Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
one is slightly bound
a congestion of sorts
nothing is evacuating
from a certain passage
the
act
that
is
done
on
the
toilet
seat
proves to be hard
sufficient amounts of roughage
have not passed
through one's entrails
one cannot excrete
all
possible
treatments
have
been
tested
by one
yet
the
binding
cannot
be
undone
hence the number two
sits unmoved
in one's tail
a feed of grains and fruit
in the morn
shall clear the obstruction
before dusk
to
have
a
poo
poo
is
all
one
wishes
to
do
Rebekah Guindi Sep 2018
Well, well, well
Something that you don't wish to obtain:
wellness.

Whether it be hunching over the toilet,
evacuating today's third feast of the day,
or continuing to hear whispered words from made-up beings,
not taking the cocktails to silence them
or maybe, just continuing to stay empty,
not letting anything fill the void

Staying sick --
Whether it be of the body,
mind,
or soul,
will not make others love you more,
and it will not make others stay
but it will have them fade away
just
like
you
Aa Harvey May 2018
Chernobyl.


A nuclear disaster, in a town called Chernobyl;
An odor-less killer, the invisible force.
As the radiation escapes, from the crumbling reactor,
We must cool it down, before it blows.


Evacuate Pripyat, the employee’s town,
The town of 35000; first on the list of infected people.
No warnings to the town folk, no evacuation,
The town’s men in the know, know the town is in trouble.  


People bathe in the sun’s rays, soaking up the sun,
Whilst the dizzy and sick, fall with blackened skin.
But the only burn you'll get, is a nuclear radiation,
That will **** you in the end, as it will lead to infection.


Send in the investigators,
To check the biggest nuclear explosion ever.
The rumble outside a final warning, the fire brigade are now here.
The firemen are next, to fall to radiation.
The workers wives at home, are still oblivious.
But now they see the smoke rising, over the town.
So they close all the windows, an in vein attempt to keep the radiation out.


The workers cry, as they learn how bad it is,
The horrifying sight, of a nuclear cloud.
All things infected, poisoned by the air,
DNA is mutated; the time to panic is now.


The bride and groom walk through the town,
Unknown to them, there is poison in the air.
3.6 on the scale, leaves no need to worry,
But the readout is wrong, as the gage goes no higher.


Do not wear masks, it will cause suspicion,
A press conference is called, 15 hours after the explosion.
The men in charge are scared of the truth, so do nothing,
The situation is now, worse than they think.


Faces burnt, comrade’s panic,
The nuclear core is burning, it's radio-active.
But panic is worse, than radiation,
So there will be no warning and no order for evacuation.


22 hours after explosion, think we'll leave it to burn,
But it will burn for 3 months and poison the air.
We must find a remedy, quickly and quietly,
Thousands of helicopter runs, to cool the burning hot core.
We must put sand on the reactor, to stop it burning,
Evacuating the town is nonsense;
Wait until we know what's happening.


First thing in the morning, we must evacuate only a day late,
The people must view pictures of their family
And kiss them goodbye.
The biggest nuclear explosion, the earth had ever known,
The town will become a wasteland, everyone will be gone


17000 kids, infected by the air,
Another 116000, people are evacuated.
The nuclear explosion in Russia, will radiate into Kiev
And Northern Ukraine will be uninhabitable,
For anything up to a century later.
And the towns people,
Could take the radiation with them into a new place,
So send them to Kiev with the poisoned nurses;
Infected by radiation, it burns their face.


Leave the pets behind, to become wild animals,
The army shoot the pets, because they can't live anymore.
All the people wear masks, to help themselves,
As they leave on the bus, their former lives are no more.


The skin folds down and falls from their bodies;
The men in the control room, at last begin to die.
The people are collapsing, all over the place,
The tears turn to burns, as the women begin to cry.


Drop sandbags into the reactor,
From helicopters whilst being infected,
We must cool it down and stop the fires burning.
We’re heading for meltdown, truly scared of the apocalypse,
'Count lives', means how many can we sacrifice.
Finding how many lives, it will cost to get the job done,
Unquestioned sacrifice and they were willing to go.


2 volunteers needed,
To swim under the reactor and open the valves by hand,
Swimming through poisoned water, this could **** you man.
If the water was cleared from inside,
There is no immediate threat of thermal explosion,
A million lives saved, said Gorbachev the president.


The A.Z. button was pressed, to lower the rods into the reactor,
But just the tips landed inside and shut it down.
A thermal explosion is on the way, to level 200 square kilometers
And wipe out Pripyat, Kyiv and 3 million citizens.


By day 3 they thought it must be a design fault,
By day 7 the radiations gone up and it’s getting hotter.
14 explosions in the past, were covered up,
This could take us years to clear up and make better.


60 days after the explosion, Moscow are told to shift the blame,
Chernobyl’s bosses had known, flaws in the design were classified.
Sat before the world in Vienna,
They blamed the men in the control room,
Even though they were ignorant, as to what would happen.
Not prepared enough, for a job so important,
A million lives in their hands; in the hands of the thoughtless.
Faulty design, in something so dangerous,
Will lead to our end, as were infected by rays, so radiant.


