"drows" poems
Eid reven nac taht eno... Latrommi ma I
Thgil eht gniruoved... Ssenkrad eht ma I
Edisni lived eht, sraef ruoy... Eramthgin ruoy ma I
Thgin yreve peels ot og uoy nehw, luos ruoy gnilaetS
Mrah yna morf uoy stcetorp taht eno... Ruoivas eht ma I
Nus lanrete eht ekil gninrub... Tghil eht ma I
Dnal esimorp eht ot egdirb a... Ediug ruoy ma I
Dnah efas ni er'uoy erus gnikam, Peels ouy sa ouy gnidrauG
Erif lanrefni eht em ni eveileb... Lived eht ma I
Erised uoy lla gnitnarg ni em etivni, eman ym maercS
Thgif ew lived eht rof htaif yb deneprahs thgil fo drows a...Legna na ma I
Thgink gninihs a, rotcetorp ruoy em otnu llac ythgimla eht fo rewop eht htiW
One may contemplate, doubting their faith,
For some reason with a little suffering they started to hate;
Easily clouded their minds with deception and lies!
That's what devils do before plotting your demise...
One may keep holding on, no matter what is thrown;
For they believe in the almighty, and the coming salvation;
A walk through hell, a test of their own will and faith
For never a moment the devil tried blinding their sight
We are our own angels and devils
With free will we live a life with choices
A path through darkness where the devil lies
A stairway to heaven where the almighty shines
You need a mirror to talk to your self
Ask something that you will not regret
What kind of person soon you'll become
A soldier of God or an army of satan...
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
I
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
II
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
III
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
1.9k
Astro space dust peaking over the bows
Jesters prance across your belly causeing blindness
And practical giants pick your clothes for tonight.
Although we have danced together
Yesterdays lunch backs up our crusades.
The spiked pants have formed a crust
Around the water bed
Filled with the tears of your family.
Your halos burn in the fire of the ages
Scorching the carpet.
Liquor and wine fill the packs
A toast to life is a thirst quenching mission
Taking away our lust and bleaches our skin
Forgotten births spread across the floor
Covered in last nights brew.
The night bodies jangle around under the gauze
Bells toll in the distance but the breath drows it out.
Under the bridge, behind the stores,
In the Inns, out inside.
The physics are catestrophic in their own way.
Crys begin once the breathing stops and the men leave.
Today we are creatures but how did we get this way
Who was the one who came up with the idea?
Don't question yourself
The leopards can't chase you forever
Give yourself to the hunters
They starve another night.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 4:59 PM UTC
lost in red
delusional labyrinths,
her bulbous eyes depict an
undiscovered fear
within.
walls built
to be impenetrable,
soundproof, stand
permanently - forming
a psychotic structure
preventing communication,
the trans-
la tion
of drows rutsegse guothhst
(words, gestures, thoughts)
and she pushes with anorexic
fingers against
the cinder
blocks, as the
at mos fear
cringes
around
h e r...
does escape exist?
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC
throw some words here
throw some words there
mental up in air
body rooted in ground
mouth spewing words here and there
here and there
can never stop
even under watchful eyes or
judgmental minds
words move clumsy with expression
throw them around there
throw them here
nothing said isn't always clear
so what, what are you saying
whats the position
what games are you playing
take five
words here, words there, words gone, words never said
what does it mean when you say i love you in bed
does it mean one day we'll wed or just end broken like the lot of 'em
what are the true meaning behind these things
what makes them words
words words words words words words words words words words
sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword
a fine tuning here, a tinkering there, once there was words, but now, swords everywhere
swords falling, stabbing, penetrating the hearts of many
run
run
run
its no use
words can be sharp like swords
swords can be dull like words
drows in drow
awaiting the next move
the alpha signals the pack
advancement to spearhead the operation
a scene of vengeance, dread, anxiety, anger and darkness
a scene of implicit clues; a reflection of reality across the multi dimensions
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Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
nothing drows you more than feelings
nothing gets you more excited than teather
you can see the magnificent in absolutely every kind of art
but baby
who capt your eyes?
i've seen them spining on mondays
and i truly know how you hate this day
boy i wish i'd be your friday
i wish you wanted to see me on saturdays
and i miss you all week long
lover of the fantasy
i wish i was your favorite song so you wouldn't get me out of your head
i wish i was the kind of flowers you like
i wish i could peek at you all the time
oh lover of the dark,
i miss you so much
as exact as math
and i wish
you'd never fall in love with anyone else
but me
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
Autumn by John Keats
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC