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Shofi Ahmed Nov 2018
The hallowed turf is a six-seasonal
always one step ahead on Earth.
So exceptional a land is out of the box
acutely drawn down the Moon
and sublimely unique is written in stone!

A patch of land every star loves to touch
so much so the Mintaka know they can mirror
the pyramid on the surface of the earth
but not the tucked away zenana here
the planetary gem, the earth's gold dust:
Matches the lead Prophet's birthplace!

Open and globular star clusters
up above the mundane Himalayas peak look
diagonally into Sylhet down the Meghalaya stardust
eying on for a shortcut to Earth's gold dust
that only gushes out elixirs Abe Hayat.

Lovely sought after by the water nymphs
that won't tarry scurrying to the waterfront of paradise
in Ma, the space between, while the waxing moon
takes a waning pause only to roll down and croon
in deep tranquil, thaws the midnight moonlit blue pond
amidst silhouetted bamboos, the sun after a night pause,
there it blooms new again bathing in the morn!

Boarding in such a serendipitous moment, they dream,
carried out just these hidden elixirs in their pitchers
before Queen Fathima The Queen of Heaven.
Perfectly spherical she zeroes in the cosmic loop
and spills in the open sea one more colourless scoop
without a pinch of salt there the sunrise and set troupe
pause and lay in once again the most colourful swoop.

Up above heaven's Saal Saabila River
on the empyrean Moon, she hops on one foot
and down the evergreen Earth's spring dips a toe
without a shadow without a footprint, tone on tone
ties both worlds forever in bloom!

Blow the wrap off, score a preserved geometry
somewhere in Sylhet, even the Hebrew King David here
would offer his thousand and one melodic symposium
and King Solomon princely his whole affluent shebang.
'Cause the prevailing sun from heaven this time
could roll down on a palm simply like a handful of earth!

Oh, what will it land in Sylhet, the pearl of the earthy depth?
Art in light, the spark from the Earth's foundation stone?
Eyes gaze on so firm like the solid sky yet surge like kite
in the air looking here over a truly pristine drop of water
with the ocean is inside until it shows up down the blue sky
though rainbows oft pop out tantalising every looking eye!

The fairy that ascends then is a stealer no hand can touch
seven colours shine on a patch of blue unspoiled untouched
took on a meaning for Sylhet in a handful of earth
matching the soil of Makkah the centre of the Earth
the birthplace of the lead prophet Muhammad (PBUH)!
One who is in the know hops on the foundation stone
and rose to heaven in the Night of Ascension.

How a regular soil mirrors the very pivotal one?
The labyrinth is out of this world, relates to Queen Maab
let alone a native maestro that no genie can describe!
Every atom loves to discover the meaning of that
it knows the constant vibrations of the never-ending dance
keeping it on its toe the choreography comes from outside.
The feet are most polished and motions are butterfly dance,
still the canvas is blank, light one more candlelight!

Light a candle in Sylhet I wonder here the moonlight
spills through even into an atom's black canvas and the sun
lovely drops down on a handful of earth on the flipside!
Meet here the open future shows up at the Earth's hub
the moon's anew rallying to the untouching-sea
the Indian subcontinent's corner to the ancient wind!

Go with the southern breeze on play with the sun
here it colours the wind, gives it its Midas touch
and strikes a deal to part a silhouetted cloud.  
That a beauty spot raises the eyebrows of the day on a high,
on the shining face of the golden Bangla in broad daylight!

Hark the morning birds, follow singing deep in the midst
mellifluous-shrills fill the air unveiling the dream scenes!
Ah, the deep footed earth how mystique,
every morning the sun off the heaven's hill
lays in a new diaphanous gold-light-rug beneath it,
only to loose its colours in a colourless magic
let alone painting its footprint!

Every time is new numerates the bounties of our land
craving to sip in a dew-potion on our blossoming rose
cirrus clouds dancing over the seas here they drop
banish the midday blues singing the deep sea's song!

Nestled amidst the Rivers Surma, Kushiara and Monu
perched on the shades of the trees, each one is a canvas.
Returning melodic birds crescendo by the downstream  
hail from the autumnal breeze on the upstream.
Six seasons rebound alike leap and swing on the trees
unpacking their intricate and mesmeric fluid designs
often make a meal of the obvious and work of art alike!

Stunned angels on their way heaven taking one more sunset
potted in the starry bowl look back here at the wee hours.
They can hear pianissimo on this preserved perennial land
it never falls asleep is awake with a perfectly round
360-degree circle of spiritually impowered dynamos
dead but live on a different level Dervishes
keeping an ear on the hallowed Sylhet's ground.    
A deep-seated truth, rock-solid Shilahatta in Sanskrit
clothed in an enduring vesture minted Sylhet loops in
with the Hebrew Bible's Shalet, a ruler, a shield!  

A little drop makes the mighty ocean
likewise with one single word on the lips,
the maestros' great epics begin to be told.
Just with a mundane handful of earth
pristine Sylhet's masterpiece begins to unfold.