2 years after the accident, the inspector speaks out,
But his voice is covered up and his findings are not written down.
Valery Legasov, the inspector.  The man who made the reports.
The men in charge of the reactor, were sentenced to ten years.
The incidents of tumors rise to more than in Britain all together.
This will last for about a 100000 years,
The radiation will be there for almost forever.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
authentic Oct 2015
Without question you are the worst thing that has ever happened to my poetry
I am tripping over syllables and breaking consonants
Knocking over languages I once kept locked away in safe quarters
Each time I try to speak these meticulously knit together units of expression my throat closes up like clenched fist and I feel myself choking on my words
You have changed my way of writing, using teeth and tongue to articulate words, my way of going about my day
I find myself skipping meals as if it will somehow make me feel less empty because lately things in my head are just not making much sense but I convince myself they are reasonable
They often never are
And I can tell you that I'm sorry
I can at least write my apologies bleeding out all over the page
Scribbling red letters onto this worn out notebook paper
I keep you trapped inside my head like a little kid traps a caterpillar in the palm of their hands
And maybe I was just holding you back from becoming something even more beautiful than you already are
I'm sorry for letting my selfish ambitions override your pleas to escape your grip
I have never been very good at telling someone that I love them but I love you
I want to memorize your laugh and store it in my mind, so I can bring it out and listen to it on a bad day
I want your hand prints to be imprinted on my body, the smell of your cologne on the shirt you like best on me
I want you to hold me like you hold your cigarettes
I would not mind sitting down and studying you for hours with my eyes and hands
I would not mind experiencing the foreign feel of your skin underneath my fingertips
I want to count every shade of color in your eyes and sew it into a dress
I want to pour all of your thoughts into a wine glass and sip it slowly, taking in each one
Becoming slowly intoxicated by your dreams, your fears of the dark, your plans for the future
You are a vision of evacuating a burning building but going back inside to gather the possessions you love too much to let burn
You are the ray of sunshine that greets a flower who had already said goodbye to its roots, giving it life again
You are the unopened bottle of whiskey that sits in my kitchen cabinet in case you ever want to stop by because I know it's your favorite
You are the map that keeps me from getting lose in places I have never adventured
You are the destination I've been looking for
You are the slow breathing I feel when I look at the moon
You are the morning coffee that wakes the cells in my brain
You are the only truth in my allusion
You are a lot of things but you are not mine
And in the midst of this hurricane I am still searching for pages on the ground
I want to keep writing about you
After even broken pencil, ripped sheet of paper, slammed fist to desk
There are very few things I know for sure
I know that every day is twenty four hours closer to you
I know that I have a special skill of feeling nothing when I should and feeling everything when I shouldn’t
I know that the only place I ever felt lost was in his arms
I know that you can't go back to yesterday's dawn by adding another verse to an old song
And I know that I can't speak for what I haven't bled over
But I have bled for love, for loss, the staggering feeling of loneliness
You came in like a winter wind and I breathed you in as if I was about to go underwater
You are the reason I always wear my seatbelt
You are the love songs I write when everyone else is asleep
You are the sound of rain on Sunday mornings
You give me hope for better days
You have taught me to believe in myself
You have made me want to love again
Without question you are the worst thing that has ever happened to my poetry
But in a way you are also the best thing that has ever happened to me
Jaicob Jul 2021
Love is a word
Love is an emotion
Love is a noun
Love is a feeling
Love is an adjective
Love is visible
Love is a verb
Love is a word

Look to the hills-
Ocean waves float by
Veering to the right
Ever so slightly.

Listen! There it is!
Oh, how the waves turn,
Visiting one another
Evacuating below the tide.

Love is a word.
Love isn't something you feel, it's a connection with somebody. An intense yearning to be with them whenever you're apart. You'd do anything to be with this person and are willing to give up everything for their happiness.
Leah Aug 2013
now you can see me
being wasted most time drowning into nothing
cut off the world
i become a queen
A pioneer

almost forbidden to the Old Age
where the summer days collapse
into the sounds of New Illuminati
The sparkles

no one listens
and everything is
pulling me out to see the mercy of the death
hidden by a gentle gorgeousness on this autumn

i started sobbing in agony
it has been robbed of my nature

outside
on the centre of a great shadow
lit me up before i come undone

from written on first page
bloodless,
brain gone,
shadow walked in,
scars on my wrist
down in the middle
a rainbow is
sizzling on the wave

i will be on the empty page and trying not to
cry no more 'cause,
all broken homes
is evacuating from the rainbow.

falling pieces in the sky,
that's what i've left behind
i see you now.
Can be extremely triggering to those who experience self-destructive thoughts at the moment so view at your risk, thanks.
Sjr1000 Oct 2015
For I am exploding,
With bliss
In a reproductive ****
Sending my offspring
On the winds
Life taking hold
everywhere I go.

Burning.

Taking a moment of silence,
For dear Gaia
For giving me this time,
For all that made life possible,

For this burning to be alive.

For not being the cousins
in the woodstoves
fireplaces,
Slaves
which just got a taste,
burned and died.

For the match lights
Short life
Shorter than a candle light.

For who and where I am,
connected to the stars
who devour and mother all of our lives
Breathing
Inhaling
Exhaling
Consuming
Evacuating
Reproducin­g

Exploding
Imploding
Struggling to survive.

For all fire,
All life
through out the universe,
For all who will become
a dead silent
Unmoving
Cold
Cold
Cold
  ember.

I pray,

Amen.
It has been another year of forest fires, acting like no others in past history. Fire is a force of nature with no mercy,terrifying, more powerful than fragile humans, it also has all of the characteristics of life, perhaps the real alien life form.
Meteo Apr 2016
Beneath the skin / Behind the canvas

      A fragile greeting found
            This fragile tempest

            Promised and unarmed
            Unwrapped infinity
            and sharing air

Anaphelbete for sharpness
      Anorexic for fitting
            Amnesia breaking

Mining Space
      An unnerving echo in prayers

            Please,
            and now,
            and why

There is a smile buried in the curtains
That is why our violence forgives

            The lacuna is free
            linen running unabated

Heavy comedy and rubber tires sail away

A stained glass sunrise
A signature war waiting under tickets


Neon spins everywhere

      The taste of finger-nails
      The bite of fingered-lips
Gone Again Left picking clouds

      Beneath the roots
      Above the rooftops

      Dancing concrete with me
electronics off-beat eating the world shaking

Some where still to call us home
evacuating pain behind familiar windows
I whisper you a fire escape
a static ocean at your door
Liam Apr 2013
Emotional ground undermined
   without a warning...
      no trembling earth
      no animals evacuating

I must have unintentionally fed
   the natural frequency of my support.
It rocked to music and unfinished memories
   until it failed me.

