Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Why do I hate you?
You perplex me so.
Is it all an illusion?
All in my head?

I feel as though the pain inside multiplies by the second, a leech in its parasitic glory siphons my spiritual force.
I feel the darkness overwhelm me, dark clouds approach me from the south; lightning befalls my quintessence and the mayhem is revealed.
You couldn’t even acknowledge me, I feel as though I don’t exist; I slip into another dimension, and I become one with a black hole.
I am an anomaly; consuming negativity is my sole purpose; I am a thoughtless soul who has been sedated by noxious charm.

Hearts await me on the threshold of a heavenly and divine bliss; I supplicate the Transcendental to resurrect an undead heart.
Flame has led to glory; in time it will be revealed, that the Lord shall be my portion and baptismal rivers my shield.
All this horrid bruising; ensconcing within a façade, I await the time when love will greet me with a benevolent smile.
Adorned with a lavish diadem of rubies, diamonds and garnets, she edifies a being with a disheartened soul.

I feel like relinquishing my sacred and precious life, in order to escape to horror of an unreciprocated love.
I’m totally decimated, I don’t know if I can take the pain; I drift into a sea of everlasting sorrow and demise.
Vociferous cries to the heavens,
“Please help me escape dereliction”

I want to get to know you but you just won’t open up,
It pains me to know that your love for me is so close and yet so far.
Maybe I should’ve stayed away from you, maybe then I could’ve evaded the grief.
I’m slowly going insane; my equanimity is waning; shooting stars are falling and the ground beneath me begins to collapse.

I don’t want to do this anymore, you don’t understand what you’ve done, you could’ve had a lover who would cherish you till’ the end.
I’ll lock my soul in a treasure chest, turn my feelings off; I’m tired of being rejected; I can’t escape the pain.
When two ethereal beauties come face to face, there is a magnetic attraction; a gravitational pull.
I’m evolving by the minute, my soul is about to explode; a big bang of epic proportions; an eruption of distress.

Complex equations; possibilities are never-ending, your eyes and surreal eyelashes infatuating my heart.
I ask the deity of the heavens to send an angel from up above, a tenuous and ethereal beauty who relinquishes acceptance for my heart.
Someone who will cherish me and relish in my aromatic embrace; someone who will be entranced by my enamoring and celestial face.
Someone who will want me, for the remainder of precious time, to live with them in passion, rhapsody and connection.

I see the darkness within you; obscuring your delicate and yet barely visible light; I’ll never get to know you; your love is just a lost cause.
-Will’o’-the-wisp-
An ethereal blue flame burns within my heart, my soul is blossoming with fervor and iridescence overtakes my being.
I see that I have no one, I feel so cold and alone; I retreat to my bed being lonely with my muscles aching and sore.

I love myself enough, to know that the chaos shall slip away, love is over the horizon and the lightness shall bring me home.
Where I was meant to be is in the arms of a God unknown; a being with the transcendental power to resurrect a weary heart.
Lie with me upon a levitating bed; we shall arise into a galaxy where our names will be on each other’s lips.
Finality is so redundant; I surrender to the waves of the sea; an ocean teeming with luminous blood is where my boon shall arise.

Sacrifice after sacrifice and bone after bone; I shall bury my cherished dream beneath a sanguine and ruby Red Sea.
Roses and daffodils will blossom in the Fall; just when faith is diminishing my fate shall be revealed; chunks of frigid icebergs cool my red hot skull.
Anger, seething with anger.
I await love in an ambiguous form.

I am a sentinel who is slowly losing strength, how much longer can I bear to stand upon my own two feet?
When will they be there to catch me?
To take my breath away?
To resuscitate a languishing vessel ready to decay?

The Universe is expanding and the moon is on the rise; I shall reach your galactic radio waves when the celestial illuminates the night.
Just when all is lost; you shall kiss me on my lips; a crimson petal shall sit upon my slowly rising chest.
It shall sink beneath my flesh and my skin until it reaches the deep, the depths of my heart so that I shall become inflamed with love.
You shall revive me; your baptismal and cascading embrace; it slowly descends upon me like a waterfall from the sky.

I don’t know what to say, I’m demolished in every single way.
My bones are slowly breaking but my soul is here to stay.
I don’t know how much longer I can bear this but I pray that I can hold on.
Long enough to know that you have been here in my Universe all along.

To my Dream Lover,
To the grief of rejection,
To nothing but pain;
The quintessence of my soul.

