"entomb" poems
I cracked the window to my past
wondering, hoping, I was strong enough to bear
what was left of the pain
of the life I’d left behind.
But the pain, still real, erupted inside
ripped wide the scar.
Blood and tears combined, exploded
and filled my mind and soul with fear.
I feel myself slip down that lonely road again
being drawn down that black ribbon;
its blackness seeps in through the cracks in my soul
and muddy the joy I knew.
How can I brace myself against
the tide pulling me,
holding me,
enveloping me,
and dragging me down
until I no longer can breathe
beneath its endless waves?
I fear now I may never be so strong
as to face my memories.
So I entomb these behind a mighty shield
like the Chernobyl of my past.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 12:07 PM UTC
those **** trolls fish for gloom
baiting your roses and bloom
behind their mask and costume
a guise filled with malice loom
there spans from the beasts womb
a monster preying your doom
they take your light to dark displume
like fishes facing the jaws of gloom
eliot watches schools get entomb
like a stepping stone to their fume
it takes no rocket scientist's broom
to sweep the trolls from the classroom
nears the hour of our death, trolls resume
Logan Robertson
8/21/2018
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
#*Come after me, O glorious Divine Possessor.
Conquer, shackle, and entomb my straying,
faithless affections in Your love once more.
Sweep me up into Your strong and jealous
embrace till my heart is fully bent toward Yours.
Have Your way with me until it is all I desire,
until You are all I desire, Lord Jesus.
Unveil me, uncover me and unbind me
before Your penetrating eyes, the perfect gaze
of You with Whom alone I have to do.
Awaken me until I am wholly abandoned
to Your pleasure, completely responsive
to Your touch, utterly enraptured,
enthralled and entangled with You.
Break me for Your glory, sovereign Lord.
Pierce my soul to its deepest hidden parts
and pour Yourself into me until You have
totally claimed me as Your own possession,
Your willing captive, until there is no delight
in my heart but You and Your delight.
O Holy One above, set me to burning!*#
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
I've done a lot.....
I've done a lot in my lifetime.....
I've done a lot in the past 11 months...
I've felt even more...
I've made decisions....
I've made mistakes....
I've created conclusions and shoved them in the mirror's reflection.
I've made a finalization...
I've terminated the story...
I've concluded this connection.
Now I'm alone...
Now I feel like excess emotions left in a puddle to be stepped in and splashed in, for fun or dismay.
-a muddy disgrace of distaste.
-a muddy reflection of disgust.
-a distraction on the path to your destination.
I feel sick...
Sick to my stomach
Sick in the Mind...
Sickly branches that creep out from my heart, determined to entomb my entire internal system, and hold me there to deal with what level I've continued to stoop myself too.
Myself... the one that's so much better than what she's encountered and how she's figured her future.
I deserve what I have, and what I choose.
I deserve what I get, for what I've chosen.
I'm throwing up...
I'm throwing up everything...
everything that my heart has eaten right out of the palms of those who've given it to me.
I don't wanna feel it anymore....
I don't want that pressure forced on my stomach any longer.
I'm sick...
I'm sick again.
Its all coming up....
I'm letting it out... all the emotions that so rightfully belong on the floor in a jumbled mess rather then crammed in my stomach where they explode with temptation as my stomach thrusts itself in circles....
its looking for a way to let everything go.
My body knows whats right....
I'm emotionally anorexic.
I throw it all away without wanting to let it go, I would rather keep everything that reminds me of that time, that time when my stomach did not churn in agony...
I am miserable....
I am mistaken.... and misjudged...
I am sick...
and distracted...
I'm... lost?
Lost in the mirrors and fine lines... fine lines between punishment and disabilities...
I can see myself....
I see myself pale and done.
Done with everything I'm hearing and thinking right now.
I've gone too far.
I'm done.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 2:56 PM UTC
Constant in-depth analysis
Fear, anxiety, paralysis
Over-thinking everything
Never-ending internal linguistic string
Of preposterous things
Obstructing contentment
Self-resentment
Overwrought
Stop thinking already
Entomb unwelcome thoughts
In a long forgotten cemetery
Without a headstone
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
I am not your enemy.
I want to give you a colossal domain.
I want to bottle up the seas for you.
I want to paint you a picture with the sun's rays.
I want to pull down the moon with a chain & tie it to your pretty waist.
I am not your enemy.
I would give you a palace if I could,
or a distant farmland if your tender soul required.
I would found for you a university,
so that the world's young lovers could learn your
proper caresses.
I am not your enemy.
I would catch for you, if I could,
the world's brightest birds, the world's fairest fishes.
I would build you a zoo, then, with an aquarium,
so that you could watch at your leisure
the creatures of your creation.
I am not your enemy.
I will build you a mausoleum, so that I can entomb
you somewhere where only I can visit you,
with flowers in my hand,
and a pretty pearl necklace,
and tears hanging from my
rounded chin.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
War of the worlds,
men bartering money
Dollar bills left abandoned,
blown to smithereens
Battling dusts of torment,
acceptance of surrender
Waging a money war,
business men flee
In the shadows rises,
a fallen angel
Akin to a phoenix,
from the ashes
She symbolizes a renewal,
dying in fires
Sparks burning a nest,
immortality supplying coffins
Diabolical legacies of past,
bow & arrow
Punctured wounding broken heart,
wings disallow flight
Stumbling a splintered hip,
reborn a chance
Of independent determined autonomy,
la Cuesta Encantada
Fallen at the gates,
an enchanted hill
San Simeon seeking redemption,
death awaits her
Carrying body & soul,
Santa María Maggiore
Of Roman baroque temples,
small cascading pools
Death releases her body,
the Neptune pool
She floats without dissension,
sinking in grace
In all her glory,
Hearst Castle will
Entomb body & soul,
memories of her
release release release
Absolution.
© Sia Jane
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Society tells me my size 22 hips
Are disgusting
That the hole in my lip
Is atrocious
My pointed nails, my blue hair, my black clothes
Are products of the devil
I am given freedom of religion yet, I am condemned because my Goddess is not
your God
I am poked and prodded at because my sexuality goes beyond laying with a man
In my state, I cannot marry a women because society is so entrapped in their perfect religion
How is this a fair world if I cannot be me?
As a woman, I am expected to keep my opinion to myself, bear children, and serve a husband
Yet, I am independent and creative
I thrive to make my own path
To be successful in myself and those closest to me
To be unique and to question everything I will not conform to a society in which I cannot think for myself
I believe in what cannot be seen
Therefore, I am crazy
I work better alone; think better on my own
I keep my words in my brain because they aren't the same as everyone's
So, I am depressed
My body composition is curvaceous and *****
So I starve myself to get the body society has entitled as perfection
But, what of my body?
Do I live how I see fit?
Hiding from mirrors and cameras, covered up by the baggy clothes boys wear on a day to day basis
Or do I entomb myself in a decaying corpse to live a short life of perfection
No.
I will walk with my head held high and my skirt blowing in the wind
Because I will not conform to society's definition of perfection
I crave affection in the physical form
Therefore, I am a ****
But you don't know my back story
You do not know how my entire life I was deprived of the emotions I so desperately craved
I don't know how to feel when a feeling is all that is offered to me
So, I remain alone
Because I am not beauty in society's eye
Therefore, I am not your first choice
Even though everyone says 'do not judge a book by it's cover'
I am cast away before you get to know me
Before you know my talents, my hobbies, my aspirations in life, my goals, my struggles, the reasons behind my words
Because society has been taught to love with the eyes and not the heart
What about the pigmentation of my skin complexion?
Society automatically disregards me as a troubled teen
That I will just become another statistic of the African-American populace
But I say I won't
Because my ancestors fought and died for their freedom, therefore I should fight for my say in my life
I will not be fat-shamed
I will not be slut-shamed
I will not be black-shamed
Because I cannot and will not conform to a society in which I cannot be me
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Beseech thee !