With the whole ball of wax keeping us onboard
lo, before the face of the Earth, it unveils the mirror!
With the whole nine yards on her least hold
believe it or not, Sylhet is cherry-picked chosen by God!
The subject matter is about a land possessing a deeply seeded truth. The prime significance of which is it's scattered afar and matches the pivotal soil of the centre of the earth!
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ginger bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Poetic T Oct 2014
Testaments wrote in language
Of old
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,
To put hair on your chest,
"But accidents can happen"
Never sniff the jar full of mystery
Or you'll nose about it for weeks,
Platting,
Braiding,
Partings,
Upon it, styles just to hide the sight
Its growing from your nose in fact,
Do you like my
Moustache,
As you
Sneeze,
And then the secrets are out,
Mischief with papers of old  
Noses shouldn't go
"Where noses shouldn't go"
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,  
Are for professionals, not those
"Nosy individuals"
Who should put things
Where they should nose they shouldn't go..
tom krutilla Nov 2014
can I say of the words in the distant past
my Claire,
that sweet, caressing voice of memories last
are the elixirs that warm a sadden heart

talk to exahaustion, collapse into my arms
my Claire,
we sprawl onto the floor, I steal your charms
are the elixirs that warm a sadden heart

our history was built, now ebbing times
my Claire,
has sought us out, to hurry this decline
still your sweet, caressing voice of memories
last
are the elixirs that warm a sadden heart
jane taylor May 2016
erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself

encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light
shining in the night

each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell

into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born

the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constructing a world
where omnipotence shines

the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals
far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light
bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom
flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic
rainbow strobes cascading the sky

©2016janetaylor
Jeremy Duff Sep 2013
The only thing left
in this mind of mine
is self destruction.

I know not how I strayed
so far from mother's teachings.
And I know not where I
shall end up.

I only know where I will find
my next fix at.
And I know how long
8 of these pills will last me.
(three days.)

I could place my finger
on this map
and tell you what country it is on.
Yet you could not point
at the crowd
and find one person who loves me.

Albert Camus
said that the only question that
truly matters
must be answered before
there can be discovery,
growth and love.
That question is whether or not to continue one's life.

Unlike the affects of vicodin and *****,
I know not the answer to this question.
And I suppose I will
find the answer,
or die trying.
Just as I did with the mixing
of my two favorite elixirs.
And what a lovely combination they have become.
Valo Salo Aug 2015
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Where Shelter Aug 2023
<>

”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light

Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,  
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”


~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)

<>

First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,

at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee

it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue

simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul

here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
great appreciation to Vienna B. for the beautiful poem she wrote,
and thanks for the inspiration!
Always be dreaming!
W.S.
LAURA LYNCH Jun 2012
Like the breath of a lover, I feel the warm breeze.
The breeze carries the fragrance of Springtime’s tease.
Senses aroused by flirtatious blossoms;
Myriads of colors flooding my gardens.

Blackthorns, Azaleas, Crocus and Dahlias
Clothed in beauty, tossing seductive glances.
Springtime’s powerful elixirs and tonics
Intoxicating lovers with her elaborate sonnets.

Sung through the trees, the Robin’s melodies.
The time of the year for the birds and the bees.
Cardinals and Larks sing breaking the spell,
As the captives of winter are released from their cells.
Brett Jun 2021
What can I say? Another one dead and gone away.
Lost to ignorance, or
Possibly blind to addictions hooked grip.
One day your dangling a toe
Just over the edge. The next,
Your staring up wondering
How you lost your footing. I could say he’s a ******, but
Lord knows the elixirs I have invented
To dispel the dark heart of my depression.

Though I stand stoic, life has taught me
To never shame a smile. The sun rises for the living, and
Dead men fall short of tomorrow.
The amorphous soul slips through the seams
Of hands grasping to hold. So, when death discards its cloak and
Swirls its specters all around me
I’ll raise up life like a guiding lantern
And
Step through existence with my convictions.
Rest peacefully to all I have lost to the chase for a high. To all those running towards death to escape life, may you find some solemn quiet in the next life.
ej Mar 2015
There is hope beyond a papery pharmacy
that is stocked with ink and sheepskin

The clerk is finicky and silent, and elixirs evaporate
as you browse the papyrus shelves

There is hope beyond this paper pharmacy,
so abandon poisons crafted by pen-laden fingers
To me, they're just words
Joey Dec 2014
It was a Masquerade, she said: a place we could go to hide. I wasn't in fright of her. I had it all under control. She took me by the hand, softly, that cold summer morning. The confusion that surrounded us allowed us to see more clearly. We were both wearing horse masks, and she whinnied at me so eagerly. The apple tasted bitter, but when I licked her lips, I felt the sugary sweetness of saliva mixed with cake crumbs and wine. We flirted. We sang together. I saw her naked, twice. When she took off her clothes and threw her tights around my head, I couldn't see the flesh she flaunted to the rest of the room. She licked my chin, all the way up to the tip of my mask, lifting it from my skull with her tongue. When her song was sung, I wallowed in pity and doubt. Her father chased me from the balcony. I climbed faster than he and escaped with my life, barely. The walk through the mangrove was dusty, and spiders kept climbing down my back, spinning their threads along my spine. I contemplated my mirage in the rippling waters before taking the final steps into my doorway. Looking up, greeted by elephants, tigers, peacocks and pigs. They strangled me with their elixirs, and we danced with the moon until our legs abandoned us.
Bryce Aug 2018
It is early.

and the world hangs silent, but the birds chirping their chime,

An angelic choir of vibratos
And tenor beaks
humming sweet
to the early tangerine crest of sun
slivers a powerful bar of light over the peaks
to a newly brilliant horizon.

Sweeping the dredges of darkness away
as the stars fade
like coal dust
back again, packed into their cupboard of night
one by one,
lanterns snuffed and sent
into the vibrating blue
as if the whole sky should erupt into fire
azure, hallowed morning pyre

Encircled by the gradient hues
of coral pink and castille yellow
Mediterranean teal
A symphonic
cacophonic
**** of birth

Good Day, Sweet mother earth.

Squeezed through the valleys
canals
allies
every nook and forlorn cranny
kissed with her blissful photonic army
And the infantile creatures cry with glee.
The dewdrops clutch the blades
the tender palasade
of petals
remembering their darkened escapades
slipping tender rain
to feed the dirt,
the lonely detritus
elixirs of the lovely night.

And the world bursts into a veritable
kaleidoscope of life
With a trillion pairs of eyes
accessing the mother dream
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
It was early fall,
the leaves were vibrant
when I crawled to the bar,
catch myself a weekend buzz.