Dropped like a stone...long fall...hard landing.
Dark down there...Don't think I'll venture that way again.
A city is burning.
The heat has been rising.
People are evacuating.
Fear everywhere.
Homes threatened.
Lives threatened.
Homes up in flames.
Cars driving between
forests ablaze.
Making their escape.
Smoke in the air.
But I used to live there...

I remember the sled dogs in the Winter.
And the Northern Lights dancing
in the air.
And the green forest across from our lair.
I used to live there.

But now...
the city is burning.
Homes are lost.
Families are displaced.
People are evacuating.
A city is burning.

I used to live there.
Dedicated to the 80,000 citizens of Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada who had to evacuate their homes due to wildfires.
My heart goes out to you in this difficult time, and you are in my prayers.
RED
Red
Is Passion
Red
Is Love.
Red Is Intense Seduction And **** Lingerie.
Red Are The Beautiful Drapes Your Mother Picked Out For Her New Living Room.

Red
Red Was My Father's Blood Evacuating His Skull
Four Gunshots
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
In The Wall And Then Him.
Gunpowder Sharing Space With Him On The Floor Where He Lied.
Quietly.
Red Were His Eyes When He Pulled The Trigger.
Red Was The Splatter Of His Brains On The Pure White Walls.
Red,
Was His Heart.
Big But Broken.
Still.
No Beating.
Picked up a red pen and this is what came out of it.
RIP Daddy.
Never really got to know who you were and it still makes me sad.
ashley Mar 2014
Sometimes you don’t know it’s the last time until it’s too late.

oftentimes it comes so suddenly,
a goodbye that you thought was only for the night
until you wake up to find that from here on out the only thing kissing your forehead before bed is your pillow.

other times you know it’s coming,
like the last time you’ll see that person laugh before an angel comes
and wipes away every sparkle from their eyes
with the same disinfecting spray used on that hospital bed.

but sometimes, the saddest way, is when you realize that last time has already come and
gone
you realize that a person you once knew, has already left their impact on your life
and has exited without a sound to stage left
after their last scene.

it’s true that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone,
but it’s also true that sometimes you can’t prepare;
like an unexpected hurricane,
and the only thing you have time to grab are some anesthetics for your heart
before evacuating.

every moment of every experience has value,
but sometimes you can’t see them
like the constellations that hide behind a cloudy night;
but they’re still there, they just choose not to reveal themselves.

the trick is, learning how to appreciate them.
dafne Sep 2014
coffee breath, lead stained hands, fingers numbly typing in numbers that have more value than my test scores,
numbers stab like axes cutting down trees that cry in silent screeches in the forest.
numbers like ninety seven, ninety, and eighty two.
numbers that will never define who i am on a college transcript
and these numbers are worth more than who i am in this world, since we are defined by numbers today
even though we made the same mistake in 1939, turning people into numbers by stabbing pigments into their forearms, creating a lesser value for them.
a forty eight is stupid and a fifteen percent is like a hollow head.
i am defined by numbers like fifteen and forty eight and i am told that i should be embarrassed of who i am, or for the number that i am.
and if an equation can't be solved," i'm sorry m'am you cant move on", because your capacity is again,
defined by a number.
i am not a number
i am not the forty eight or the fifteen that scratches the back of my eyeballs like nails filing down a chalkboard.
i am not the one forty five i sleep at when ripping my hair out trying to solve equations of irrational numbers when i should be solving the equations of my irrational thoughts
and everything is turning round and round and round like the infinite possibilities of solutions to equations,  
and i go to sleep, and lay my head down as early as possible, but my mind is running in circles with numbers taunting me and defining me and interrupting my sleep.
it is morning now, my mother comes and checks on me to see how i am in this "new wonderful day"
the tiredness seeps through my purple eye bags that i try to cover with tan makeup, and i think about how i really feel in the morning. i stare in the mirror and numbers stare back, i weep as i sit on the floor with the numbers streaming down my eyes, evacuating them from my system, because numbers have made me mentally insane.
there is no hope of numbers leaving because they carry through, even after algebra two,
weight and credit scores, and the amount of money you owe in debt, your mortgage payment, and the amount your retirement fund has swallowed up for your uncertain future,
i am not a number
i am not a number
and i will fight numbers off like the moon controls the tide,
the tide will never control the moon,
and numbers will never control me.
Chapter VIII
Alikantus harangues Medea