I feel your deepest awakening secrets stir
Whispers uttered in immortal Winds
Calling to the Fountains of my soul
Standing the hairs of comfortably numb
Spilled breath bestrewn upon frayed Mortality
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Bequeath thee !
The ashes the deepest Oceans my heart
As circadian Tides have ebb and flowed
Forsaken feigned love’s misbegotten guise
Now chastened sightless before an unseen labyrinth
Beset by a human blindness that decays all light
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Entreat thee !
Cleanse this molted flesh ― time shed ―
Artifacts of perfectly imperfect traces
Reminders of things we strive to forget
For in the self-loathed aching Silence
I feel the urgent pull of Wilderness' Soul
Reaching out ― Benignly
to Entomb my Heart and Soul
Someone you used to know April 1st, 2017
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
Remains of the summer
sunlight drip out,
entomb'd in raindrops
from the prevailing
gray beclouded skies
Memories of joy
bathed in sunlight
unravel like a wind
frayed kite dancing
above a day at the beach
Soaring seagulls ponder
all thousand feet of kite string
tied to a hidden bliss below —
hurtling through
the shapeless heavens
tethered to refreshed
dreams still lingering
within an untamed
child of the wind
Morning falls
from the trees
in whispers
of golden sorrow
The damp chilled air
smells fresh as the traces
of heaven's cleansing rain —
befallen drop by drop,
each plash counted
from an angel weeping,
splattering the broken silence
all through the night.
An inflamed montage
of leaves surrender
all this unholdable lifeline
we ever know;
blanketing the fields
of autumn's tawny grass —
Sowing a mosaic colored
reclamation reposed
atop a nascent green,
soon enrobed by impending
winter’s pallid slumbering hues
The darkening hush
imbues a shadowing
fugitive peacefulness
bathed in wind river eddies
of autumn’s blessing rains
harlon rivers
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 11:28 AM UTC
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t’whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heav’nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir’d with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee O Time.
1.6k
Still a child; fragile, undefined -
trembling, timid and shy -
a body curling inwards
- petals and moonlight -
we're magnetised:
this shared desperation and
fumbling adolescent shame.
A throbbing, suffocated silence -
lost hands and strangled hysteria.
Achingly tiny,
shattered-glass bones flutter,
colliding and entangling;
causing the skin to lift
and contort. To ebb -
a fluid - a pulse.
His shoulder-blades
(the crushingly delicate shiver
of butterfly wings)
cast splintered, mosaic shadows
(sharp and electric
to trace) along
the gasping, groaning spine...
Pharate, we're demolishing ourselves
in a gorgeous, stumbling,
careless collapse -
colliding in cold frenzy, desperate
to hide - burrow - entomb --
to bury ourselves - his mesmerising flesh.
Rasping out - teeth and lip
and tongue - ravenous,
animalistic despair.
With timid breath - to rip, devour, engulf --
to hiss and **** delicious venom.
An ache - a yearning - for absorption,
for skin, for blood -
to be consumed and to consume -
to feel every pain of it -
to be wrecked - to become
the same debris.
I spill out into his shadows,
his indents, his cuts and curves -
their fervent whimpers, electrified palpitations -
and he to mine:
It's as though we're eclosing,
these golden deodorant nymphas - we're quaking through;
tearing apart every sad smother of silk - and now
desolate; forever nothing
but drifting, lambent dust.
Skin like porcelain -
cold and wrong to touch -
yet stomachs hot,
hurtling hot.
Flesh winces - ripples - under
premature pain.
("I'm sorry. I")
He crumbles, cuts
my thighs
and leaves us both with
scars that we, as scars, forever treasure;
and with veins seeping Hemolymph;
to heal, to beat, to grow.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
Proud I was with my shoveling,
Moving snow to the end of the drive,
Lifing loads, shovelling high.
The armlifts created pyramids,
I was as proud as Pharoh coud be.