Fred’s drinks were pure trouble,
more jet fuel than mixer.
I mean you could torch your breath
after just one sip.
Rock blared there like a live concert,
loud enough to make you a deaf mute
after just one drink.
The dark walls swirled,
moved in & out, carnival-like,
I purred-down
Jack-elixirs.

I first saw her shining
from across the Mahogany bar.
She was hidden in the shadows,
a real good looker.
Her amber hair was crazy,
blowing everywhere
like the bride of the stitched-man,
electrode-neck.

She might have been a ******
or a nose-candy queen,
but after what the bartender gave me,
it really didn’t matter,
life was played ******* the edge
in them days.

I was enthalled with her,
captivated by her lady-vibes,
she was the perfect last call.
We sang rock and roll songs
in my 455 rocket, crawled
the back roads,
looped
all the way
to my country-place.

We were on auto-pilot,
dropped our guards,
fell into each other’s embrace.
She smelled like salty-patchouli,
had a killer innocent-face,
kissed me with fire,
such strong desire,
a beautiful-wantonness.
Her eyes were so red & green,
indeed she was
the consummate,
the prettiest,
late-night dream girl.

She was bathed in bright ink,
the sun, the moon, the stars,
vividly scrawled on her back
along with a frowning-tiger.
Above her privacy, I spied
a smiling-gnome
with outstretched arms
screaming, “I Wuv You.”

I obliged him,
there was no fighting
her ***** to the wall demeanor.
We shook the planet,
frolicked way past the wee hours,
deep into the noon hour.

When the earth-shattering stopped,
I was hung over on her & the jp4.
We crashed still trashed,
I still don’t know
how I ever got her home.
One of those times you remember in bits & pieces.
Marieta Maglas Aug 2013
(Frederick entered the room. He told them that he found a treasure into the castle’s cave.)

'I found the rarest treasure of all today. What can I do with that gold?
'Surah hid it.'Mary said,' hence, some mining activities are uncontrolled.'
'The finders and the landowners are entitled to these valuables,'
The cleric said,’ hence, it may help John to adjust the budget balances.'
(Mary wanted to tell Frederick the truth about Surah.)

'Surah is an alchemist, and she loves to do this with fierce intensity.
Her studies about substances, their composition, their density,
About purification by dissolution and by crystallization are rife.
She hopes to discover, someday, the formula for the elixir of life.'

'Summa Perfectionis and the emerald tables of Hermes', said
The cleric, 'this alchemy explains why her statues have lizards on head.'
'Maybe she gave Jezebel a strange substance to drink,' Frederick
Said. 'Go to her castle to search this substance, dear. I am so sick.'

(It was Mary, who told Frederick to go to Surah’s castle to find the antidote. Frederick and Matthew went to the castle. )

The turrets of the castle crumbled under the slow pressure of time,
Their glory has disappeared because of poverty and cold clime.
The falling wall stones, the ill-paved courtyards, the dusty moat,
The sagging floors, the worm-eaten wainscot had a blue note.

The faded tapestries within, all tell a gloomy tale of fallen grandeur.
The alchemy chamber in the remaining tower showed Surah was poor.
She spent the hours of her life in poring over the ancient tomes.
The occult studies made Surah first focus her attention on fomes.



Her belief in all the dark power was firm and deep-seated.
With burning small peasant children, the demon she greeted.
Many times, she was busy over a violently boiling cauldron,
Where many substances spewed out their thick concoction.

She searched a spell to release her life from its terrible burden.
She used to work only when the alchemy room began to darken.
She should never wed, she might, thus, end the curse with herself.
She kept cobwebs and bats. Strange things were on her shelf.

Frederick entered that room and saw her manuscripts and studies
In the field of alchemy. She had bottles, their colors being so muddy.
He opened those books, where it was written how to prepare
Elixirs from herbs, gems, and metals while using a devilish prayer.

The books instructed in the casting of spells, invocations, rites,
Talismans, amulets, and sigils. He found how she spent her nights.
On the altar, a doll-representing Jezebel had needles in her head.
There was a paper, where it was written, 'nor alive, nor dead.'

Near it, he found Kratom leaves and bottles-containing naloxone.
He took the bottles because he understood what Surah had done.
While feeding the horses, Matthew was waiting near the castle.
Clayton was in a stable, but working there became such a hassle.

He thought that something happened, when tools dropped on the floor.
A bottle dropped over another one, when Frederick closed the door.
An explosion was heard in the castle, which sounded like a sonic boom.
Surah was in a hurry to see what happened into the alchemy room.

Another explosion was heard being more loudly than the first one.
Surah gazed at her reflected face within the mirror instead of run.
Huge deformations of her new face formed a monstrous being.
An illusion shifted her identity. Believing is not always seeing.

She had sensations of otherness, when her new face appeared
To be a stranger looking at her, beyond the mirror, then disappeared.
A monster was watching her, and smiling with an enigmatic expression.
Clayton embraced her while crying, 'My dear, you have an obsession!'

Frederick told Matthew, ‘I took the potion, let's straddle the horses.'
'The castle is burning. To get out of this wood, we need strong forces.'
'My horse sped up. ‘What does he feel in front of fire and crack?
'He's fearful, because he feels trapped. Don't pull him back!'

'Being scared, his reaction is flight and run away from the fire wallop.
'You're scared, and instinctively you urge him to go into a gallop.'
'The horses are not thinking. It’s all out of the instinct to survive.
You can help your horse, when you know how to ride and to drive.'

(They rode their horses to the castle of Jezebel.)