Alikantus paradigm of Alikanto in his astral journey just three days after climbing in Gaugamela ...! The corners of anxiety buzz after lightening their igneous hooves by the slippery stones of the footsteps that seemed to be the same projections of their tasks that marked the Tracian soil before arriving at the request of their harangue. He resorts to Medea, before arriving in Thrace after wandering around different places in search of protection and advice to protect his master Vernarth. While He was submitting to his last opioid libations of vivid liliaceae from angiosperms encapsulated by his right pectoral. That was Alikanto's missive. Ask Medea for a potion so that she can supply her master to deflate his breastplate, and thus be able to use his Panoply breastplate in combat, since there were three days left for the duel. Medea arrived in the city of Athens on a stormy day with great dark Dantesque gray on the palm of the cliff, previously escaping near Abdera, whose east came evacuating black poetry to the west. Medea, while looking at the sky, took a piece of feldspar coal, to create the aluminum javelins that Alikanto would have to carry on her return, along with the potions to deflate her infected chest. I paint the sky with gray lattice lines later lodged in its crooked bun.
He could see from infinity something that came mounted on an aluminum beam, whose face seemed to be a king, it was Aegean, who not only offered him hospitality but married Medea in the hope that his sorceries would allow him to conceive a son despite to the advanced age. The sorceress fulfilled her expectations, having from her a son named Medo.
When Theseus, the secret son of Aegean, arrived in Athens willing for his father to recognize him as heir, Medea took him as a threat to his son's future, and attempted to poison him. But Theseus discovered her and, accused of committing horrible crimes and witchcraft, Medea had to flee again. In this crusade she had the assistance of Alikantus, who transported her flying from Abdera, so as not to be captured and supplementing the potions that Alikantus had requested, also with the aluminum javelins that she had to take to Vernarth, to escort him in the majestic affront.
  Thus, Medea is the archetype of a witch or sorceress, and they share their status as an autonomous and unusual woman, contrary to the ideal prototype of the time, with Calypso and Circe, among other Hecate and their instructors. I take a cauldron in which I had prepared a potion. Shortly after this a young foal emerged from her. Because of this relationship, Medea went to the icy waters of the Lete River to reenchant their lives in times past. This is how she takes hold of the sheds like the wings of Alikantus, to invade the estuaries and collect with her mouth the blue water displaced from the purgatory sky, so as not to stain with her ****** hands after having committed harassment with Jason.
They subtracted the ooze from the three days of the Solstice, to pounce with the south wind to meet again Vernarth in Bumodos. After Medea bathed in the beautiful melodies of the Lete river, the masculine sphinx of Likantus continued to undress her from all past Lives, as in ****** fusion consenting and thanking the rhythm of her onslaught for the great display of her sorceries that by misfortune comes, it signals revenge for the righteous and reconciliation to the unvenged opposites.
As the Solstice began, there was a lumberjack near the love nest between the personality of Alikantus and Medea. He interrupts them when Alikantus hit the slopes of his buttocks so that the potion bounced by his navel to take Gaugamela.
The Woodcutter says:   "Visibly used to seeing these scenes in Lete, he tells them that he has had to carry these axes in his hands since he was a child." I have never cut a tree, but I only follow these proportions that speak to me as a child when I was ordered by my parents to follow these cultures. My cult is not to treasure anything, much less accumulate rumors of tree species. I am only pleased to see one day a slight glimpse of Medea's face in me, who is part of her under this spell of never being able to bring her wood, on the contrary a song of her many passionate loves, even of her vengeful gaze when she is not. beloved, who underlies the worst poisoned evenings, even gazing at them with unpoisoned eyes with the miter in my hands.

Medea answers:  To infinity, on the other hand, if I am uncomfortable with principles, how could I suggest that your my woodcutter will be imperishable? Because your own beings grow dependent on those who do not believe they are beings who end their lives in the same way. Since you are the bearer of an ax, your conscience is to become a more capital statement of the Truth. As a unit of my imprecations, I must take you to the last survival merits of my beautiful melodies, but of fatal songs of death.
So your unit from today will be the same as yours, product of your parents' inheritance, and the other will be mine, which I have deposited in you to protect Lete. As I mention it with our blessed dance that Clovis suddenly and manifestly says ..., the river Lete in the underworld, dissolves your Memories, cleanses your mind permanently. That is the branch of a poplar tree from the underworld, from my father Hipnos. "Lete is not the place you want to go swimming ..."
Puzzled The Woodcutter looks at her and passes the ax to him, so that he can give it to Likantus, as a means of thanks to Vernarth prostrated in the disenchantment of the war spells, like tree limbs in the arms of his seeds, more than regrets. I am a woodcutter who never cut a tree, because through this offering I will give my ax so that Vernarth makes this circumcision with his talent those of others who are so many, less than what I can never count.

Medea comes out of this charm. Run away without a trace. Only this steed with its golden wings remain, pale as the day of good half-hopes. She takes the potions with her muzzle, weapons and the ax of good wood. Skewing its course, it takes flight to the north, to approach the villages of the gangs and cavalries by thousands who were heading to the vicinity of Te Gomel already in the jurisdiction of Vernarth. Day and night the Likantus Arengas flutter to repeat their same episode lived with Medea, towards the commanders to get them ready to shake their swords.

To be continued / under editing
ALIKANTUS  HARANGUES  TO MEDEA
Rosalina Wendt Mar 2015
I'm dying on the inside
My mind is rotting like an over ripe mango
The juice pours out of it

My mind is killing itself
Almost like a cancer
The depression eats away at it
I'm helpless to stop it
I have no control
No control over anything

People tell me they love me
It doesn't make me feel any better
How am I supposed to feel better when my mind is dying?
How can I be happy when my own brain is telling me to die

All I can think about anymore is killing myself
It is my breath in the morning
The sorrow of the day

The last thing I see before sleep takes me
Is the glorious vision of blood evacuating my body
I'm floating in a sea of red
My fingertips blue
The life extinguished from my eyes
Chapter **
Decalogue

In the absence of Vernarth's transitory, Sardinia was still burning with lilting water. Already rejoining the plasma from which he saw him depart, he continued in the liturgy with monophonic ideologies, characteristic of trance as an element of his regressive parapsychological transfiguration. Already divided into various personalities and entities, he could have almost been instructed to leave for Piacenza and join Raeder and Petrobus to set sail for the Dodecanese to expand his duties with Saint John the Evangelist. He meets with Etréstles and the participating comrades that when he arrived at the refuge in the morning, everyone was asleep, except Etréstles who was starching some sheets of bread dough for breakfast. Meanwhile, he had sacred fire heating with sacred water for everyone. Vernarth approaches and Khaire tells him, he answers, a joy to see you.

