fences and break through walls
Tear down others guards
I walk a walk , no longer alone in the dark.
I have you.thank all that is good
We stand were I stood
I love you
PoserPersona May 2019
Better to be Pyramus and Thisbe
than god Apollo and Daphne?
As love oft triumphed by envy.
Oh to be Abelard and Heloise
or Juliet you and Romeo me!
Cleopatra, Marc Antony,
Orpheus, and Eurydice!
Martyrs to Cupid, were you wary
of the price to pay? Did you find peace
from Plato’s coined mental disease
in Pluto’s long halls of Hades
or the self induced daily shade of trees?
What of love dooming kin to Achilles?
When Dido and Aeneas meet
is her suicide guaranteed?
Pray tell us, can true love ever be free!
jake aller Mar 2020
Corona Virus Poems


Index
The virus from hell is amused
End of the World
Every Day I Turn on the New
Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
Chaos
Corona Virus Fears Tanka
My Phobias Overwhelm Me
Fear Fills the Air
Is this the best we can get?
More Trouble Every Day
by pass the alarms spreading across the land
corona cinqku
Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
A lone man stands in an empty parking lot
hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
The Virus King Cried
Bring out your dead
the Virus Came From Hell
The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the corona virus is testing us all
the call goes out
the horsemen begin to ride
nature spirits revolts against humanity
Last Human on Island
Corona Virus Haiku
the virus came from hell
bring out your dead cries
Be Afraid  haiku
Death Comes Knocking
the virus from Hell haiku



the Virus from Hell is amused
the Virus from Hell is amused
laughing at the world’s panicked reaction
as it marches through the world unabated
infecting everyone in its wake
as the world awaits its fate
the virus smiles he ain’t no fake
he is the real deal
he is death itself
he is the end of the world
the grim reaper is smiling
god is silent as usual
the world’s leaders
dither and rather
as the economy craters
everyone hoping that God
will save them
the virus does not care
insults and orders do not work
the virus simply does its virus thing
infecting everyone it encounters
and thousands will die
equal opportunity offender
killing the rich and the poor alike
but more poor people
just so many more poor people
than the few billionaires
the virus smile
his work is done
and mankind is doomed
so be it the virus thinks




that is the way of the world
and the virus is the new king
of the world

End of the World
end of world
the fears world-wide
soon find us dead
bring out the dead
ll the dead die
death lies here there
there goes here
as death here comes
soon here death comes


Every Day I Turn on the News
debunking the bioweaapon conspiracy theories
every day I turn on the news
nothing but news about the virus
the virus from hell
the world is filled with fear
and my anxiety levels rise
every time I turn on the news
oh my god I say
we are all going to die
and I am so afraid
afraid of everyone
afraid of everything
dreading the latest news
and nothing relieves my fear
I watch the world
loosing its collective mind
wondering how much more of this
can  we all take
I scream out
Dear God save us all
god is silent as usual
and so I realized
we are doomed
perhaps it is the end times
perhaps not
I turn off the TV
try to stay calm
hoping the madness
will not overwhelm us all


Irony Meters Blow Gaskets
the Irony meter gasket
is blown again and again
with every statement
of our chaos president
and his endless surrogates
promoting the latest Presidential
on spot guidance by our great leader
that must be true
because our dear leader
says it is so
The President accuses his democratic rival
of being senile and needs to be in home
and will be run by his radical left allies
and the right wing media
echoes the presidential absurd comments
refusing to acknowledge
that the president himself
is rapidly fading into dementia
and his radical right cronies
are looting the government
driving out expertise
even in the midst of pandemic
Oh  yeah the irony meters
are blowing gaskets
every single day

Chaos
the world descends into chaos
as our world leaders
led by the chaos president
are overwhelmed
by the smallest
enemy of all
a simple virus
straight out of hell
blows through the crumbling
third world public health infrastructure
living proof of the decline of America
and no one is prepared
and panic ensures
with every Presidential tweet
as people don’t believe
a word he says
conspiracy rumors spread
everyone believes their own reality
as the world spins out of control
the chaos king is in his element
convince that only he knows
the deal
and everyone else
is iust a bit player
in the reality show
that he presides over
and so the rest of us
hunker down
just hoping for the best
as the panic and
chaos spreads faster
than the virus
are we doomed
can we survive
will God save us?
he is silent as always

Corona Virus Fears Tanka
Corona virus
lurking fears all around me
we all will die
the TV screaming nonstop
Must be afraid be afraid

My Phobias Overwhelm Me
lately I have become scared
of everything
the news scares me, the corona virus scares me, the presidential race scares me, fears of gun men in the street, terrorism, fears of getting sick, fears of dogs, fears of other people, fear of loosing money, fears of becoming demented old man, lost in his nightmares on the street just another invisible homeless *** in the end of his life
all these phobias overwhelm me
time to walk away from my fears
and realize
it will be alright
everything will be alright
As long as I have you
by my side

Fear Fills the Air

watching the news
CNNMSNBCFOXBBCKOREANNEWSJAPANESENEWSBLOOMBERABCCBSNBCGOOGLEA­PPLEREUTERSAPIRUSSIANTVCHINESTVFRENCHTV
blather on and on
the world is ending
pandemic is coming
we are going to die
and the fear grows
and the restrictions grow
travel comes to stop
the economy comes to  a stop
everyone is so afraid
our leaders fret
say that everything is fine
as the world enters
the second great depression
and we are faced
with the reality
all over the world
idiots in high places
the masters of the universe
are in charge
the internet spreads
the wildest rumors
must be true
I read it on the internet
the truth is lost
in the shuffle
no one believes anyone
everything thinks
that they know
it is all a conspiracy
the thought comes to mind
we are all so ’S….
end of the world
is upon us

is this the best we can get?
watching the news
one wonders
how in this great country
of ours
335 million people
among the most educated
richest people in the world
we can end up
with such idiots in high places
running out country?
these idiots in charge
no disrespect intended
both political parties
all corporations
and our institutions
except maybe the military
has been infected
by this virus
of epic incompetence
greed and indifference
to the general good
who loudly constantly proclaim
that they are Christians
while violating
all of Christ's teachings
Jesus if he came back
would scream out
I am not Christian
it is all about me
and mine
and you can go
to hell
if you dare to disagree
and so we tweet and titter
and watch the news
reading the latest rumors
and I wonder
if there is a god
or if there is a devil
and are we overwhelmed
by the dismal news
why can’t we have better
leaders
better people
in our leaders
around the world
has god abandoned us
are we in hell
or did god ever exist
except in our fevered imagination
will god save us all
or will the world
just go around the sun
indifferent to our pleas?
no answer
must watch the news
consumed by the need
to see the latest news
and so it goes
and I wake up
the sun is up
and the nightmares
fade away
until I watch the news
and the madness consumes
us all again and again
as the corona virus
marches on and on
consuming us all
as the world falls apart
these must be the end times
I hope I will be raptured away
even if I am not a Christian

More Trouble Every Day
The Old Zappa song plays
on in my head
every time I turn on the news
and see more trouble every day
no one can delay
the trouble coming every day
Frank Zappa died too soon
before the horrors of the Trump era
and the corona end of the world plague
that he would have foreseen
if he had lived on
he was truly a prophet
crying in the wildness
while making money
as an over night sensation
as he saw the slime
oozing out of the TV sets
we will do what we are told
for the rights to us have been sold
And Jesus too
has been sold
to the highest bidder
nothing but a business deal
in America
the land of the constant deal
and so I turn off the TV
and realize that
the torture never ends
the torture never ends

Trouble Every Day
more trouble every day  Frank Zappa
Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friends
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot...
I seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke & fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust…