-Amen-

By, Iridescently Efflorescent
Suffering from rejection triggers an eruption of tumultuous feelings within the watery depths of your soul, this is my take on the pain of rejection from a beautiful being who inspires inquisitveness within my very quintessence. The pain and heartache of love really can be turned into a precious diamond after all. ♥
Connor Reid Dec 2014
LANGTON CRESCENT

Shameless,
a ******.

Jeopardy has no place in the closest of motion,
signalling to eachother,
that you might be related,
or friends.
Childhoods, more than one - in a single life,
spent without knowledge of such,
such an event, in times of jovial adolescence
I was there.

But I don't remember,
brash epithets of discoloured repression,
I remove my ensconcing cap.
Opening up a can of cold worms,
static from the cold draught
which is brought in by an open door,
as everyone leaves the room.

There I am...
I was there!

Someone died here,
I'd never been in this house.
Clutching onto my mothers hand,
through forced habit & love
wandering through life
with a keen interest in 'Why?'
A stark contrast to the average
'How?' That fills up the long, tall order
of the cancerous accolade of dynamic erroneousness
that any self disrespecting lifeform would call -
'A day'.

Whom did I concern?
I was a spectator without a ticket,
being let in for free
gross mistruths passing from one ear and out the other,
intimidating externalisations taken shape in cathode ray tubes
happy to give away nothing for free
purging on selfishness as the 'adults' talk and I induce

A boyfriend.
Too much to drink.
A secret sapphic affair,
that made them happy, it made sense.
Too much to drink.
A ring at the door.
Too. Much. To. Drink.
Panic.
It's fine...Invite him in for a drink,
act like it's all ok.
I still love you both (I don't.)
He knows. (what is going on.)
People aren't stupid,
but they knew he knew - they'd planned for this.
Upset. Anger. A fight. Resolution.
Kitchen. Knife up sleeve. Make up.
She drew him close in her embrace

...

38 times the instrument was coerced to and from its target
like a nodding head.
acknowledging the destruction of the viscera
untangling the truth
the complications of the human condition
spilling onto the floor like hot milk,
tainted by the penance of basic sin
an overzealous lesson in the fleeting nature of causation.
the sand of divine comedy,
fluttering through the hands of the undeserving
emptying itself onto the floor,
every grain more anxious than the last.

Dead. Still as the motionless climb of winter across a silvered pond.

Staring at the almost ***** tangling of carpet hair,
lifted from the hardwood floor like a jigsaw on fire.
'fake' Oozings spattered sloppily across skirting boards,
not all unlike an ill **** on the cling of a public toilet bowl.
blues, reds, purples, blacks
clashing with the absence of concern
this two bedroom tenement was unwell,
discharging its secrets to the seed,
too much for the eyes of a child.
There is a reek, a stench of metal (copper?)
- enticing my nostrils towards curiosity
and a juxtaposition of absolute revulsion.

The story;

A boyfriend.
Two friends drinking.
A ring at the door.
Oh joy! (lies)
He enters.
An argument.
He hits her. (lies)
Upset. Anger. A fight.
He doesn't stop hitting her. (lies)
She runs to the Kitchen.
Knife. She defends herself. (lies)
He dies.

Septic.
"****, we need to fix this, I need your help!"

"We need to make this look right, ****...Self defense, for the police coming."

"Quickly, hit me! We need to make it look like he abuses me."

"When we're done, phone the police pronto and get our stories straight."

"I'm a victim ok?"

"Ok."

In and out.
Easy.

She's the first in Scotland, nevermind Glasgow to get away with her situation
- Lightly that is, 5 years in Cornton Vale, an all female prison somewhere in Stirling.
The other gets away with it - 'Art and part section 293 of the CPA act 1995'.
No charge. As far as they were concerned it was justified (reasonable force).
She gets what she wants. She gets her other half whenever she beckons.
Driven there. No thanks. Selfish.
But she's in love
and maybe she has a debt to pay. maybe she was more involved than she lets on.
doesn't want her life ruined. errands? favours? you name it.

Someone you grow up with, someone who you consider family.
Are they capable of mad passion? A glitch in character?
Can a good person do bad things and feel nothing?

I wince at the retelling of a story.
Buried deep in the waxy imbalances of memory
as if it never happened
jittered from clarity
like a snowglobe that never settles
laughing at the absurd
sourced from fermented sparkles
and igniting omission.
I was there.
Not long after and not long before.
Sitting on the couch and kicking my feet,
getting lost in the cushions
and brooming in the damp, familiar sniff of the 1990s.
Blinds drawn, cups of hot chocolate and endless laughter
- remembrance and reflection entwined
dividing action from thought.