Vernarth says: Beloved Brother Etrétles, I have already taken the notations to begin the decalogue. Today in the afternoon we will board the Sailboat and leave for Piacenza. We are in the final offering. In the Izanna tower, I called upon the powers of the Universe to present them, and I was commissioned to make notations of the Decalogue of the souls that Live in all the ages of time and its vicissitudes.

Everyone starts to wake up, look at him and say hello. They sit in a circle to enjoy breakfast. Meanwhile, outside the shelter, the horns felt moving to the rhythm of the minutes. In such a way, that the last sound of the Doric scale that the storm segregates, will provide the beginnings of each one of boarding the float that will take them to the pier of Cala Cogone. Everyone says goodbye and hugs each other, Vernarth and his brother says Khaire.

Decalogue I                  
Hanael
                                      ­      
Generosity transformed into a crowd. Many stones co-exist emanating the sweet energy of Hanael, and among these is the Onix, known as the stone of truth. Whose objectivism was dreamed of the Value of generosity in its maximum expression in the courage centered on the very vibration flower of the Gerbera, along with its sober goats of the reign of the heights? Hyperkinetic foot and ascension to spiritual psychic growth, which is the real emblem and symbolism of all the virtues of all the planes, the history not traced, or the memory that is mentioned.

Two unicorns alone will be reached by the ****** who will numb them with the perfume of her purity and her chastity, the reason why she will be related to the ****** Mary and the incarnation of her son Jesus by hugging them with her cloak. The Unicorn's single horn is an emblem of the spiritual arrow, divine revelation, the entrance of the supernatural into man, the sword of God, the opening of the third eye, whose vision is projected towards the ends of the angelic world. Hail Regina Sine Labe Originali Spectam.

Decalogue II
Saint Gabriel

Vernarth you tied to a tree with canvases draws himself to the Angel in his name meaning "God is my strength". According to the Abrahamic religions and Judaism. As a result, she became known as "the messenger". Angel Gabriel continues to have a role in the world, helping both parents and human messengers. Blowing the trumpet to announce the return of the lord to Earth.

In his mediumship, the Archangel Gabriel inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. From which this egregious Vernarth Travel Wheel is not exempt until it is consecrated in Patmos as a sacred and lay reference of a spiritual being in gestation. From here he will cultivate the dignity and the Abrahamic mothers so that they can accept their body, awakening in the souls the scriptural power and communicating vigorous forces, which facilitate overcoming fear and lack of decision in life. Sponsoring God's messages to those who worship him.

Vernarth violates the Xiphos sword's decree to shed blood, but rather to purify the gesture of shedding Faith that cuts hopelessness. United in the Templars gripped by their fellow men of the spiritual warfare that never loses, that is always ready to the limit.


Decalogue III
Two premises

From the first two decalogues, the third is born. Both by the glow of the first reactivates the other, which is a rectilinear light that surprises the dark light that tries to invade its luminosity. At very meager kilowatts, the years that separate the times of adding more vestiges of transcending on moral exercise unfold from intertwining; in such a way that in periods of frank over-excited navigation, the energy of the spirit is advanced, only measurable by the actions and intercommunications of the Angels and Archangels.
"Decalogues / ten analyzes" Assimilations of divine inspiration, which will contain ten components beyond an enumeration of premises that expose the visions when justifying a test. This decalogue includes maxims such as "The Angel is the fundamental value of Mystical Perseverance."


Decalogue IV
Where is the North

The North: Biblical scholars have suggested that the north symbolizes the permanent or the eternal, perhaps because the pole stars could be seen throughout the year. It is the place of God's heavenly habitation (Isa. 14:13) and from where his glory descends (Job 37:22) to bless or judge (Eze. 1: 4). He is the true King of the North. But the north, represented by the left hand, is also a symbol of disaster. The enemy of God's people came from the north (Jer. 1:14, 15; Eze. 38: 6), bringing destruction. In a sense, the enemy was the false king of the north who tried to usurp the role of God and who is ultimately destroyed by the Lord (Sof. 2:12; Dan. 11: 21-45). To see resting in Faith, the north does not distract your gaze, it blesses resting the whole concept that shakes the predisposition to arise to all merit given by physical unity, which I inhabit where I will rest, and the glory has to exalt me. Whoever comes from the north bringing destruction, will crash upon him, bringing reparation for the faith that rebuilds itself. The north is an anti-magnet, preventing what it cannot distort from itself in the Christian saying.


Decalogue V
The desert

Vernarth has to consume the desert like a placid arid and inhospitable place when swallowing it. There is nothing in his hands, not even the most elementary thing found. Where you suffer all kinds of discomforts: thirst and heat, inclement weather, sudden changes in temperature, sand discomfort, deprivation, and material deprivation; not only of the futile things but also of the most necessary. It must be supplied in large baskets to serve those who cultivate and protect it. The desert is a meek sheep in periods of drought when it never leaves you.