The Torture Never Stops
Frank Zappa
torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
Prisoners grumblin
**** they clothes
Scratch their matted hair
A tiny light from a window-hole
Hundred yards away
That all they ever get to know
'Bout the regular life in the day
'Bout the regular life in the day
Slime and rot and rats and snuck
***** on the floor
Fifty ugly soldier men
Holdin' spears by the iron door
Stinks so bad, stones are chokin'
Weepin' greenish drops
In the den where
The giant fire puffer works
And the torture never stops
The torture never stops, torture
The torture never stops
The torture never stops
Flies all green and buzzin'
In this dungeon of despair
An evil prince eats a steamin' pig
In a tumbers right near there
In the chambers right near there
He eats de snouts an trotters first!…


by pass the alarms spreading across the land
to bypass the alarms spreading across the land
the circuit breakers are breaking down
as the alarms go on and on
with the end of the world
the end days approaching
spreading the alarm far and wide

corona cinqku
corona
it came from hell
we must be all prepared
meet God


Taking a Walk in the Corona Era
every day I go for a walk
in the spring time woods
near my house
braving the weather
and the dreaded corona virus
wearing masks and gloves
keeping a distance
from anyone we encounter
that is life it seems
in the era of the corona virus
when will it end
no one knows
until then
I will brave the viral threat
and confront my fears
and walk in the park
with the love of my life
my bride my wife
by my side
in these challenging times
that is all we can do

A lone man stands in an empty parking lot

contemplating the new normal
social distancing run amuck
as fears of the corona super plague
plague the land
driving everyone inside
sheltering in place
afraid to go out
afraid of the deadly c virus

It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
It is a hell of a world we live in ain’t it?
said the old man to me
sitting on a bench
in the park in the woods
as we both sought shelter
from the spreading chaos
the pandemic swirling around us
Yes I said
standing up
to enforce the proper distance
between us
don’t want to give the virus a chance
to spread between us
he smiled and said
relax I already went through it
I am fine and you will too

Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
Pause for a moment amidst the media madness
All around us fears and chaos
Unlike the end of the world approaching us
Sadness overcomes us dooming us to our fate
Every we go nothing but death awaits

I feel as if the whole world needs to be cancelled
I feel as if the whole worldneeds to be canceled
due to rough times ahead
due to the corona madness
and the thread of pure craziness
that it inspires in us all

The Virus King Cried

the virus king smiled
as the politicians lied
saying that the end was near
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king sneered
as people panicked
and partied on the beach
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king laughed
as the markets crashed
millions became unemployed
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king roared
as the world slid into chaos
people turning on one another
the virus king infected thousands more
and killed hundreds of people
the virus king smirked
knowing that there was nothing
that they could do to stop
his army from infecting millions
and killing thousands
the virus King begin to realize
that soon there would be no one left
no one for his army to infect
as everyone was dying
the virus King yelled
remaining defiant
as civilization collapsed
billions were infected
millions died
the Virus King at last cried
when he saw that he was defeated
as one by one
people began to recover
and his reign of terror came to an end

Bring out your dead
the call bring out your dead
spreads around the world
as millions die
all over the world
the virus has spread
mutated and killed
all over the world
bring out your dead
the mournful cries
echoing in the wind
of the dying cities
mass starvation
as no is working
in the fields
as more people die
and the world spins
around the sun
with the politicians lying
and the dead still dying
as civilization dies
and humanity flee
into the wilderness
chased by the killer virus
straight down to hell

the Virus Came From Hell
the virus came from hell
straight out of a mad lab
born and raised in China
the virus spread from Dinah
all over to carolina
it spread from the lab
the mad virus of Hell
was mad as hell at humans
who it blamed for everything
seeing itself as cleansing everything
killing the world and everything
revenge against humans
perhaps virus came from God
more likely came from Satan
part of natures’ revenge
all designed to avenge
the damage to Stonehenge
virus came from Satan

The Delivery System of the Virus is Round
the delivery system of the virus is round
very simple system
the virus spreads around
and all must pay the price
death and destruction

the corona virus is testing us all

the corona virus
is testing us all
is it a plague
sent by God

if we have faith
will we recover

or it is beyond our control
the end of the world

does god hear our prayers
does god even exist

the virus from hell
spreads around the world

and test our faith
will god save us all

I have no answer
but perhaps if god exists

we will recover
from this plague
from hell



The call goes out

the call goes out
stay at home
to beat the dreaded c virus

will we live
or all die?

the four horse men ready to ride

the end of the world is upon us
as god unleashes the corona virus
which is spreading across the land

the four horse men are ready
to begin their grim journal
announcing the end of the world

the white horse comes first
offering peace and hope
in the midst of death
and despair

the red horse rides second
ushering in war
throughout the world
as nations turn on each other
and civil war looms

the Black Horse is ready
unleashing famine
on a starving world
as people stay at home
and food rots in the field

no one is able
to work any more
as the virus kills more
and more

the pale horse rides last
bringing death
in his wake

death all around us
as the virus kills us all
and civilization ends

the four horse men
have done their job
the virus finishes its reign of terror
and the few survivors
beging to recover

end of the world
came and went
and they are still alive
thanks to God

who remains silent
as always

nature spirits revolt against humanity

all around the world
nature's spirits
are on the move

the world is changing
as the nature's spirits
rise up
in revolt against humanity

is this the end time
is nature on revolt
against humanity

is this the end for us all
will the virus **** us all
will nature rise up
and **** us all?

Last Human on Island

Last human on an island
in the deep blue sea
nothing there
but death and destruction

virus all around
pandemic plague
Apocalyptic views
end of times
death of civilization




corona virus

corona virus
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
the virus came from hell

the virus came from hell
staying home waiting for death
Afraid everything  
Bring Out Your Dead

bring out your dead cries
break out all over the world
we are waiting death



death comes knocking

death comes knocking
on our doorsteps tonight
will God hear prayers



be afraid afraid

be afraid afraid
Must be afraid every one
Death is at our door


The Virus Came From Hell


the virus came from Hell
ravaging the entire world
all waiting for death
my take on the corona virus pandemic  for more check out my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
Hannah Wild Jul 2011
A classmate exclaimed
As Mrs. Ragan shoved
An Aladdin mug
In my face as I
Gained consciousness
During sixth grade
Art class

My first seizure

The depression started
Soon after

10mg of lexapro
Five thereapists
Three neurologists
Doctors ****

Middle school was
A Deep Dark
Dooming Depression
I had no friends
I hated everyone
And everything
But mostly
I hated myself

Wishing I had drowned
Or never woke up from
My first seizure
Dorothy A Aug 2012
I am constantly reminded of that popular Bible verse in I Corinthians 13: And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. It is a verse that I highly cling to in faith and hope, something that I truly love to hear and ponder upon. Otherwise, I could easily give in to despair and cynicism, as it is prevalent in this world like a cancer. A good combination of a good dose of faith, hope and love is surely the medicinal treatment required for the cure.

Whether you adhere to this Biblical statement and belief, or absolutely do not, anyone can understand that we need faith, hope, and love to rely on. No matter what our walk is in life, whether we are Christians or of another religion—or have no belief in God or the spiritual life whatsoever—we all must have faith, hope, and love. Must!

Our very lives, and the world, depend on it.  

The religious aspect aside, who can exist without these three, without faith hope and love? Take the sun, for example. Even the staunchest atheist has faith that, without fail, the sun will reappear on the horizon, each and every morning, dispelling the darkness of night as the earth revolves around the sun. It’s like an undeclared promise, a brilliant, seemingly miraculous occurrence that should never cease to fill us with awe.

Until we take hold of these thoughts, how soon we do forget.  

Can you imagine if you woke up tomorrow and you never saw the sun again? Never? What would it be like if there was nothing but bleak darkness as we looked up into the sky for its beautiful blue canvas and infinite greatness? Our meager light bulbs and man-made lamps would pale in comparison to the blotted out light—the desert in the sky. Life would cease to be, and the thought of it seems almost incomprehensible—the utter void, the earth’s destruction, the deathliness, the icy cold and chaos. How we often take such things for granted! And the life-sustaining sun is only one of the countless things that we often take for granted as we dwell upon this magnificent earth. One may use his or her own analogy to compare.  