They entered the castle, and climbed up the stairway to Jezebel.
'I came here in a hurry to save you, and my way to you was a hell.
Drink the potion, and wake up. I wonder how you feel in my arms.
I'm in love with you and still so deeply captivated by your charms.
(Jezebel had opened her eyes for the first time since being asleep. ‘I know that you love me!’ She told Frederick.)
(Clayton had managed to extinguish the fire. After that, he held his precious Surah in his arms while crying. Her face was burned by acid during explosion.)

'Nothing happened to your face. You're the same beautiful woman.'
'Why my face is in pain? ‘It’s because of the heat. Lie on the divan.
Let me take off your clothes, and flush your skin with cold water.'
'You're so gentle, Clayton. In your arms, I feel safe like a little daughter'.

'I lost the potion I prepared for Richard. He's my last chance.
It was destroyed by the explosion. I feel like I am in a trance.'
'I gave you morphine for treating your pain. He wouldn't help you.
Richard is like John, and you cannot change their point of view.'

(Clayton loved her, because he thought she was vulnerable and incapable to adopt the situations. Her soul was very fragile, even she masked this so well. She wanted to be more than she could be in life, and this was the reason her ways weren’t always the best chosen ways. He hoped someday his love would change her. He wanted to save her life. Surah closed her eyes, and fell asleep.)

To be continued...
Matalie Niller May 2012
Nudge a numb cockroach and he'll love you for life
just ***** little lemonheads
can't actually survive a nuclear explosion
but can cause catastrophic evolutionary queries
like "Why do the good die young?"
Can you believe
that long ago only the bad died elderly
and were witches with elixirs
potions and spells to make God blush and his **** turn to mush
so powerful
they made people go crazy with
judgement and micromanaging
but I'm the real witch
right-o I ride broomsticks and eat toads for snacks
my back is a lump of coal from the Devil's morning hookah
smoke billows from my ears
cockroaches my best friends
we cut off our heads and run into fridges
my pelvis is frigid except
for those **** roaches.
David Moss Dec 2014
I took ten random words from a dictionary and used each of them in a line, in the direct order I chose them. All the words acquired, start with a capital letter. I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :) Enjoy!*



an Agricultural paradise, we control mother nature's life

Overmaster's of her laws, her reigns we hold precise

our Alimentative elixirs? From her womb we choose to thieve

her Hems we tear and take our share

a Ghostly life to lead

her Briny tears an ocean

she's still Endearing and motherly

yet we treat her like a ***** Bathhouse

pure Artificial stupidity

i truly pray for her Ascension from humanity.
I want to hear others attempts! Give it a try, and list your title in the comments! :)
Alternate Person Jun 2014
In the land of doom born, and
Sin the minds give no warn, and
Spin the beds with force to spawn

Blew the winds
I was lost, I was lost
Flew my reasons
I was frost, I was frost
Threw my conscious
I am a ghost, I am a ghost

Molten pain in my crust, and
Swollen torment in my throat, and
Forgotten elixirs away to float

Suffer I did
I was waste, I was waste
Laughter lost
In haste, in haste
Proper ways
All replaced, all replaced

Give my soul one last breath, and
Forgive my sadness my wish of death, and
Deceive to put me out of breath
Perry Bezanis Jun 2010
The time must come when
we put aside recipes untried,
socks unmended, old fabrics
too pretty to be used -when
the bottled nuts and bolts
-the springs, the locks
unused -waiting,
wait unused

    -the memorabilia of hope,
    the rusty steel of life.

The time must come when
cease to lie -lotions,
Elixirs de Leon -when we
fail our bite to the night-soak
and think not -care not, of that
breath that does not count anyhow
-when reason mirrors wrinkles
-undreams romance.

-hooked rugs of might-have-done,
school albums, what not become,
leather bottles, convalescing sun
-and the quieting ice.

When I read the Sports/
Society page, I ask myself -them,
'How will you go down?
-willingly? -with,
if not a Bang, a Whimper?
-if not with, without
the Apotheosis of Drug?

(-from http://www.condition.org/ )
Precious Jan 2014
I mix it all myself.
A little bit of love and self destruction.
It evolves all the time.
An evermore deadly potion.

To make him fall in love.
To silence her.
To fix my world.
I  try to make these elixirs.

A little bit a melody, harmony, and pain.
A droplet of fear, a bright dark hue.
Mix it all together,
And I might get you.

I might disappear.
She might never speak.
I try to make these elixirs,
So my life isn't so bleak.

I drink them down.
I let it sink in.
I make them myself,
All of these poisons.
Knowing makes me wonder
At evocative truths which abound
Salient sentience is a crucible
Where the enlightened meet
To sip ambrosia’s elixirs
Enrapturing mesmeric enchantments
Fecund grace ensues
Pervasions depths seem within reach
With treatises we expound
Lecherous libido’s pandemic liaisons
A chorus so unique
Each one a sentinel equation
In harmony replete
The decadent arrogant squirm
As rubato’s flair reveals
All the things that might have been
The love that they concealed
As they reach with grasping greedy hands
For things they can not steal
ranveer joshua Nov 2021
Though the loneliness sets in, among the crowds,
Here, within themselves, they find their solace;
Euphoric events have now lost their appeal;