I was there!
...But the memory escapes me.
JR Rhine Oct 2016
We're bored like monks
in the margins
of ancient scripture.

We want to leave behind lazy hieroglyphs
and accidental red herrings
feigning illumination

rendered by the deviousness of time
in its enclave,
running a brush of flaky gold paint
over delicate decadence
and sprinkling dust like a fairy--

we are to believe it is all
some ancient treasure.

We prance in the ether of the material world
in junkyards where we sift through the wreckage
coddling memories like drying uteruses,
realizing our generation will not leave behind artifacts
worthy of nostalgia's ensconcing embrace.

With that realization we weep and

We continue to dig.
Cassis Myrtille Nov 2013
Warm brown curtains
The lovely sunlight bathing
The House
ensconcing it
it was beautiful, breathtaking even.
But,
the people inside were up to no good.
And so, there was a father.
who gave everybody else the cold shoulder,
eyes fixated on some steel devices
and only thing he said was hi.
And then, came the mother.
A lovely soul, but
hypocritical words created much misery.
And then, were 2 sisters,
who hung on to each other for dear life.
They loved their parents.
They loved the happy memories.
Oh, where did all that go?

What was wrong?
Oh, what was wrong?

The House
all bleak and broken walls
dimmed lights
china pieces scattered,
hearts shattered
everything was broken.
everything was bleak.
And rain,
came everyday
When will the rainbow come now?
Meagan Moore Jan 2014
Why won't you touch me.
Please.

coiffed paragon
from across the jeep
Introspection prehends

Imagining my hand as the shift
Your palm ensconcing my own
Dactyls distributed
Fitting between winged-knuckle

Wind-diffused curls
Beckon solemn contact
Grazing my temple with instinctive tendril tuck

Saccharine lips
Memory of their meeting mine
Gone

Your visage bores into my periphery
Vicinity defies expectation
I hold my own hand, and let my hair yell.
A director general
Ensconcing on WHO’s chair
As a hoodwinking trick
You cry foul
“The case in Ethiopia
Is horrific !”
You must be mentally sick!
Have you forgotten
It is high time
You be thrown
In to prison?
For involving
In embezzlement
Terrorism, genocide
And treason.
So a wolf
In a sheep’s skin
To give a statement
You have no reason.

WHO must be weak
For being tardy
From office
Out you to kick.

It is really
A mockery of justice
A parliament-
wanted terrorist
Like you
Gives lecture
On humanitarian issue
Accountability to resist,
Or are you acting so
Rest assured
Self-seeking hypocrites
The likes of you
Are ready to assist!///
A wanted criminal playacting innocent. A member of a mourning-killer party.
B Young Dec 2015
When silver plunges into flesh,
it is crossing the Rubicon to await the last breath.
For, the mantra They say holds true,
across this river waiting for you:
jails, institutions, death.

The Lady's of the flowers, they still speak to me.
Walking through fields filled,Tulips and Poppies and Lillys,
urging me to be free.
Their voices ensconcing, a melody most soothing.
Turmoil will never rip the light inside of us.

War cannot destroy beauty.

My brothers and sisters in this fight, unite!
Let us trample over this devastating blight,
becoming Saviors, each of us enveloped in light.
Let us gather the dust of death in our trembling palms,
blow it furiously into the wind, sowing hope,
against all odds, our fields will bloom and blossom
every color of the rainbow.
Let our gardens grow in honor of our fallen and faint, in memorial of our patron saints.

Fight gravity with everything inside and we will fly.

War cannot destroy beauty.
Khushi Batra Jun 2018
With quiescence parroting
and an achromic sheet ensconcing your frame
the padre chants
only to ausculate your loved ones sniffle.
I watched you being buried.
deeper
and
deeper.

a friend, a brother, a lover and a son.