Along with faith to spur it on, who can survive without hope?  Hope reminds you it is still there when you cannot envision it there or feel its presence. It offers fresh, new pathways when your hopes have been dashed, and urges you to move on from false hopes that are imposters to the real deal.

I certainly cannot live without hope, nor could another living soul.  Having no hope at all feels like a living death, one I know of firsthand much too well. Inside of me—in my own being—when it seemed that the sun in my soul, with all its nurturing and guiding light, had entirely disappeared from within me—I experienced that vastly void, and dark, bottomless pit. In complete horror and pain, I felt my life would always be this way.  I liken it to having your lungs being ripped away from you, the wind ****** out of your spirit.

Oh, it is a dooming, crushing thing to have no hope!

But the thought of having not a shred of hope was something that I just could not bear nor accept. Thank God, it was an illusion, not really gone for good. It is the very fuel to propel rockets of dreams and goals, and it works hand in hand with faith and love. I believe wholeheartedly that hope is there for anyone’s access, no matter how low life seems. For like that eternal sun in the sky—sometimes seemingly doused out by menacing clouds—a temporary mirage, no doubt—hope is an invincible, precious and extraordinary gift, one that outshines despair by a thousandfold.    

Imagine if there was no love. Many of us think love is an illusion, a ***** trick to avoid. People often were supposed to love us, but failed. Surely, we can often fool ourselves into thinking something is love, when later we find that it is clearly not. Often, we feel burned when we show our vulnerable selves, simply on our quest to love and be loved.

But we want love nonetheless. We have to have it.

Love is as messy as life is. Hate often seems triumphant as we turn on the news. It seems to outshine love, and we grow weary by the cruelties we witness through the screen or from firsthand experience.  And by taking a good look in the mirror, we often question how loving we really are, for our guilt is reflected back at us for how we have failed others in a lack of love. Sometimes, we are just too scared to love. Sometimes, we just don’t want to make the effort. But love is still the greatest of all. There is no way this earth could spin well without it. What would be the need of it's ordered structure if not for such a high attainment as love?

Like I Corinthians says, if I have all knowledge or have faith, but have no love, it as if I have nothing—nothing at all. How many people have been taught that they are not worthy?

Again, like that sun, love covers everyone—encounters all at different times of reach—even those who are seemingly incapable of its power.  

And yet again, what if love had simply gone away for good, like faith and hope? Like that sun in the sky? What if hate truly reigned and ruled the earth?

But the battle is never over, and love must always fight on.  These can't just be words that I am saying to fill up space. I truly fight to believe this!

Again, that sun in the sky represents love to me, as well as it does faith and hope. It is warming and enriching. It is a pathway out of the restful night and into the ongoing world. Like it is a living entity, it doesn’t demand our constant attention, and nestles itself into the clouds before it makes its entrance once again, takes yet another bow.  It continually feeds the plants, which feed the people and the animals. And to imagine that this greater-than-life ball of fire is capable of creating rainfall that sustains life, too.  What a glorious contradiction!

With my poetic mind always churning, and the imagery flowing, I share these thoughts to you. Faith, hope, and love—I am truly amazed!
Trevor Gates Mar 2013
On a night like this, of full-moon bliss
Of the midnight winds and collecting mists
I remained, forevermore
Chained, to the floor
A victim of joy’s…goodbye kiss

In a dungeon I lie, hidden from the sky
A shadow untamed with vile red eyes
I waited, I hungered
Without proper slumber
In my mistress’ pit, awaiting time

It was from lust and desire to fuel and empower
For whom she wishes for me to devour
I restrained, she teased
I grew hard, to please
The widowed Countess: my dark sire.

Though my story may seem bleak
But not to those, whom morally weak
A tale, a fable
However which label
Entitles this to civilized freaks

I moved from town to town, home to home
In search of a life wherever I would roam.
At last, I came
To an estate of name
Belonging to a Countess of ancestral Rome

Countess Donatella, eyed my work and demeanor
From afar I could tell, I sensed, I smelled her
Her scent, so tempting
Was she attempting…
To allure my beastly form into something beneath her?

One night she called for me, alone in her quarters
She treated me to delicacies from rich exporters
She asked my name
I said none, I refrained
“Mysterious and Strong.” She said in order.

She walked over, to the silk on the bed
Colored in gold and shimmering red
Curling her finger
To me, and eager
“Remove your clothes” the Countess said

I did as I was told. I abide her command.
She seduced like a mistress of the eternally ******
Caressing my skin
Licking my chin
And instructed me to please her demands.

My strength increased as I ripped apart her dress
“Yes, my dear, rough and brute.” She stressed
My *** throbbing
Her head bobbing
She turned into an animal I could not resist

Through the night our lust ignited
Into a furious intoxication, organs united
A symphonic ******
Winds, rain and thunder
Matching the sweltering copulation benighted

In the glow of after, past the ****** she gathered
Breathing deeply she said, “You are mine. I am master”
For too long, I thought
I was ridden of what I sought
One to counter my thirst for lust, the tiring caster.

For many nights I swooned, I pleasured her in ways
No other human could fathom or reclaim
My art was of the flesh
And her succulent *******
Feasting like the dog of Hell’s fame

But in this time I feared
For my secret was severe
To show, to hide
My inner design
Of nocturnal savagery that is devilishly revered.

It was upon a warm night of *******
That the moon left me horrified and shaking.
I ran from the master
To evade disaster
Of displaying my transformational awakening.

I trampled in the woods and screamed into the night
The beast of the void howled under the moonlight
I ventured, I hungered
Awaken from slumber
A slave to Lycanthrope, a feral disease of might

The Countess’ workers hunted; “A monster!” they deemed
But I killed many before I was to be seen
Ripping, tearing, slashing, eating,
Guts, bones, skin, feeding
My viciousness, my curse, my bane and dream.

After my episode of moral slaughter
The workers found me curled in a fetal posture
I would have been killed
But the Countess, sealed
Me away in the cryptic tomb of her father.

I was left to suffer in the underbelly of my sins.
Shadows and demons moaning like the wind
My master kept me
Protected me
In her care I would no longer win

Now I lay, waiting for the my master to show
So the door above me will open and glow
The white orb
That will mourn
The lives I have taken, eaten and in my intestines flow

The tomb dungeon unlocks, creaking loudly with rust
The master, the beautiful Countess that I must
Please and satisfy
Penetrate, rectify
The punishment that was bestowed by the just.

“So you are known by many names.” She utters
I look up at her with eyes of thirst, my lover
“You are unique.
So much to keep
For myself, my beastly treasure and no other.”

She walks to the shadowed wall and pulls down a lever
And stands in front of me, **** and forever
A pale seductress
Her eyes focus
With mine, for I wait for the power that was severed

“Now I will be pleasure by that of a beast, that of a god.”
She says as she massages my erecting rod
“Now, my dear.”
As I hear.
“Enter me and leave me in pleasurably awe.”

With the chains around my wrists, ankles; my neck and waist
She mounts me in the moonlight space
Our sweat collects
Drips and specs
Glossing her pale skin and my ever changing face.