Mindfulness is the key to rest, they recite;
Exaggerated were their extravagant emotions on the dance floor,
Losing themselves in self discovery;
Over-sensationalized was the persona,
Diving into the depth of purple elixirs;
Rave, rave, rave,
As the sun replaces the strobelights,
Melancholy rises with her rays,
And suddenly, life seems meaningless;
The melodrama,
It strikes;
Cleaning up the champagne glasses, after the catastrophe
Sa Sa Ra Nov 2012
H'min in I want some, and this Vita Mix thing 'round here
'dat gets an eyes wiff of this sort of thing and it starts singing
ringing a real living day dream 'get on over here' all of a sudden
seems I'm thirsty no drink in years Basil where's that friendly Dandelion
and last I saw they were all out together with baby Spinach and baby Kale
an' were looking quite sweetly there 'bout ready for what they so beautifully do,
see and ask 'em if they'd come along with all their great buds willing be super brew
for a little bit dear, needy and overly due sweety and we's more exacting on being more
the cup of tea of super elixirs, gets this dude feeling quite bit better on and maybe next task-set
don't set him so far down under and year after lil' bit sweeter and lighter yet; beyond our sweetness
magically green goddess's delight of the kind of treatment sometimes hard to find between themselves
those red blood bearing types; so let's call on down Cilantro, get on down and out some more 'dem ****
heavy metals, how 'bout this dude anybody kno where he could trick a book into dropping off a truck load of SuperKombu, ordinary Kelp and while we're here now; now can we form our hearts around every shore and river that pours into thee before it is too much more of woe are the seas; I'm going to go on now but 'dat one's got black holed gravity's; Chlorella, Spirulina, Blue Greens Bloom Algaes taken with care and sampling testing is what by me next to LOVE  Love and well and the water there a very dear and essential shimmering part of God to me; Temple Body Temple Earth; be they battered tattered near or see it far two homes each has got; We All Holy Stewards; are we sleeping on the job; no captain at the helm; did we check in and walk out and get high and expect a check and hope to keep our jobs; please help me; how would each of 7 billion else describe; give me your dreams and or each your fears;
                                          
                                                                ­             what do you want;
                                                                ­                  come alive or
                                                                ­                   disappear!!!!
                                                   ­                                        R
~We can form our hearts around every shore and river that pours into thee before it is too much more of woe are the seas~~
~And as emotionality's do not worship and drown by these wherefore they are better serving us be a lighter loving walk upon these loveliest of delights abundantly~~

Sheila Chandra - Ever so Lonely

Ever so lonely
Ever so lonely without you
Ever so lonely

Sinking into your eyes
And all I see
Love is an ocean and you for me

Sinking into your eyes
Your eyes
Are all I see

Your love is an ocean
An ocean refuses no river
Ever so lonely

An ocean refuses no river
Waiting for the time

When we can be
Alone together
Alone together eternally

The ocean, the ocean refuses no river
The ocean, your ocean refuses no river
Ever so lonely

Ever so lonely without you
Your ocean
Your ocean refuses no river

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbcKO92OGNI


Life in all its splendor is Mother Nature obeyed.
--Weston A. Price, DDS
http://www.westonaprice.org/basics/principles-of-healthy-diets
Weston A. Price Foundation President Sally Fallon Morell offers a welcome message and overview of the foundation's principles.
http://www.westonaprice.org/about-the-foundation/welcome-from-sally-fallon-morell

The Beautiful Truth;
Raised on a wildlife reserve in Alaska, 15-year-old Garrett was interested in the dietary habits of the farm animals. After the tragic death of his mother, Garrett's father decided to home-school his son and assigned a book written by Dr. Max Gerson that proposed a direct link between diet and a cure for cancer.
Fascinated, Garrett embarks in this documentary on a cross-country road trip to investigate The Gerson Therapy. He meets with scientists, doctors and cancer survivors who reveal how it is in the best interest of the multi-billion dollar medical industry to dismiss the notion of alternative and natural cures.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvzDHGLEUyw

This is the launch video of the Generation Food Project. Award winning director Steve James ('Hoop Dreams' and 'The Interrupters') and bestselling author Raj Patel ('Stuffed and Starved' and 'The Value of Nothing') want to tell stories of people who are changing the way we eat today, so that everyone can eat tomorrow. Visit www.generationfoodproject.org to find out more and support the project.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evoFFHsB3pU

RAJ PATEL
Website and Blog of writer, activist and academic, Raj Patel's publishers site;
http://rajpatel.org/category/videos/
Jayne E Oct 2019
I crave
I burn
I ache
to lick the salt
from your skin
to breathe you
inhale every atom
all 7*10(27)
7000000000000000000000000000
of them
feed this
elemental need
bury my face
in your musk
I must
I must
I must
taste you
ravish you
with kisses
your magnet pulls
with orbital force
pulls me
from the pit of my belly
drives me
to press my skin
against your skin
no air between us
heat of our bodies
fusing skin to skin
feeding the fire within
your breath
breathing my name
love caught in the moans
sets my body alight
with desire
with love
with longing
I want to hold you inside me
carry you with me
always
saturate you
with my love
mixing elixirs
I am lost in you
in bliss.

© J.C. 11/10/2019 3.03am
Anthony Reid Apr 2012
If this world had a face, it’d be bound tight and beset,
If there’s good in this place, I’ve not found sight of it yet.
Past all the blood and the hurt, and ravaged sounds of regret,
There must be good in this world, but I haven’t fount it yet.

All that ought to run deep, all that ought to come through,
That which taught men of decency all that they do,
Has been lost on the masses and torn from all trace,
So the greenest of grass is now scorned and replaced.

Those I’m forced to call friend – are a tax on my time,
With each talk I pretend an’ with each laugh I could cry,
Those of blood get me down – another taunt or a test,
There must be good in this town, but it hasn’t warmed to me yet.

With un-pleaseables I talk, in that cold name of love,
By any reasonable chalk I’ve done more than too much,
With unappeasables I stride, as I toss away time,
To their agreeable pride, I have lost all of mine.

Pour elixirs in ears, with no trace of intent,
Just a duty of peer-ship and misplaced compliments,
And all they want to hear’s their re-vented hot air,
And they’ll only keep near those with plenty to serve.

If I gave you your praise, and ten pounds of my flesh,
And waved you on your way to sounds of high address,
If I bundled and bound all the scraps of my soul,
And put them in your hand with a map you could own,
If I gave you my freedom, my voice and my keep,
Would you take of your leave and leave me to my sleep?
If I gave you my will and my weakness and wants,
Could the lands lonely chill turn from bleakness to warmth?
If I covered my face – could I finally rest?
If there’s good in this place, why was I to be left?