now,
Resting in an array of stars
waiting for the sun to rise in the
high northern sky.
-Khushi :’)
ayesha roleyes Aug 2017
my hands tremble.
if you were to attach
zils to their sides,
you’d hear a tambourine
shaking away,
though you wouldn’t find
any discernible beat.
my heart and
my breath
compete to see which runs faster--
the tortoise and the hare, except
there is no tortoise; only
two extremely motivated hares.
all moisture has
evaporated from my mouth,
leaving a vacuum. a
vacuum my voice can’t
travel through because sound
needs a medium, and fear--
palpable,
ensconcing me,
coiling around me
like a constrictor does its prey;
its tendrils
poking and prodding and pushing,
trying to find chinks, holes, so
like an octopus
it can squeeze through
no matter how small the defect,
how small the weakness,
and wrap itself around
my heart, entomb it, and
squeeze,
bleeding me out from the inside--
doesn’t count, unfortunately.
my lips are a vice, the
first line of defense against
the fear; my teeth,
clamped together, my
second, each tooth a
dutiful soldier standing
behind a wall,
watching and waiting for
the enemy to come over.
gravity tugs, pulling
me down, and my legs
fold, weariness a pin
poking holes and letting out all
the air, forcing me down
faster. my eyes blur, the
fragmented, washed-out
world i see--objects
smushed together
until they aren’t anything anymore;
colors bleeding into
one another until
everything is the same--
reflecting what’s in
my head. i close them and
the world is gone--except
i can still
hear it, taste it, smell it,
and i sit there, head
between my knees, as
i wait for it to be over.
it is raining in my side of the
   earth
and where light slips away,
ensconcing with its lackadaisical imprint, is the morning: pinnacles and then topples
    into
acontinualeveningwherewordsrunandbreathscometoa      sudden
                  halt:

in the same intimation,
your lip's crepuscule
or your commune's crescent,
  in my side of the earth
    from yours, hurled out
the many sinuous fingers
   of water and the lamp's
  palpebral flutter.
October – November 6th, 2020

I.
To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet
While Reading Elegant English Sonnets
It Would be a Wonderful Power
One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour
With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend
Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen
The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery
And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me
II.
Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles
We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth
During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon
But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail
We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak
There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice
Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes
The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside
We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the ***** Incline
Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us
What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon
We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures
III.
Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend
Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes
The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows
Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest
We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved
Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light
A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight
Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions
Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning
A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away
The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain
And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon
Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders
Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders
Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins
But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us
In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire
Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather
The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us
IV.
My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze
Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide
Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment
I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below
And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight
My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze
Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk
Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand
For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls
Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction
Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat
When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh
The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials
Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair
Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways
Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height
The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning
Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion
Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled
We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells
V.
Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak
My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea
Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair
All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate
At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky
Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment
Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure
Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine
It Would Be a Sensational Scene
My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees
Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon
My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites
Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers
Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew
Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors
Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground
My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest
Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast
We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars
In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting
VI.
Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath
With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend
We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb
My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes
We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology
I would Have Reached So Many Listeners,
Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed
Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets
Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales
My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift
To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift
JP Goss Sep 2019
I wake up to a ring over the sky every morning;
It is not the brilliant sun or a mesmerizing whirl
Of migrating birds, it is not a halo of clouds
Ensconcing the world as a crown Domini of Alterity—
It is, of course, encircling entrapment
Of a very peculiar and particular happiness
Claiming to be what makes life worth living
And the worth of living life, the price of only being—
Westerly blackness confuses my perspective
Since the eye’s machine does not, as it is purported
To do, give us sober access to the world—
It inverts the world. So, I am looking at the abyss above
Ignoring the clouds ground below—
Human is that abyss, fantasy the ground,
The mind’s I is the flimsy bridge
Round bright screens closely wound
Reconfiguring, transposing orientation
So as to make sense of it all.
Strangers, the Other, my walking iteration
Wearing companion mask in a one-man show
With lipstick drawn hastily in the prettiest places—
I, too, want to be pretty
Yet, it’s sand through these hourglass hands
Shadowing through terrifying refractions of light
That, slow to form, would not provide comfort
Were I too see them directly, anyway.
Made lethargic by composition,
Despite the sprites accompanying,
We look for crystalline hands, or some kind of disturbance
To give us what to grasp for
Something to cling to.
The ring, the annular prison, provides what purchase
Needed, but it does not release it hands
Without bearing its claws.
Travis Kroeker Feb 2020
Two eyes
    amber sighs
ensconcing empty black

In the blackness
    nothing lies
just myself reflected back

In those limpid
    maple pools
afloats an orb of nearly naught

I pull the thread to
    find the spool
and end up holding knots

Amongst the knots
    a shadow roams
and suffocates the light

Two honey domes
    without a comb
and endless naked night
Kurt Philip Behm Sep 2018
Refusing to define
Even worse to explain
On the surface descriptive
At its essence mundane
Restating excuses
Ensconcing the lie
The sage waxed poetic
  —you still asking why

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

— The End —