I stare into the moon as I ******, my moans of pain matching her voice
She yells from the seismic endurance, her dooming choice
To unleash my monster
With blood thirst conquered
No, it is not, it is her, growing with every other screaming voice

Moans of pleasure soon turn to moans of distress
The wolf of the night is coming, no less
My teeth protrude
My mind feuds
With reason and passion, where blood replaces the mess

My fur is black, my claws like steel
My fury is lustful, the deeper I feel
The Countess is in fear
I ignore her tears
And devour her, ravish her, take her skin and peel

Her lovely face is first to go, once flawless now disfigured
I tear her arms from her body, her liver in my teeth lingered
Blood, tears, flowing juices
Guts, gore, nail amuses
The laughing jackals and demons in a Hell for me that’s bigger

There is no more Countess. No more Donatella, nor master
The moon reflected in a red pool of suffering disaster
Of the ******* monster in our wake
Of the true one she had forsake
In the whims of lustful pursuit with death proceeding faster

Through the lubrication of excessive blood and ****** fluids
I slipped and broke from my chains and fled from the ruins
I remained the beast
Through the forest at least
And return to the woods, away from the her influence

I left the Countess estate as I arrived
Homeless wanderer who survived
Another full moon night
And devil’s sight
Of my life forevermore, the way of the morally derived

Where my nightmares are revived …

…Beyond my human disguise.
I was once working on a collection of interlocking short stories that detailed personal viewpoints of happening in popular horror stories. It would have gone through the Tale of Frankenstein's monster, to Bram Stoker's Dracula and to the wolfman, Invisible man and Jekyll and Hyde. Now it was only an idea, and now reading that description it sounds like a hash version of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. But I would have changed it all up so it was different.

I never really got around to writing any drafts for those stories, but the basic outlines were always lingering in my head. This extended poem is base on the Wolfman outline I would've used.

I would be lying if I said that this was the intentional goal or writing this poem. It gradually became that. Sometimes if I have unfinished works that have met road blocks, then I try combining them. I've learned after awhile that it's better to have a few completed stories than several unfinished outlines just waiting for inspiration. The act of revising and combining ideas can really get the creative juices going. So that method pretty much birthed this poem, "Primal Lore"

You can find the other posting of this here: http://fav.me/d5xgbju
And if you like my work, like my FB page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Trevor-Gates/224601067564715?ref=hl
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
perhaps if you have time,
take a moment to read the
predecessor poem in the notes below first,
in order to better understand this one


<>

the love poetry curfew so lately announced
misshapen, growing without respite, by hate extensions distended,
poet's sanity uncomprehending, for yet another! sabbath desecration,
debating internally, how long should this cessation be extended,
for the pockmarking of earth's face with fresh bloodshed,
continues unashamedly, swiftly apace, these unholy days of dread,
all haggard his mind, hazard his eyes, harden his heart
no muse could sway

but shocking himself,
poet's mirror image stares and dares
with a finger-pointing,
his own specter's absurd challenge of

"and yet, now more than ever "

when children are killed like bowling pins,
there can be no satisfaction in revenge
cannot expiate evil deeds with avenge
measure for measure add-on sins,

and yet,

poet thinks quietly, repeatedly, self-surprisingly,

and yet,
love poetry, now more than ever


asking confusedly, almost ashamedly, out loudly, yet secretly,
how can this be, for there will be again, more painful awakenings,
is it the end of days, of greeting sunrise, with a love for love poetry?
with madness come and confusion everywhere rampant,
'tis a doubtful thought, the carnage having wrought
an insoluble dissolution and can love poetry be any solution?

in poet's Adirondack safe place where life tributes were
birthed, bred and trials borne, a right writ place for unmasking,
a private soul in equal parts of joy and shame,
love and pain, loss and gain,
here the weighing scales bore equal measures
of old bereft, and life uplifting visions of,
what will come, what will be, the unforeseen,
the hopeful yet of

"and yet"

a dotted line of whitecaps  beckons the poet to tread upon,
the glassine bay's waters that lay before him, go, walk on water,
a path to point where and whence the quaking waves
have gathered, calmly begging, Oh poet!
provide  assurance, explanation, comprehension,
querying him as if all sanity, has flightly, unsightly, fled
from the home shores of human sailors, gently asking poet,

"your fellow walking earth-beasts have all sensibility killed,
these times so human terrible, we waters, cannot understand"

poet's rebellious soul all so confused, asking and answering the
waters in his head, the waters that address his eyes,
seeking wisdom words from a place where logic
has been whittled and willed away,

and yet,

love poetry, now more than ever


now is the time when a love poem beyond merely necessary,
poet's eyes cast downward in shame, his thinking, hesitant and wary,
time for prayer, not madness distraction of a love poetry commentary

the waters dissatisfied at his confusion,
part as if by Moses's staff, majesticly powerful rise up,
confronting poet with the sweetest tasking
as if they were the downtrodden and the hurting, asking...

"we storm, drown and take, for such is nature's angry periodic way,
something beyond our control no matter what we say,
to another's dictate and momentum, we must bow and obey,
but you human, have choice, and we have none -
choose love poetry and let it comfort like no other"

and the poet sighed and wrote

this poem

this poem of love,
realized and conjectured,
with inserted verses of

"and yet,"

for though the poet possessed no well of well words
more than these few saddened and impoverished,
wearied, hard scrabbled ones

and yet,

gasping and grasping a potent notion, a portent of what if,
of a world with no love poetry,
a planet that could not ever-overcome hate, dooming itself,
for love poetry and all its cousins and associates,
the only method to confiscate
these grill blackened marking silent barbell weights
so let this be ,
this is a love poem,
and now,
this is the time,
to let

"and yet"

vindicate...


<>
6:20am
Saturday July 16, 2016
and yet
one week ago, July 10, 2016...

there will be no love poetry today
there will be no love poetry today
Sabbath cancelled

there will be the will to love
and there will be poetry

someplace

but not here, not today

the load bearing suspension
of belief

beyond busted

the mind

no mas

busted

one killing too many

love poetry seems inappropriately fruitless


there will love
and there will be poetry

somewhere

but not here

more than pointless,  
sacrilegious,
human sacrifice ruthless,
a ****** sacrilege

the world profaned and the blood spilling
is in everything and everywhere  

and has driven the love poetry out of this person


maybe tomorrow

may it be tomorrow, we will pass a twenty four

news cycle  
with the bombs gone quiet
the innocents surviving
and the god spark burner inside me will
relight on its own

but not today not here not me

there will be
no love poetry

and this

this is not a poem

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1704071/there-will-be-no-love-poetry-today/  

<>
Dorothy A Jan 2014
It's the Grim Reaper
It's the Boogie Man
It's the wolf in the closet
It's the monster under the bed
It's the phantom that's chasing you in your dreams
It's the madman who dances delightfully in your brain matter
It's the poison in your coffee
Paralyzing
Petrifying and penetrating
A flesh eating
Bone chomping
Soul *******
Grave robbing Ghoul
Right within the halls of your head
Grotesque and greedy, it is
Gloom everywhere
An anxiety production line
Breeding anguish
Bleeding you out
Windpipe choking
Werewolf watching
Witches brewing
It's dreadful and dooming
It's horror at every corner
It's a newspaper dripping in disaster
It's a future forecasting fatalities
Your obituary in every new edition

BUT IT'S NOT REAL
Here it is once more
- a dark form looming -
A shadow from Before,
A storm's mark, dooming.
.
Invisible vise grip,
the weight on my chest;
Marble-heavy crypt,
A thornbird's nest.
.
This hunter is slow,
patient, though relentless;
with no arrow, or bow,
or trigger to press.
.
His footsteps fall monotone
- finality's beat -
Like soot on a wall of bone,
the last defeat.
.
Although he'll stay
out of sight, a dark drape,
Know that his prey
might never escape.
.
When no one's around,
When comforts are few,
In the scent of moist ground,
He could find you too.
.
04.03.2024.
(Halloween is only 241 days away, lol)
Gabriel burnS Nov 2018
… A moth whispering confessions high towards the ceiling… worshiping a false god and its dooming light… as the moth wings are burning with unrequited love… flapping self-fulfilling prophecies...
My wings are growing and I wonder… are you to be my lightbulb...
Andrew Parker Dec 2013
Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.
Robin Goodfellow Aug 2016
Of sleepless meadows,
and cold, seething blades,
the last rose blossoms,
in the desert's cruel shade.

Lachrymose falls
to shadow's black crimson,
while its thorns cry out,
"Why won't they listen?"

The rose screams and shouts,
crying sweetly for its heart,
but vines choke it gleefully,
dooming it from the start.