If I gathered all grit from the dregs of this hole,
And fashioned a gift from my old beggars bowl,
If I took all the soot and the silt of my years,
And tailored a trinket with blood, spit and tears,
If I capped it and crowned it with carvings of coin,
Could I buy passage to grounds past the hard ones I toil?
Where I’m no longer a ghost in the guise of a man,
Or bare the breathless ill-boast that I’ve lied all I can,
Where I’m no more a mark to be treaded upon,
A downpour-bound spark or a silent-said song,
Where I’m long past purveyors an’ the prospecting proud,
All the tall self-surveyors that are laughably loud.
Where these meek-minded masses are ploughed-up and purged,
And all new greener grasses feel they’d never been there?

For now people are a crowd, a winter I can’t leave behind,
And the street is just a sound, a splinter in my weary mind.
Through the fixed filter of rain, I try to keep my bearings right,
And all the tints within the frame come only by steel burning lights.

They free and they halt and they warn and they tempt,
A beaming assault on the swarms we call men.
And the laughing and loathing the swarm has within,
Wraps up my home and what warmth could have been.
It rattles and ruptures and rips it apart,
And battles for blood – all the blood of my heart.
And just as the coldness draws me into sleep,
A new day unfolds and the empty heart beats.
Yes just as the coldness draws me into peace,
A new day unfolds to the dawning of beeps.

Why must this alarm come and shake what was still?
Why can’t you be calm? You the big waking world.

I have a mind who’s only friend’s a ravaged voice of sure regret,
Which chimes of kindnesses to end this savage choice of pure neglect,
Must be an unknown soul around, although they haven’t shown up  yet,
For all I know just hold and drown – and still I haven’t blown up yet,
If we could see then we could learn, our little lives need not be Hell,
If there be good within this world, why does it hide itself so well?
It's 4:43 in the AM -
Not in the afternoon where it's supposed to be
But dark instead -
Smoking a cigarette outside -
In the humid purple night -
Where lightning bugs are flying
Under sharp soft bursts of wind -
Pleasant in this misty heat -
You are nocturnal -
More comfortable in the dark -
Where thoughts flow more freely
With the freedom of shadows -
Hiding in the darkness -
Arousing passions -
Seducing lusts -
Running much faster from death's final dust -
Where flaming elixirs flow like silken rain
Under galaxies of stars and various planets -
Perfumes of the dark matter erupt in your mind -
Laying in tall grass, outstretched arms -
Legs curled up -
In awe of such massive wonder and chaos
That indulges my speck of existence -
This is when you understand the notion of 'Gods' -
And how truly privileged it is to live a life -
Where dreams will come, asleep or awake -
A nocturnal life is the life I live.
Porter Dec 2013
rows and rows of decadence
chocolate covered dreams

gold and purple velvet
exotic coffee steams

haute coutre on sterling racks
staffed by aphrodite

cherry blossoms in the air
art to serve the mighty

gilded goblets fat with rubies
thick potions to control

ivory pipes on opal stands
pink smoke from their bowls

mahogany and marble
amber glass aglow

tinkling diamond chandeliers
funiture art nouveau

elixirs and magic rings
magenta fire in a jar

thick and heavy gold
tiffany eggs for the czar

pastel parisian cakes
hand stitched italian shoes

hornback crocodile leather
master barbers fine shampoos

bespoke tailor in a corner
adonis with fine liqueur

any delicacy or art
for any type connoisseur

richly wrapped and waiting
your opulent desires

soak them drink them in
bask in their fires

all priceless things
based on human lies

worth less than dust
compared to love in
someone’s eyes
Phosphorimental Oct 2014
Out beyond the edge of reason,
beyond where my senses can claim
I cannot sleep or wake…
nor dream.
In a state of
nondescript stillness. Bereft of
unnecessary memories.
I am not loved,
I do not love
in ways I can any longer
understand. Stark states of
stalemate.
Melpomene and Thalia
hunched over game pieces
a drunken heart
laments all a sober mind must
reason.
When liquid gold
and golden light
take to loving,
we as humans,
are no match. Either of
these elixirs in their limpidness,
bronzes our throats and
smothers our breath,
consumes our vision
with that last still drift of
sulphur, struck…
My flickering writhe
is a lambent match flame
Leaning in
to kiss a wild bonfire.
Dolly Madison kisses me back sweet-like
outside of Ruby’s
where we sip elixirs and giggle
at the sidewalk staggers
of late night downtown.

“I don’t want someone directing me,”
She says, unexpectedly
(and it comes out like a question),
“but I don’t want to tell someone else
what to do, either.”

“Oh oh,” I say
“Like two mustangs.”

And she says, “what?”

“Two mustangs,” I reiterate.
Not a rider and a horse
or a horse and a rider,
with the digging of spurs and
the crack of crops,
but two steeds, side by side,
running for all they’re worth.

Dolly’s eyes stare
before they
roll up and to her left.
I make my hands move forward
up and down and
side to side,
together.

She lights with a slow smile and says, “yeah”
and kisses me harder.