These pyramids
Could well entomb me.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Hollowed corpses
Left on hallowed ground,
Lacking the depth
Of what was once profound.
Rip my heart to shreds
As your empty words
Entomb me.
For your light is-
dark
The love in you-
tainted
And your soul...
gone.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
Envision the black hands;
tendrils of fingers
entomb you in the opaque void
stars that spill
like glitter from containers
a never ending mess of
wishes wished upon
tenfold
that slowly fall
and lightly kiss
the earth goodnight
as the moon lulls
cacophony to a
slow murmur
and your senses
take load
your back begins to bend
in submission of things
you'd much rather think
about at a later time
thoughts that race
people that pry
into the darkness
the night that welcomes
curing the calamity
hands that grip yours
arms that offer
a temporary hide
are you so sure
you've forgotten me?
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 7:54 PM UTC
Sweet eminence;
Your weeping in quiet hours,
Mute and solitary,
Has suspended you
To the indifferent mercy
Of fresh winter;
Thorns, dulled and smooth,
Lend no armor or salvation;
No blossom to whisper tribulations
Toward chaste suitors.
So unkind
As to entomb you
In your own crystalline tears.
Captive and preserved,
A hand-blown ornament,
With but a history of beauty
To entice.
From the East rises
Your tardy champion,
Whose eyes behold
Your *******
Passionately reminiscing,
Former design;
With righteous vehemence,
Strikes freeing strands,
To emancipate such glory.
Yet, as forces pare unevenly,
And tears trickle anew,
The weight of neglect
Burdens the vestiges of youth.
Tense and straining to liberate,
Healed wounds succumb,
Divide and detach,
Falling lifeless upon the linen.
Too old, or too cold,
To bleed the farewell of allure.
Dec 2, 2010
Dec 2, 2010 at 1:59 PM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
When we awake from the mist
I am in shadow,
the perambulance of
grief revisited,
till the lengthening toombstone
dwarfs hyperion-
a sculptors cast ,my shell my heart
The gestapo of faith revisited
that others may from my net
Dream sweet prision free-
psychedelic arrest eclipsing
aeons lost fears.
The secret of the hate filled chamber
green gas ,green light &
mercy all,
cracking under boot
ribs target
sheltering from a fathers love.
Were you or I to slumber
nor stir in walking shade
what nets of love entomb us
lest we rise-
the shining ,the living yet are gone
earth's first wake
Yet quickened beyond eyes recognition
The silver sash my silence brings;
a field soughed deep and empty
a fitting palace
for a king
The denseless hollows of my tears
or yet unvapoured from the ground
the shadow of the sky appears
enshrined
in rainbow's fallen glass.
If a child is not a fallen god
- why so unquiet and shallow the grave
that holds the brave emancipator
in such a gentle grasp .
Till in death we meet asunder
apart can never live
a blossom as in winter hangs its head
so a laurel wreath astutely made our measure
must be cast...
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:29 AM UTC
oh but what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
we already know what you are,
you are a masquerade of excuses,
and your favourite subject of expressing
the masquerade is philosophy -
by it you find yourself excused,
but because the english undermined
a philosophical expression we've found
a weak spot, a diaphragm sort of speak;
indeed oh, what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
what you create and leave behind is necessary -
i just hope you find the heart to entomb in your
heart those in the modern era you found
pleasure in entertaining you grasping such
a vain effort of your frivolous maintenance
of the easily accessed numbers of similar examples -
sunglasses in the night - a ghost in the machine -
a soul extracted from the body in that lonely
cataract of flooding applause with one actor
and one member of the audience scared to applaud -
your creation... your immediate loss of identity -
but of course you were anticipating the organic
form of what would become a cohesive inorganic
entity - of the example that a mother even speaks
of regarding a robot - now why would a mother
speak of a robot? hmm? guess... it's a test for
a.s.i., i.e. analytically synthetic intelligence -
history repeats itself -
history repeats itself -
you analyse no difference -
hence you synthesise replication - and you call
it intelligence of avoidance yet waste it on
a test for intelligence quantified, rearing in politicians
to craft a chiral representation of intelligence
quantified - in the recycling bin -
so much intelligence wasted, quantified,
leaving so much stupidity qualified to fake it,
instead of the recycling bin, thrown into the pigs'
through...