Gun barrels and swords,
with dirt spewing everywhere,
and sadistic corpses fall
without a single care.

The sounds of their loved ones
still beckon them home.
But that love means nothing,
when you know you'll die alone.
Kagami Aug 2014
I wake to see a hollow face at my left side
And I wonder if I've made another
Mistake when there are no
To be made. Maybe if I lift the truth, no.
I am faithful.
Suddenly the thought of  psyche
And the binding of public views
Overcomes the fear of there being no
Light left in the world
And suddenly the sun fell
Like the tears of a widow
After the sky said goodbye like
The waving of a handkerchief
As a husband goes to war
And when the sun said goodbye
And left everyone's skin to turn
Translucent and white,
Dooming the population to turn
To ash at the blink of a
Flashlight, the sky agreed with the sun
Left nothingness lying
In its place like a lover
After a night of ***** and regrets.
And as regrets leads to guilt, the
Mourning time resolves nothing.
Guilt leads to loneliness, and cats swell like a tsunami.
Loneliness leads to insanity,
Insanity leads. The march of war on foreign concrete.
Insanity leads you. Into the eye of the storm
As the water drains from the steel sink.
Insanity controls you.
Insanity is in you.
Loneliness is now upon his throat

I know it for sure
What ails him hasn't a cure
He's shrinking like a sinking boat.

On the perch a plumed pain
He's lost without a care
Tells the vacant stare
Dooming into a never regain.

Death is an easy height to scale
When life remains to grieve
Without any incentive
As love retires to a dark well.

He's fading in the lost glory
And I know it for sure
What's killing him has no cure

My budgie called Story.
I named him Kahini, the Bengali for story.
His partner died a few days back.
Her
I feel troubled,
at war with myself, at war with fate.
Master of my own destiny?
I wish, I miss
her.

A million dollars is not enough,
A billion, maybe.
Yet longing for something money cant buy.
Her.

My demons haunt me, faultering.
The duality in which I exist
contracts and pulls at the soul, yet the heart only wants
her.

Ready to face the pain of rejection,
the dooming blow of heartache.
The darkness which will claim another piece of me.
Is it worth it.

Who knows,
all the matters is
her.
Danika Apr 2017
if there’s no such thing as luck,
then how did I meet you at just the right time?

My bad decisions were supposed to doom me
I planned on dooming myself, if I’m honest
but something stopped me

and a month later
I met you
4/29/17
Sadie S Jan 2015
I looked for love inside your eyes.
What I saw almost made me blind.

I saw a stranger.
He was cold, distant, evil, and revolting.
I looked for love inside your eyes.

Who am I that you are unable to make love to me?
Why do I feel as if I am not here with you?
Do I matter?

I am just a toy in this filthy play.
Not a human worth of tender and devotion.
Where are you?
How did I lose you?

As the years pass by
The monster inside your eyes becomes clearer to me.

You think I am just over reacting.
How can I warm to eyes that are making hate to someone else instead of making love to me.

I've found where you are.
I've seen the pictures.
As graphic as can be.
I now know what i takes to turn you on.
Women....people like me.
Tortured, humiliated,used and hated.
All these images burned into your brain.

Did you ever imagine (at age 12)
The first time your seen a ****** photo.
That you were dooming every aspect of intimacy.
Breaking the heart of someone you'd love.

If it all stopped here.
I could bear it.
Instead you brought the evil in and continued to feed it.
As I looked for love inside your eyes.

Hands printed, hair pulled
Looking the age of thirteen years old.
A simple photo
A simple video
Controling reality, distorting the woman in exaggerated *******.
As I looked for love inside your eyes.

The evil eyes
Windows of a broken soul.
Warped by the lens into the background of your phone.

Souls never matter
Only bodies do
To those me. Who consume it (just like you)
A image burned inside your brain.
A image I see everytime I close my eyes.

When does it end?

I can tell you this.
It has not ended.
It has eaten you up.
It spreads like cancer.
Can you feed off of hatred and anger?
Can you break free and learn to love?

You say words.
Just full of excuses.
Feeding your soul on poisen.

If only you could see what I see.
If only you could feel what I feel.

**** has destroyed our relationship.
Tell me.
Was it worth it??
1-16-15
Ahmad Cox Mar 2012
I think we need to become more awake
We need to become more aware
Of what is going on around us
If we continue to stick our heads in the sand
Not actively seeking the truth for ourselves
Just accepting certain things without really
Thinking about the ramifications
We will continue to make the same mistakes
To go down the same path
To keep ourselves from moving forward
We need to change
Because the way we are doing things just isn't working
Until we realize that
We are going to continue down the same path
That got us all here in the first place
We need to start accepting radical new ways of business
To really start moving in the right direction
Or else we are ultimately dooming ourselves
And dooming this planet along with us
Our mother can only put up with so much
We need to start taking better care of ourselves
Becoming more aware and awake
We all need each other
We can't do this alone
We need to come together
To really get us through
To become more awake
To what we need to do
Alessander Mar 2015
a facsimile of happiness
a continuous depression filled with interludes
of sunsets shimmering off loving eyes


          neither logic nor morality warm beds
          so we keel over, head long into midnight streets
          groping for lips to kiss
              ears to listen
                 hands to caress
                   ******* to obliterate


for Newton's apple to drop
or Buddha's lotus to blossom
for Gabriel's sword to rip chests open


       some are enslaved to absolute subjectivity
                                  a tattered rag flapping on the wind
                       they are forever drowning drowning drowning
             dooming any who dive in to save


                        they can not step back and observe the play
                        they are the play: the king, the jester, the soldier
                         the longing maiden, bitter spinstress, sword-smith's daughter
                         the prideful hero or stubborn villain
                         the country bumpkin chopping wood
                         the raving madman in the wilderness
                        
                             ­       

          oblivious to the back-drop or matrices
            the paradigms of passion
             the translucent chemical pulleys
            the perpetual violations of history
              ******* them

                even in the womb


the birth of an idea is the most wondrous phenomenon
the booming I AM forever resounding
it is a big-bang of metaphysical splendor
it is the unity of art-science-religion
the holy trinity of being
"Laughing lion" is from Nietzsche
Lone Wolf Oct 2014
Why
Why do we fall in love?
it is believed that when humans were first created,
We were two body's fused together
With two heads, four arms and four legs
But only one heart,
The mighty Zeus feared our potential
And split us all in two,
Dooming us to spend eternity searching
For our other half

Then why does love hurt so much?
*because child, sometimes, the love god Eros,
Well, he doesn't have the best aim
And that ***** everything up
I love Greek mythology. Eros is the Greek god better known by his roman counterpart, Cupid.
SRS Sep 2014
My Sensual King,

I used to wake up
to goosebumps and shivvers
because upon throwing my blankets to the side
the cold of the world consumed my body
and my heart filled with sadness
and I always thought I'd rather be that way
than filled with the anger and greed
this world so wholly contains
I'd always felt i was misunderstood
because nobody saw me or the way I see life
they always wrote me off
and went along dooming the world

But upon meeting you all that changed
I stopped being afraid
I grasped a meaning
that I'd been searching for for so long
You warmed my heart
and upon waking I no longer shivverd
and my goosbumps remain
but they are only from the tingle
I get upon feeling your touch
My eyes are opened
to the love this world truly has to offer
and I can see now
because I found my loving shelter inside of you

With Love,
Yor Little Angel <3
I was clean for a couple months, I'm not really sure how long, I stopped counting on things a while ago.
I'm not talking about drinking, *** or drugs, as i continue to indulge myself in those pleasures, but to a limit. I've never been one to lose myself at the bottom of a beer glass, or let ***** slink down my throat, although I do enjoy the feeling of warmth on my skin, it's soothing, for a change.
Alcohol is a reminder of him, No not a  break up or lost lover, I  wish it was as painless as that. It is more about abuse. The emotional and physical torture of him, how he laughed as his words slurred almost as quickly as my life faded and self harm became a sinister escape from this dooming thing we call, reality.
I thought I was okay. The doctors said I was, that's why they let me leave on the condition of pills but I felt useless having to rely on a smile in a bottle to make me feel, nothing, because I felt too much, at least that's what the nurses said. They wanted me to feel numb, so I did. I let the colour from my paintings disappear with salty tears and the dance in my soul snap,
I became grey in a black and white world, I didn't belong in.
So I stopped taking them and maybe that was the critical error in this sequence, but it felt so good to breathe for once. I could feel crisp air in my blackening lungs and as oxygen seeped it's way through my wilting body, I began to grow petals.
Only I'm not a flower nor a beauty, quite frankly I see myself as the opposite. I'm more like the watering can that feeds my friends and those around me, I guess I cut pieces of me apart in order to give it to others but that's what feeling alone does to you.

It's taken six years and a lifetime of strength to battle these demons that use my happiness to feed on. I pushed away the feelings of before, I tried to ignore, but I failed. I was told to reach out to someone before I let the blades touch me so I tried but I was ignored. Acid tears fell from my dimming blue eyes and without hesitation blades returned and ripped my pale skin, pale in colour and life. I'm told I see beauty in everyone, but never in myself and perhaps that's why the Crimson red looked beautiful on my canvas because there was colour on me. I felt alone and the shiver to my bones but I was found.
Perhaps it's a sign that I should try this living thing, one more time.
Trigger warning.
EJ Aghassi Dec 2013
I can't get out of bed

my mind is overlapping
overextensions of the body

alert
lethargic
dream state zombie

fire flickers frequently
on pretty rocks next to me
liquid I'm consuming
forgetful
free
and dooming

wind chimes
chiming
ringing
off vibes
singing

lost time
finding
rebuked
meanings

underbite
teeth clenched tight

but I'm smiling
bigger than ever

clever weather
sending me
hurling towards
obscurities

a crying running nose

lights blinding to near pain

shielding myself under feeble covers

till life breathes within me once again
Gucci for president 2014
Becca Brown Jan 2014
I am no longer searching for the end of the rainbow.
I'm not looking for a treasure chest, no Prince Charming, not some perfect fairy tale ending.
I am looking for
a war.
I want to see the world up in flames,
brothers fighting with bloodthirsty vengeance,
mothers who no longer care how many children they lose.
I am looking for an end
to this
catastrophic,
idiotic,
symbiotic,
toxic love affair.
Because you reek of tragedy and I of sin
and who is to say that love won't win?
I want full blown destruction,
large-scale nuclear fallout,
death by the billions.
I want to see the pain of this thing
in your eyes,
in my smile,
plastered to our hearts.
Because isn't that how we started?
Isn't that how this was born?
A bond conceived through peril and limitations,
too-high expectations and poor communication.
We can move on.
We can start again.
But, by the desolate sky and His backstabbing God,
we know to taste the sweetness of peace on the ever-blowing wind,
we must march through battlefields we have yet only dreamed of.
So, no.
I am not looking for Picture Perfect.
I'm not striving for marriage-babies-happy ending.
I'm looking forward to visiting Hell,
to building a city of misfortune and terror,
to dooming myself to live out most of my days in agony.
It is the only way to you.
i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i write too much about the same person ugh
TyRon Straughter Oct 2010
An insult can go a long way
Especially if it rubs the wrong way
Or even if it happens in the wrong place. At the wrong time. On the
wrong day
Your anger came out along with your weapon
He better hope your hearts a strong weapon
He talked about your mom that's not accepted in the hood
Plus with all your friends around accepting that ain't good
So now you got that pistol
Because a day like this is why you got that pistol
But the same day you got that pistol
A day like this is why you knew you shouldn't have got that pistol
Now the pistol is pointed to his head
What if that same pistol was pointed at your head
Your friends telling you to put a hole in his head
While your heart gotta different pistol pointed at your head
So now to whom will you listen
If you do it then you will be doomed as a Christian
But if you do then you will be doomed as *****
You just tryna get to heaven can't have another ***** dooming your
mission
But you don't got the time nor the place to fail
With a fail you might get placed in jail
Besides jail it gets a litter deeper cuz you tryna get a bite of
heaven you don't want a taste of hell
All these rules and lessons
Plus all these thoughts elapsed in 10 seconds
You can either blast him in seconds or fall back and quit grasping
your weapon.
In been less than two seconds and your decision was made
You gon be thinking bout making that decision for days
And your friends gon talk about that decision
Now as your living your days
You wonder sometimes is that dude still living his days
What you wonder the most that is after you stop living your days how
will you be living your days
DAEJR Apr 2013
Another morning I’ve been sentenced,
feeling verb-less,
incomplete,
with my darling noun
I only let down,
when I feel like a child with a numb grip,
dragging him against the ground.

I watch him sleep, my sweet,
shimmering sun against the periwinkle morning
and all glows quiet . . .

but my muck of thoughts smell of rot,
with shadows of vicious vultures—
their black feathers buzzing with dooming vibrations—
smearing their gray against it all.

They’ve grown bored with the feed of palatable pity.
Their cravings threaten to gulp his gushing, golden heart,
bury it in the muck that wishes to swallow my temple.

I think of his holy water and bathe in it;
Thinking in his tears keeps me strong
and carries me down stream.

Each salty orb
wipes the grim and the grime
and refracts the light from his treasure,
his heart, casting
the rainbows that fire
arrows at the shadows.

I find my purpose in the thought of your wailings and weepings,
and I promise I’ll never lose your heart to grief.

Sorry the pillow is wet.
I’ve been crying in your sleep.
Alex Brown Oct 2010
As you fall, so slowly fall in love with her
mind open as the floor you hit will be so much harder
it’s a long way down to the emptiness of
solitude
save me.. Catch me with your open arms
let this dooming embrace save me from love's sweet grace.
That illusion..
Kelly Sipko Aug 2010
Zombifying minds of many,
dooming them to a life rooted
in the ground. The didactic lay
forgotten, decaying in a
graveyard of tattered pages, old
typewriters, and eight-track tapes.

Monotonous drama deludes
these robots into surviving
in a reality teeming
with **** and drugs, ****** and lies.
Optimism overshadowed,
out-shined forever by filth.

But even I still succumb to
this regime, an addict to his
fixation. Plug in, power on,
and wait to retrieve the signal,
for my brain to be white noise while
potatoes grow on couches.
L A Lamb Sep 2014
I think this was the first (and only) nervous breakdown I’ve ever had. I was nineteen.



The noises from the plane were terrifying enough to wake me up. My relaxed heart started racing, and I thought of a late-night bomb attack, via some middle-eastern country, which would bring war. I clutched the blankets to my chest, and expected the dooming flash of light which would instantly take my life through vaporization. After several minutes of laying tense yet catatonic in my bed, my late-night delirium began to slowly fade. Whether it was one plane or several, I know not. I just remember hearing the horrible ripping noise echo through the sky by my window and I instantly awoke. Were the planes this loud every night? Why did I never notice? Perhaps I restarted my sleep cycle and being back in level one, the loud noise frightened me. But did that mean that if these planes did indeed roar, every night, that I always slept through them? It seemed very unlikely. I cautiously checked my phone to inform myself of what time the war had started. Three-eleven a.m. How depressing. Why would an enemy attack in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep? What cowardice. Why would an enemy attack at all? Why would we have an enemy? As my paranoia faded and my fatigue crawled back, I went to the bathroom. I figured if I were to die, I wouldn’t want the finders of my body to think me gross for soiling myself with the tea I drank right before bedtime. As I sat on the toilet and released the pressure, the pressures of life invaded. I looked up to the sky-light in my bathroom and decided tonight would not be the night where I was killed while sleeping by a late-night plane of an enemy, but if it were to happen, I’d have no control whatsoever. Sadness struck me as I envisioned myself being robbed of motherhood, still and unaware at nineteen-years old. I thought again of the planes, and while they no longer seemed threatening, I wondered what caused them to rip across the sky in such force. It seemed destiny had spared me that night, but would it always? June was a non-war month anyways; I should relax, enjoy the summer and keep caution for autumn and winter. Those are war seasons, when wars began. The night was still once more, but I felt completely drained—the way one feels when descending from a *******-high. I straightened my blankets, rolled onto my side into a comfortable position and squeezed my eyes shut trying to hold back tears.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Breathless Death Speaks Volumes