In my mind the mustangs
sweat.
The mirth crease on my face,
Are the traces of scoff,
Laced in my heart,
The oath I swore,
I hold with pride,
And the throne;I shall surely ascend,

For in their minds are nefarious surmise,
Bequeathed by their fathers,
As an epitome of my exactitude,
And in the reverence of their supposed lore,
"He is powerless"their honored lingo,

"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
The webs I cast,
And crown the ravens on the orbs,
Somersaulting the flamboyance and alluring sciences,
In the follies of their fantasies and lust,
Their souls are clipped with taint claws,
And shooed into my den,

"He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their temples and synagogues,
Are my dote ravens,
Quoting the collars of their scriptures,
And stalking their honored lingo,
In their desperations for excellence and deliverance,
Their minds and sight,
Are bewitched with elixirs,
To their satiety,
And drove in slavery,

'He is powerless"their honored lingo,
In their moments of quandery,
I hover on the corridors of their thoughts,
And whisper the "B" plans,
Brewing the animosities and cruelties among theirselves,
Carving justification for the aftermath,
But still;"He is powerless"their honored lingo,

Apostrophe'
©Historian E.Lexano
I am a little bit brave
and a little bit afraid
I am my goddess and my moon
I am my silver spoon
elixirs
  life potions
love potions
magic brewing
   in a *** of desire
                  to be free
                  from the constrictions
                  that used to bind me
ladidee!
© jeannine davidoff 2009
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
Everyday I crank into battle,
pedal my knobby-spaceship
to somewhere else.
I'm really nobody special,
just another universal-soldier,
a lover of rock and roll,
a fellow sojourner.

Achilles Last Stand
blasts through
my skull candy
in raw-melody.
I jump curbs,
hop ravines,
resurrecting the
meaning of clairvoyance.

I read her calling,
a true woman-child
crying for faith,
she masked her pain
with self-doubt,
swallowed anger,
hexed by *** & drugs
& lots of alcohol,
temporal killing pain-relief,
death-elixirs from liars.

And in my boldness,
my love for her indomitable spirit,
I shout to her,
telepathically send her
an important sincere message,
"Pick yourself up fighter,
cleanse your bloodied knees,
cloak yourself in flower-maille,
love yourself first
for protection
from you adversaries
(and there are many).
Carry the shield of courage
to blind the dark-world
with the next coming,
the coming of your own sun,
shine sister shine!"
Jonny Angel Dec 2013
This shady-bar
gave you more ***** than mixer,
cheap spirits & rot gut elixirs flowed,
some did lines of flake on the teak.
By eight, most dates were sloppy drunk,
buzzed, frazzled to the gills,
schmoozing the feline-walk,
talking ****, listening to
Floyd or Skynyrd.
It was a circus of sorts.

Back in those days
we called the cops 'fuzz',
they'd make their rounds
every couple of hours,
it made it look like they were
using tax-dollars wisely,
but we students knew better,
******* establishment.

The parking lot was a mix
of racetrack & boxing ring.
Cars jammed, roared,
cruised, honked
their way
through the fistfights.

Once, I saw two sweet-babes,
real rough-cats scratch and claw
themselves to near death.
The flowered-blouse
on one was ripped clean off,
one of her ***** hung out,
it looked bruised.
Blood streamed down
both of their faces,
ruining their mascara.

When I look back,
it's quite amazing
any of us survived
that freaking place.
Now come to think of it,
the last time
I saw my buddy Marcus
was outside that
nasty-drinking-establishment.
He was ******* amongst
the drunks & excrement.
I really wonder how he survived,
if he made it out of that city
in one piece,
alive.
Jeremy Betts Jan 3
Speak of the devil and see who appears in the mirrors
Who knows better than you all your fears and what brings you to tears?
The voice that escapes through clenched teeth, grinding like gears
Is exactly the same as the voice saying the things nobody hears
Most all of the verbal abuse does not funnel in through the ears
It stays internal, verbal and mental commingle to create brutal elixirs
Constructing, seemingly out of nothing, life altering barriers
A senseless mugging in broad daylight and no one interferes
Just like no one hears my prayers
The real me almost disappears from years of hiding behind makeshift veneers
Hanging on by a meer thread, I think the puppeteers have switched careers

©2024
They were in the parapsychological hypnosis session unmoved by everything that could happen. The journey of a lifetime through the hidden spaces of past existence was virtual reality. It all begins in antiquity where Vernarth was transported to Hypno to reunite with his inborn and his comrades. He proved to be a great defender of libertarian ideals and above all not to betray his formation of great leaders of the largest empire, with immeasurable feats and achievements of this super experience of reunion in a past world with more reunions for having lived and returned to revive them. The expert director of this great feat, acknowledged never having attended anything that compares to him, it is an unprecedented fact and that would mark a new milestone in his specialty and the study of parapsychology. The doctor together with his assistants had to reevaluate a new policy of systemic or therapies, in exchange for their own way of life, generating the greatest plan of digression from this conjectured intercommunicated, to planes and dimensions of the ancestral memory of everything. Created, and those that its beneficiaries have been able to verify. In the vicinity of the clinical consultation, hundreds of people, onlookers, journalists, and the media took risks. To which one of them asks the doctor: Journalist: “Dear Sir, I was having a coffee… just when I heard about this phenomenal news. We decided to come to his interview. I consult you. What has been the greatest tenor that has been differentiated from the rest of the procedures that he has performed, and how will his method be in the future to reconvert his specialty? Parapsychologist says: “there are undoubtedly innumerable connections in our lives and beyond ...., But now I have found routes that I did not think I was capable of knowing in this instance. I think that now they will be more than they could count in an active professional life”