The physical reality of the desert can be like a symbol of the imminent spiritual life: it is the place of the detachment of everything superfluous; an invitation to austerity and a return to the essential. It is there where man experiences his fragility and his own limitations; the place of trial and purification. But also the most appropriate setting for a renewed and mature search for our personal encounter with God in prayer, in the silence of the soul, and in the simplicity of the essential. It is here that every symbol, more than all its significance, is transformed into a test of loneliness beyond all abundance of Faith, without even having to support it.


Decalogue VI
Vampirism

In the behavior of the person who acts like a vampire, that society prevails that the behavior is dissociated to whoever does it and not. Many vampire souls have made a pilgrimage for good. No one has been able to exclude them from the darkness and stop rising from the dead to roam the night in a bulky black cape and use long, sharp canine teeth to bite the victims' necks and **** their blood. But modern vampires tend to encounter problems of strict uniqueness such as not being happy, believing even more than by dying to them they are more than a fatal vampire. "We are all Vampires in eternity who deal with darkness and light, fear and courage."
Vampire in Sardinia is drinking the same blood and sprinkling it on the earth that nothing conceals or prescribes sin. Then a child appears, picks up the flower that germinates right there, and the cycle begins again.

“When I train myself in writing saying who I am, I only receive from the purulence of the multitudes, in centuries by centuries, not finding a basis to answer me. They say they do not know what to answer because there is no content that compares to those who have no Age, Life, or compassion. That I only have to communicate with the Strigoi messenger articulated with the souls of the dead who come out of their graves at night to terrorize the neighborhood. That it is the same as I condemned to sail and swarm the World of the Nosferatu aristocracy, a survivor of all human vanity, in all the empires of the World believing to live thousands of years without knowing who helped me, because few give me the option of giving what good of me ”


Decalogue VII
Holy incense

I breathe humid air from the superior deities; they opt for my forehead, as practices that replace those that are detonating to expel theirs. Rain of aromas alter or renew low-voltage emotions for high gods, like the Egyptians who used the most precious varieties of incense. These incense craftsmen, in the times of the Pharaohs, knew all the secrets for making high-quality incense. It has been verified that in some of the precious vessels found in the funeral chambers of Tutankhamun, they kept hundreds of kinds of incense that have still retained their magnificent aroma through the centuries. On Sheesham's bunk beds of fire. Wood and Incense with ultra sensory olfactory powers, to design elemental and supernatural hearts, to house and be adaptable to hyper-connectivity. In the Hindu religion, akasha is the foundation and essence of all things in the material world; the first palpable and concrete material element created by the god Brahmá (air, fire, water, earth are the others). "Here he sleeps without waking up when the morning doesn't wake up, and sleeps when the night doesn't get dark"


Decalogue VIII
Mythology

As mythology, it is called the set of myths typical of a people or culture. Myths, for their part, are narrations starring gods, heroes, or fantastic beings, who explain or give meaning to certain events or phenomena. The word, as such, and this in turn from the Greek μυθολογία (mythology) . Mythology, in this sense, is made up of the set of stories and beliefs, relatively cohesive, with which a people has traditionally explained itself. its origin and the reason for being of everything around it. Hence, we can affirm that mythology shapes the worldview or belief system of a culture. Vernarth from Sardinia where he never thought he was undoubtedly opens up belonging to this place more than the hundred millionth essence of his Being. It unites all the elements that melt together the liquid, aqueous, physical, gaseous, and aqueous., To form the mythology of a true verb of a parapsychological regression, like a great condiment that every mortal lacks as opposed to an immortal.
Alikantus paradigm of Alikanto on his astral journey just three days after climbing in Gaugamela...! The corners of anxiety buzz after lightening their igneous hooves by the slippery stones of the footsteps that seemed to be the same projections of their tasks that marked the Tracian soil before arriving at the request of their harangue. He resorts to Medea, before arriving in Thrace after wandering around different places in search of protection and advice to protect his master Vernarth. While He was submitting to his last opioid libations of vivid liliaceous from angiosperms encapsulated by his right pectoral. That was Alikanto's missive. Ask Medea for a potion so that she can supply her master to deflate his breastplate, and thus be able to use his Panoply breastplate in combat since there were three days left for the duel. Medea arrived in the city of Athens on a stormy day with great dark Dantesque gray on the palm of the cliff, previously escaping near the Abdera cliff, whose east was evacuating black poetry,.


Decalogue XIX
Falangist

As a tactical organization for war created in Ancient Greece and later imitated by various Mediterranean civilizations. ... The term is of Greek origin, φάλαγξ (phálanx), which was used for the defensive formation used by the Hoplites, who constituted the classical phalanx.
Almost at dusk over Zeus's beards, the Vernarth Phalanges begin to arrive. The Macedonian Phalanx or Macedonian Phalanx was an infantry formation created and used by Philip II, and later by his son Alexander the Great in the conquest of the Persian Empire. The Macedonian phalanx arose, in fact, as a response to the tactical modifications that the Theban strategists, Epaminondas and Pelópidas of ground forces, developed in the early 4th century BC. C. to oppose the superiority, although already decadent, that the Spartan hoplite formation had exerted in the land combats between the Greek cops until that date.
Nothing depresses me more than not delegating others as if they were my Falangists, making them participate in defending themselves against all disadvantages and worse punishment with the Panoply armor, a superb protector of those who has no defender. "God is my Breastplate, his Gospel protects me by never being damaged"


Decalogue X
Lepanto

Where I have to shelter, says Vernarth, hostility haunts me. Beautiful landscape that is swayed between the rushes of good that tries to be less bad. Policy judgments, how close to marketing peace, and so far from founding true poetry. Still, Vernarth crossed the waters and their customs. From Lepanto, Greece. He appeared exhausted with his eyes reddened by the gassed atmosphere that greeted them in Battle. Of whose intraterrestrial castes it was the one that was in his iron spirit and reappeared in his cape as a gesture of his personality. He arrived cracking the ****** floors of Tel Gomel when he arrived ... he was assaulted by a soldier who asked for mercy to extend his bad fortune. Lepanto is a pre-military senatorial seat, and a great preparatory to the charms of the drama of my duties that will be in Patmos, never-ending dramas.