The listless wind the only sound now devoid of life this once lively home groans to come down a little
Girl’s curls use to bounce as she pranced and played her laughter was more of a song to her parent’s

Delighted hearing now the parents lay in the church yard just down the road the little girl listens to her
Daughter’s laughter in a house far away now as a stranger a brooding sadness grips you as you look at

Windows no longer in place once golden light use to shine forth a comfort would rush to meet you now
It’s more of a torment a dread keenly felt with imagination you try to reconstruct what was but the gray

Weather beaten wood tells a stronger tale the sagging roof does more than expose the once tight and
Secure rooms that held such joy now the tolling of years will not bend to happy thoughts the oasis of a

Truly wonderful place gives the loudest cry time has been here and has gone only forlorn memories
Drag thoughts from your heart this decay befalls all living things what gravity and neglect doesn’t

Consume then rust condemns dooming those pride filled wonders of steel that took you too many
Places Wide was the ring you lost boredom in you extracted every bit of the city and country side all of

Its Charm was in those times you and your families alone but when running was done it was
Back to Base the sturdy strength of a familiar place now another your thoughts he tries to discern he

Came upon this emotional swell just by chance but he gave into the words it spoke of days of glory now
Gone the hold it has is perplexing but with a painful haunting it lies within in a perfect sweet peacefulness
Hal Loyd Denton Jul 2013
The listless wind the only sound now devoid of life this once lively home groans to come down a little
Girl’s curls use to bounce as she pranced and played her laughter was more of a song to her parent’s
Delighted hearing now the parents lay in the church yard just down the road the little girl listens to her
Daughter’s laughter in a house far away now as a stranger a brooding sadness grips you as you look at
Windows no longer in place once golden light use to shine forth a comfort would rush to meet you now
It’s more of a torment a dread keenly felt with imagination you try to reconstruct what was but the gray
Weather beaten wood tells a stronger tale the sagging roof does more than expose the once tight and
Secure rooms that held such joy now the tolling of years will not bend to happy thoughts the oasis of a
Truly wonderful place gives the loudest cry time has been here and has gone only forlorn memories
Drag thoughts from your heart this decay befalls all living things what gravity and neglect doesn’t
Consume then rust condemns dooming those pride filled wonders of steel that took you too many
Places Wide was the ring you lost boredom in you extracted every bit of the city and country side all of
Its Charm was in those times you and your families alone but when running was done it was
Back to Base the sturdy strength of a familiar place now another your thoughts he tries to discern he
Came upon this emotional swell just by chance but he gave into the words it spoke of days of glory now
Gone the hold it has is perplexing but with a painful haunting it lies within in a perfect sweet peacefulness
Mr E Sep 2012
Through the light
of pale shade grey
There will come another day
When men fight men
****** battles afar
and fools search for a brighter star
Ash and soot is second skin
and tears of children wash their face
A day, a day , of a dooming place
When church bells ring to sound alarm
and the shrieks of metal tearing apart
Smoke covered feelings of those victims of war
The houses and families no more.
Anger and hate send bullets ablaze
and fires ravage this place
Kings and Monarchs live in fear
for their machines know what is clear
no feelings nor emotions resound in our creations
Bound to destroy
all the nations.
Hal Loyd Denton Feb 2013
The listless wind the only sound now devoid of life this once lively home groans to come down a little
Girl’s curls use to bounce as she pranced and played her laughter was more of a song to her parent’s
Delighted hearing now the parents lay in the church yard just down the road the little girl listens to her
Daughter’s laughter in a house far away now as a stranger a brooding sadness grips you as you look at
Windows no longer in place once golden light use to shine forth a comfort would rush to meet you now
It’s more of a torment a dread keenly felt with imagination you try to reconstruct what was but the gray
Weather beaten wood tells a stronger tale the sagging roof does more than expose the once tight and
Secure rooms that held such joy now the tolling of years will not bend to happy thoughts the oasis of a
Truly wonderful place gives the loudest cry time has been here and has gone only forlorn memories
Drag thoughts from your heart this decay befalls all living things what gravity and neglect doesn’t
Consume then rust condemns dooming those pride filled wonders of steel that took you too many
Places Wide was the ring you lost boredom in you extracted every bit of the city and country side all of
Its Charm was in those times you and your families alone but when running was done it was
Back to Base the sturdy strength of a familiar place now another your thoughts he tries to discern he
Came upon this emotional swell just by chance but he gave into the words it spoke of days of glory now
Gone the hold it has is perplexing but with a painful haunting it lies within in a perfect sweet peacefulness
Jules Jun 2017
The days get hotter
The smog gets thinker
The Ice melts
The ocean rises
Cities drown
Islands vanish
Money is still made

The world is Burning
Entire species gone forever
Whole cultures scattered
The money keeps rolling in

But what is money?
When the earth is suffering
What is money?
when we are dooming our selves
to many politicians and businesses  make money by pretending climate change isn't a thing
1 -