indeed, you are not what necessarily remains,
all the fabulous discoveries of science, and yet
the burning existential questions - thrown at you
by the pyramidal scheme of the non-inventors,
the once proud aristocrats languishing beneath
the weight of new-money barons...
indeed you are not what necessarily remains,
you are what necessarily remains in what you
are already... in such great number,
as in the liturgy of history... an anonymity...
perhaps all you ever were was a method statement
of creating a soufflé, the fermentation process of grapes...
how foolish you look now, readied for slaughter,
attempting to clarify a famous person syndrome,
grovelling like a cunt-politician slurping attention
in Orwell's house - i know my stance -
by the machine being fed exponentials -
once only deluded if i be found prophetic on the street,
but with a house bound to a value
a suicide rate is worth in Switzerland (£10,000),
you think i'd pleasure myself with your tabloid
philosophy and wait for sympathy or disgrace?
guess...
it's free; a guess is free,
your little birdcage houses no sing-along.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
What if lovers said
"sweet worm", "soil of my heart"
Imagine facing down in ecstasy to pray
not because we don't dare to look towards the bearded guy in the sky but because it's understood that those feet, that soil, this prayer
are all sacred
Why are the un-lovely things named soiled?
why look at the ground and call it dirt?
Such a thin loveless word for the home
of everything springing up from this earth
Why entomb our clever feet in strange substance
*you tiny creatures swimming eons ago
coming to rest in rock, heated and pressed
unimaginably long, and all of a sudden
Struck ("black gold!")
pumped up, surfacing again in a confusion
of movement and dazzling light after so long*
Now become soles for shoes.
As you walk your soles are the earth disguised
kissing itself at every step
<3
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
stuck on a hook....
cobalt metal monkeys cling
in reeling creative circus chaos
like dripping molten ash
ache from the fallout
you exhale darkly riddled pain
i inhale smoky denial
lives lit on fire
spun in gray matter
disjointed cold sober allegories
falling from a desolate sky
craving kicks inclination
embers hitting pay dirt's
fix'd enslavement
stuck on a hook
self destruction’s behavior
bent on indifference’s
obsessive sweet tooth
jonesing for a speeding bullet
an injurious habit's alibi
shot through the eye
at the scene of the crime
more than one fatality suspect
poppy blooms wither'd
sacrificed in crimson's desire
whilst laid out in entomb'd
conviction's escaped act of faith
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
Why should I entomb my hatchet
after so much toil in the honing?
After all its blade excels alls measures
for heft and keenness
and no finer tool can be had
to strike the ultimate blow -
except perhaps the one you're holding.
So here we stand my friend
ensnared by pride's inertia
with everything to lose
but one or another's demise
within our imminent grasp.
Then without a sign or preamble,
our eyes meet as if by chance
and in that unsought instant,
the shame of forgiveness
saps our strength and sinew.
Our weapons clang to the pavement.
Unless we're history's fools
we know it seldom ends this way.
How much must we sacrifice
before the worst we have been
can give up its sorry shade
to the best our souls demand?
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
In the pursuit, we find a thin line.
Is it the beginning or the finish line?
Beyond the horizon,
Over mountainous terrain,
With muscles distended and mouth agape,
You trudge on.
A sun scorched grimace drenches your face.
To accomplish your goals, you cannot wait.
Limits entomb you.
Will you succumb to life’s cramps?
Doubling over just before the winner’s stand?
Fear saturates your mind. It renders you blind.
A glimmer shines forever on what you never found.
Until someone you least expect shows that one can be kind.
Fortifying your feet,
Nourishing your soul,
Restoring your sight,
You discover your life is sound.
Onward you trudge!
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 9:17 PM UTC