Falangist: With his helmet in his hands and the Dorus on his cloak on the ground tells him; every single thing I tried the double edge of my sword stained him. The top sheet notified me that my family in Kalidona was in a state of irregularity since my two older children were called to serve in the militias. And the second edge of my lower Dorus I bow before the meanest preciousness of that of observing with a good spirit to cooperate, now with the callousness of my soul that overcomes it exploiting and dragging my wife as easy spoil. I know that my descendants were buried under the effect of the cataclysm of Pompeii in the future. All will emigrate and then flee when they are devastated and the unwelcome comrades return to reintegrate into the Santa María festival. The Patron Saint who consoled me, but prepared me for the resistance of such bad fortune, that one day she would let herself fall with my crops in the culture of peasant angels in fruits and devotions. I sobbed and sobbed rubbing my animals through my empty eyes day and night. They did it next to me, with the singularity of not affecting me; they went to the nearest stream to sob for me so that I would not be affected by the fatal annihilation.

Epilogue
Patmos and Saint Gabriel

Once installed with the vision of visionary brotherhood that characterizes its filial union with Reader and Petrobus. It will begin in its mediumship with the Archangel Gabriel who inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. As an input of character to validation the function of the Troubadour, Juggler, or Visionary. If it were not for the written and not musical notes, nothing would be more than a vision of being closer to almost hyper-reality, established by the prophecies as historical and religious support. With this last decalogue, Vernarth establishes that one in the work of oneself remains the summary of the prototype of the work. And from the work, the summary that allows the common man to be erected, who in his free will, does not deny, but rather power his unshakable satiety of science in his prostrated soul, under the key of dogma and questioning?
Hildegard Von Bingen has sparked the interest of many scholars, mainly because it seems to contain a major contradiction with respect to the rest of his statements about his visionary experience. In that absence of ecstasy that characterizes the visionary experience of Hildegard von Bingen, It also figures the fundamental difference that separates it from its contemporary Elisabeth von Schönau, and some scholars based this fact to deny it a mystical character and grant it the attribute of prophetic. The attention of this specific passage obeys its comparison with Saint John the Evangelist. The understanding of itself seeks a model, a referent, whose wide field of meaning has to be reconstructed in order to restore the full meaning of this statement. The analysis will stop at the following aspects:

1. In the gesture through which Saint John is shown, and by which Hildegard associates herself with the evangelist and, as we will see, according to the identifications of the time, with the beloved disciple of Christ and with John of Patmos, the author. of the apocalypse.

2. Hildegard's identification with Juan de Patmos will lead us to a comparison of both visionaries focused on the modes of their representation.

3. Finally, the content of the images will be reflected on from an example, hoping that all of this will be concluded with a sharper profile of Hildegard von Bingen's visionary experience.
Vernarth says: “I wander from the stony ruins in Sardinia, to go in search of those who gave rise to themselves. When I thought about believing to create them, they presented themselves to me as a whole that prophesies Creation. ”
DECALOGUE  VERNARTH
Elise K Joye Feb 2013
Evacuating the life,
Life of sadness.
Instant gratification is the death of her.
She sees her sorrows float away, and
Empty skies turn to poetry
Andrew Kerklaan Jul 2017
Fading in static,
I vanish from speculation entirely

I am ethereal

I slip through a closed door phantomous -- My driving need absolved

              I am cured (Temporarily)

Dead in my own eyes and abandon in my mind

I pass voicelessly through the terminal - - unrecognised

I am more alive then a lifetime of living

Exuberant; I erupt with silent joy that gushes from my open chest cavity

Evacuating the pavement
                       -
washing away organically
Certain kinds of music put me in a sort of trance. I was just trying to recaptivate the sensation in this piece. I hope you enjoy it.
Ricordati di me Oct 2014
The weather intoxicates me
Almost as much as you did
Only now I want it to take me away
Away from this place and away from you

I love the rain,
You know that already
I loved how calm it made me
Now I just hope I can drown in something other than my own thoughts

Maybe if I get struck my lightning it'll make me feel as alive as you did
All the energy rushing through my veins might finally run you out of them,
This storm of you might finally pass

I wish I would have seen this coming
Would have heard the sirens warning me of your danger
I thought I was well protected though
Little did I know I'd crash head on with a tidal wave

You broke me
Built me up just to crush me along with everything in your path

Evacuating wasn't a choice, even if I had known
You were the only thing I knew
Even with all the power to wipe me out, I thought your winds would settle
I thought the sun would shine

Now all I see is clouds
I've made this tragic leftover land my new home
ili May 2014
my thoughts beckon to me-
they command to be heard.
the constant chatter of lullabies that trace my dreams are nightmares.

i find it quite humorous.