At that moment, his assistant called him urgently to tell him that an emergency had occurred. They both hurry and enter the cabin. And they manage to perceive that Vernarth was with the clothes on a sofa, at the time of the exploits of 331 BC. C. explaining that he requested excuses for his demands and needs, but he had much to propose and deliver to his comrades who were in Bumodos. Considering his beloved wife, Walekiria, he was as always preparing elixirs and essences for the recipe restoration of her breastplate and his limbs. He had an urgency to improve this whole process before the next Ekadashi, to get ready with new stages of his worksheet. Without a doubt he should go back to Patmos to take care of the pantry and library of St. John the Evangelist, he had to restore local buildings, house rooms, temples, regional development works, and regional art. Another elementary task was to take charge of agriculture, and to obey Hera's designs, for the next millennia to re-awaken the cultures that survive on her. Another of his great passionate conventions was to ride through Macedonia, through the sunrises at the time that it crosses the grassy pastures and the proliferation of the hieratic insects, when the Oracle of Dodona polished its germinated seeds in the arms of dawn turned into Fireflies. He flew with his horse, seeming to be acclaimed from all over the world for his "Liturgical Conclave." To surrender in his integrity in the residences of time on Alikanto, beyond all the Ages and the Millennia, unable to evade the dishonored paths by the consolidation of a new firmament. Incalculable times Vernarth and Alikantus are appreciated as they crash into the glittering valleys and regions, encapsulating themselves in the fields with the golden hooves of their steed, inaugurating the new resurgence of their adventures, which are more than the same God, who would entrust them to a restless individual to reissue Genesis, or a new collaborative proposal with the Evangelist on Patmos and Áullos Kósmos shaking the wind fog tunnels of Wonthelimar.

Song of Stratonice: "in the marble, he spent the night in white Apeiron and its infinite indeterminate matter, devoid of quality and found in the eternal movement of the Eolionimi, where a snowy savior has to take refuge in its womb, from Áullos Kósmos or paradise of Vernarth. The Basilisk and Satan will take each other by submission, each dying in solitude and abandonment in his own scale. Perversity has no cure or repair in the behaviors of its confinement, the millennial kingdom will be stuck in the centennial, having to be justice for the remains of their own children. Regarding the human spirit during all periods of history, there will be a nomological kingdom that without the word will say what life rescues in the emetics, and the facets of the Katapausis that will make amends for the Hebrew diffusions, in weight of the ferrule prop that embraces the Zefian's bolt, falling from the top. The two-sided enthusiasm will cross the rocky embankment at the top of Profitis Ilias, thus with tender meters crossing the Sanctified Absorption Fero and Humanitarian Salvation”
Codex XVIII – Ultramundis Parapsychological Ultraworld
Arwen Jun 2016
Did you ever just once
stand in front of a mirror
and actually see the pain
reflected in your eyes?
Behind this pain lies
many years of feeling
that you are never worthy;
never worthy of ever being
loved by that one special
someone that you were
supposedly destined to
spend the rest of your
natural life with.

People like this often
regress into a sea of
blackness that they can
never swim out of.  
They are surrounded
by nothing but empty
water filled with
empty promises -
these exact promises
that they desperately
cling to in order
not to drown.

It is ultimately their
choice to brave
these murky waters,
or allow themselves to
be continually trapped
in this Sea of Obscurity.
Even if they can pull
themselves out of this
despair, they still have that
lingering feeling that
they are forever doomed
to live in this constant
state of pain and agony.

These lost spirits just
want and need to feel
like they matter.
They desire to be
accepted and loved
for who they are,
regardless of their
faults and flaws.  
They often times try
too hard to have
others accept them.
However, when they are
overlooked or made to feel like
a speck of dirt on the ground,
they again lose their way.

It is a constant battle that
people face daily if they feel
that they are never worthy –
never deserving to be given a
real chance in life and in love.
They feel unappreciated
and find themselves
questioning their place
In this world.  

Many masque their pain
with poisons that
make them feel numb.  
But, most know that
these elixirs are only
a temporary fix.  
They do not even
know where to start
to fix this internal pain.
All they want is to feel
loved and accepted.

Instead of condoling these
people, help them by not
only extending your hand,
but also by sharing your
heart with them.  
They need to feel that
they are just as worthy
as someone who appears
happy and content with
their own life.  

Help give them a
reason to feel like
they really do matter.
Show them they are not
condemned to a life of
feeling like they
are never worthy of
any joy and love.  

There is hope and promise
for them, and maybe
sooner than later,
these exact same
misguided people
will be able to look
in the mirror and
not dread what they
have seen in the past;
but instead, the mirror
emulates that sparkle
of hope that has been
missing for so long.

Vicki A. Zinn

June 25, 2016
This poem is dedicated to all that have suffered or still continue to suffer with depression.  I personally know how dark this place can be -feeling like you are alone and never deserve to be loved.  

Please know that you are not alone and that there are good people out there that will help you get through whatever has you in such a bad place.  You are deserving of love!
Brennan Crawford Oct 2013
There is a woman,
In years her sun is setting.
When it rises,
She wakes,
Gets out of bed,
Walks through hallways,
Out her front door,
Into her car,
In the backseat,
Where she goes back to sleep.

Why she does this, I don't know.
It has something to do with her fingernails.
She holds them in front of her,
Little ribbons of light emerge and weave themselves,
Until tangled and without direction,
Not without,
In every direction.
In the red back-light her silver hair becomes ablaze.
Extending from this fire that has no sentiment towards time,
Is an arm,
It has no joints and can only have it's palm facing up.
Cradled in the pit of infinite lifelines,
Are a set of hands,
They do a trapeze act on an entire spectrum,
That spangle into a single pillar.
Atop is the closest thing to,
Eternal elixirs.

Why she does this, I don't know,
But I don't want to be like her.
I don't want to hand myself a glass of water and say
'Thank you'.
I don't want to let the wind in my ears,
So it can pierce my head like a javelin.
Turning me to a device that spits directions,
Though,
Doesn't really know,
Because I constantly spin on one foot.
I don't want to be the popping spark,
That ebbs away the right hemisphere of the brain.
The hollowed echo of conversations from prior days.
She drives her car as if it were a living room.
She makes everything inside my skin move down,
A quarter inch.
I don't want to be like that woman,
Who only has herself as company,
Yet still manages to disagree with whats being said.

I want to be a compass that points towards paradise,
Instead,
I find a mirror,
And a reflection of fleeting beauty.
Instead,
I hear the wind,
And an unfamiliar dinner party.

— The End —