No glares of missing eyes, just the one, at the center that soars high. Mst of all. It fles, careless and free. It’s hands pills precious wine, as it recites poetry about the end times. Conjure up as emotions of failures and shame, meet within. Not million, in fact in the billions dismissed the thought of arrival. Shutter in fear and weep to each word spoken, in that poem, that recites, in every detail, how your life will end. It’s tongue, doesn’t skip a beat, rhymes perfectly, in every human tongue. Though it’s a tyrant, some have complete devotion to such creature, redish aura over a dark shape. The eagles seem to cry. Rats and cats run to it, to pay their own homage. Fogs and dogs, mist and a devilishly ******* smell. Pigs talk and end up screaming about sacrifice. Such is early talks, of such end times. Prone to sudden fits of rage, wearing cold ****** to the creature, is as natural to him, as breathing is to you. Gold, *** with virgins, praises will be used, more valuable to what had just been written, one’s own soul, nothing in this life is free, everyone was given life, despite never asking for it. Master of famine, king and queen to poverty, dreamer user, inventor and distributor of disease. When voted in men and women give in, trenches of brave people, rage war, knowing privately they’ll fail. Still they try. No one is truly pious, it will take more than forever to master that trait and so very few are blessed with immorality. This creature has the attributes of a supreme leader, just without its own kingdom. For in no dogma, no myth, no whispers of physical storytelling knows of such creature, no prophecy, nothing, not even in Nostradamus. Endless it seems, for it walked to the horizon and back, perhaps it comes from the other side of the moon. Trembling slaves in chant in joy, from learnt pleasure and addicted to a self-produced evil, after so much, they grow to love, follow the creature, sweeping down to help. Fine, call it demons if you must, for most, that's the best their own imagination can conceptualize. People are their prized pleasures to take with them and eventually turn into them. Lust can be good. We’ve got something inherent in us and encourages us to be a bit more carnel, sinful, selfish and so on. Most just keep it a bit better kept, inside the privacy of their own home. After-all, in a democratic system, ****** got vote in. not in vain read this, do not concern yourself from where, how or why I write this. Death will come, the end of the world will come, just ask yourself, what will come first? Work for everything, but cherish nothing. In the transition, you’ll never be permitted to take anything with you. Just your soul to what makes you good and your sins to which you've committed, and will atone for at gunpoint. When you hear your fate, life will either be a total blessing or something completely unjust. Both will last forever after death or the end times. Solemn. Poets, be master of your word, painters, be master of your strokes, musicians, be master of each note. Do not live in angst people, life will be better before this time, without anxiety, at least some joy will be experienced and not something to be yearning for. Wild beasts will come and **** your first daughter and chop off the private of your first born. Without a care and it’s master will teach them how. Humanity is only a glint. One glint. Like a star. Pretty from a distant, something to philosophize over, than learn, but close at face sight, the star is already dead. Whoever said the struggle will stop today? A-lot of Mystics dead and never to be martyred. Plus, you don’t have any gold to give away, so you can remove your past. Underslung sky, now is not the time for fear, that comes later. Desolate intense resent nothing at the same time of everything. Bloated with both virtue and lust. Malice. For life wanted melody, instead, people got malady. The creature stepping over earth's land, people run, as that very military shoots and ending fail. It’s not monster film. People run, some stop to pay homage and offer their souls, as the so called demons **** them up, those people turn to sin and **** in **** form and iron race, become. For some, if they’re going to be talented, it’s far better to be such of someone in great fame, to things they've always wanted to do to one another. Most people die. The creature sets up camp, Astana. Takeover and demands complete and whole obedience. Holy books burn. Slaves for the rest still living, though mostly dark ashes fall from the sky, grey colour themes, burning bodies left on the ground and homeless children asking for their mothers walk, all people see is their personal fear. Lukewarm life is at best. Daring not to live anymore or any better. Once a servant to one's life, now just a servant to dying days. Violet in all violence. Voiceless tears inside interior chambers, cry private prays, not even confessing to one another, muted silence between people, saturate this earth. Marching to Zion, they’ve given up. And no network of hope or revolt. In harmony, all remaining poets weep at a blanket and shared evil, that everyone is experiencing under this rule. To the police, in tempest wrath, those demons that tagged along. This is a neo-empire outshining those before. It’s a shame that stupidity isn’t painful to one’s whole entire essence. Wanting avator’s. Getting none. Over a thousand year period, lavish pillars rise, it’s that humanity forgot about the godhead-figure, they simply forget. New omens provide a new scent for earth. Astana remains the capital of earth. With different races of tiled skin, phishing tongues, tall, green. Peoples private hell is prolonged. The rich **** any animal and tear off their skin, use it as fur coats, they smile. So let’s take a trip, where anyone can **** limp, ******* in public and spend money on any mofoe. Getting lonely, I can’t control it, pass me the blunt, let me roll it. Perhaps it;s doubt in anything that will bring pain, not knowing the truth that I had been hoping for to bring me freedom. Supreme leader is now the title of the creature. And everywhere he goes, are ****** ******, both men and women, preferably if they were under the age of sixteen. Because they haven’t been broken. With no floods, no locus, some disease, ****** became normal and a bit of ****. No money, a lot of silver, a neo royalty line is produced amongst people’s blood, the half cast between those demons and virgins, both male and female. Swallowing eternity. As any prince would laugh. Though from the sky, the earth is drowsed with new philosophy. In textile fields, elderly women tend to those fields, all missing one eye and stuck in old age forever. As young boys run naked around neo palace’s. Just only entertainment. Writers invent new tragedy stories, abated pale, blue and pure. Misting stageplays for giggles and laughing till it hurts in the stomach that encourages everyone who watches to give into lust. Like we’re all meant to do. Along watery plateau,  different breed of Mystics walk, those born in the world before that survived the initial stages, ate eagle eyes and living now, until time decides to stop mocking everyone and finally give up and provide the final solution. Under red dusk, those know most things are propaganda, freedom inside someone’s *******. ***** everywhere. Like steam leaking from any paved roads and newly built cities. Images strung from the air that remind people, peasants too be honest, that we all can die. Disc of time. Burnt colours. Nothing said about hope, love and romance. No weddings. As for babies, they pop up at random places, roads, dumpsters, fields with goats, public toilets and the nile. To whoever finds them first, by law they are the new parents. **** is punishment if those do not take the babies. **** kittens. Rereading of Ovid. Talk of having Latin as one language, going beyond this world. And Helen is her name. Streams of Blood. Phinx is his name. My king, my queen. What tears can bore? The dooming death and nothing forces us to change or to know, nothing greater than pain. Bore. shame and exile to those who age. Life is not for them to claim, old-fashioned school of thought, doub their words. Until a neo-poet rises from the ash below, drops of stars and Lions stand on their tongue, not from wrestling but out of respect, breed of new prophet in these times of neo-dogma. Revolt personally as a single person in revolution. People to pray to this poet as they write words on the second renaissance, where only those born to create great works of beauty to walk this earth, like Monks in a monastery. At the moment, until it defeats the creature, monster to any god, it's only a moment or glimmer of hope. One hero, born under one tree. Weaving thoughts of romance, soulmate to those with intelligence, poetic to the poor and match to one only, no-one else. Most of all, birthing life for those who deserve it.
(knowledge variable)
Keith W Fletcher Oct 2016
Keith W Fletcher
Dec 1, 2016


An insatiable thirst
Quenched
By the flickering flames of change
As constant darkness
Opens up
To expose
The smiling faces........ arranged
In a ragged circle
As transmutation will
Click a quick tick
Time sets forth a measurement
And right then
Measurement becomes relevant

And the wall
Still and silent now
As it settles into the new place
Having moved backward......
Giving human spirit
A little more space
Nobody knew it right then
But space
Just got bent ..for the very first time

---------And GOD smiled---------

Coal carried the flame forward
Far beyond
Its original role
Iron became harder to tame
As they blend and bend
Creating and celebrating
The birth
Of the very first tool
And the wall slid back
Exposing a gap
In the continuum
As well as a broken chain
So GOD stepped in
Taking a chain in each hand
As to cover the span

Linking the past to the present
Creating a future
Where history will be amassed
To be categorized
Analized
Sorted and filed
And GOD held it all together
-------And again GOD smiled-------

That smile
Must have been
MAJESTIC
As GOD watched the intrepid airmen
Sail off the dune and fly toward the ocean
Taking a leap and an unfathomable chance
GOD may have laughed
As the slapstick unfolded
The two brothers laughing and whooping
As each does their version
Of a happy dance
To a whole new future -- to be
That they alone
Had the ability to see

It did change... quite magically
Unfolding like a roadmap
Inspiring technology
With each turn of the page

No smile could have been present
As fat man lumbered in
And little boy followed
Not too long after
And that guaranteed
The absence of smiles
-------The suppression of laughter------

TRAGIC

Still....
The wall slid backwards
By more than the QUOTA
The pattern expected
Considering the folly of man
Whose intelligence suddenly
Accelerating....so rapidly
That bit by bit
Humanity split

Religiously

Using a crutch
Saying its all just...
...TOO much
"If GOD wanted man to fly
GOD would have given us wings"

As others decry
"You spit in the eye
of. GOD who gave us the gift
of creativity
Intelligence and tenacity---
--maybe a bit of bombastity

All fathers want their children
To excel
So shouldn't that be true
For GODS children as well?

That wall is not to be breached
Circumnavigated
Undermined or climbed
We will never realize
The height necessary
To rise above the lofty wall
To see the sacred sights
Where GOD delights
In teasing us
Bit by bit
Inch by inch
Allowing us
To push the wall forward

Encouraging us to learn as we grow
As you know
We would have never  moved forward
Beyond the doubts of those
Who say that we're playing GOD
Then... burying their heads in the sand
Dooming us to crawl
Instead of proudly walking tall

If GOD didn't encourage those  children
By stepping back
And smiling upon us
As we seek to find wisdom
Just as we need it

We take pride in pushing ahead
As if we..... somehow
Actually did it...
... On our own
Managing ...to move that wall
----And that has to give...

...GOD

The biggest laugh of all !!
Fatman and little were the first nuclear bombs dropped on the  Japanese cities  of Hiroshima and Nagasaki August 1945 just barely forty years after the Wright brothers  first airplane flight at   Kitty Hawk North Carolina

— The End —