our mind is our own,
we have full ownership.
yet.
our mind owns us.
we tell ourselves we cannot be controlled, we can only control.
but.
our mind slices our veins allowing us to contemplate the outcome of every single drop of blood evacuating the premises of our body,
our mind pushes us
to over think
constructing a maze,
succeed or fail.
either way,
our minds beckon us.
to believe
we only have two choices
life
or
death.
for those people who over think, those who try so hard to be thought-free but are in a never ending marathon they feel they're bound to lose. i keep telling myself to control the mind, do not allow the mind to control you.
you are my failings
antiquated

fields of green

salvation

is it not invisible

sensation

and i'm left alone
evacuating


all around light

and dark

you know me

i have nothing in souls


nothing in history


except when emergence


awakening to birds
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
once the target of advertisement, now the targeting advert machine that pausing live t.v. created, with the internet... once ready for being branded, now asked to brand, to be the grey matter and ***** work pamphleteer, as if for the solidarity movement... no, the advert's inverted device, ushered on by the hope for endorsements giving Libra the universal answer to the antagonism of imperial and metric measurements having found a twin-usage solution akin to Israel and Palestine.*

https://goo.gl/TNDAab,
some want this, some want that...
and some want to commit to suicide,
only because you wrote poetry
and left desperation for most of us
having the sole consolidation
evacuating us from practice -
the art part-time, art in your spare-time,
art on the sly, art that's no art,
no expansion of vocabulary -
some want this, some want that,
and some want to commit suicide
only because you engaged with poetry
and discovered poetry was the use
of rhyme as painting would be
should the colour blue be used -
what a shame.
Michael Sep 2018
Every morning I wake up early.
I hate getting up, but a lay in is just not for me.
While the others in the home sleep, my mind starts to race.
Out of this warm and cosy bed I get, and around the house I pace.
Before much time has passed boredom gets up and takes it’s terrible place.
The silence of the house is deafening, almost like its screaming in my face.
Every moment that passes by has all gone to waste.
If only I stayed in bed this morning, rather than evacuating with haste.
Maybe then I’d be less bored, or at least no longer be awake.
But here I am awake again, like the sun and I are in a race.
One day I’ll get to sleep in, and wouldn’t that be great?
To have a restful nights sleep may be just what I need.
But the universe has other ideas when it comes to me.
It wants anything and everything for me.
That is, of course, with the exception a good nights sleep.
My never ending battle with sleep
Santiago Dec 2014
Washing out my ***** laundry
Homework left undone
Assignments held incomplete
Evacuating I had to retreat
Decline to surrender in defeat
A soldier severely falling weak
Coping to balance on my feet
I'm here to settle the score
To events I lived in before
Digging deep down the core
Is that what you're asking for?
Must tore & give you more
Think before you step out the door

Come to find I'm not the one you really want too explore...
Crimsyy Apr 2017
Six
I'm currently evacuating,
currently changing,
no longer lingering
in lullaby-scented halls
and too big shoes.

The walls have changed, you see,
coated in posters of
people I try to be
but the walls know my
real estate, my anxious being.

They know my exterior
is scared to invite you in,
because not everyone can handle
the mess within.

They know on the inside,
I'm dripping blood, ink,
my mind, like an overflowing sink,
saturated with love,
sunset pink.
Venarth says: “After alternating with the Erythrai, I climbed the top of the ship, and began to experience changes in my philosopher's dermis, from a permanent continuous present independent of the post-period, leaving the dogma of the numbers that would cause me an existence capable of only obsessed with supporting him, with the weight of a drunken Lepidoptera who spoke to me close to the invariance of the incorruptible dense layer that covered the sea on the cornice of heaven, making them a continual delay of time. The facets of invariability would begin the notorious oceanic areas that fractured when the Eurydice divided the hemispheres, causing them to doze in the time of her crystal ball, up on the crown which would make her base the extra personalities of the sunset on me. The present allows me to eternalize my memories or memorare, of my existential eclipses, making of its faculty to speak of a super conscious overwhelming and constrained to the hermeneutics that invited me to drink Ouzo among the few beings that accompanied me in the height of the ship, increasing its gradation every time a sip multiplied with the puffs of the Hesperides that passed me by, inviting me to bag their naked spring figures wintering, given the temporary stagnation that entered through the hole in my pectoral of the sinister right scapula, where some probes of the Mythical elderberry paused my outraged finite human, who got stuck in my chest when he couldn't apprehend the amount of my second lieutenants who sifted through the Bereshit voices of the Torah, who lamented pre-late and tonal that they never finished, that they became prey condensed from each sip I drank into his Ouzo harvest timeline, tracking the tiny sips that That I would not be able to count, before drinking them, after never having drunk them harshly, thus not understanding the mats blown by the reefs of the infinite twilight sapphire, carrying away the burps, that the naiad Arhanis saw coming out between my central incisors and from my mouth numbed by the heat of Zeus's anger, and from the dawning of potential between fallen, hanging from the sky of Arhanis, holding between the hands of the one who supports him. The clouds and geometric masses in vapors fell on distinctive chromatic ropes and cords of volumes supporting the infinite, which today eliminated itself blinded, falling into the void of an ex-vaporous corporation.

This succession in status of perenniality, made me hold vigorously from the top, as I began to fall into an unknown void where I would meet Elpenor in hypersomnia, but rather, from a song of the Odyssey that invited me to a straw next to him and the liquid chemo of the Ouzo, asking him to give him the worthy food of his oblations and the liquor broth, to make me advise him in the last sip, before the sirens sing, where I would affirm my golden hoplite elbow so that the status of eternity, dispense with the ford runs of the taps that exude their Cretan Ouzo, through the navel that swallows the entire boats and my "Pectoral that puts the stopper of time so that it does not pass supra into infra existentialist"

Elpenor, already burning before him, continued with a glass in his hands, pressing the heads of the Taurus who prolonged substitute immaterial lapses, which turned into ouzo vapor vomited by both, running through the sequence of the masts of the crowns, which it would begin to weaken somewhat  from so much distillation of the vineyard test tube, as it cooled down after a succession of events that began with the severed head of the beginning of the emotional initial moment, in which I am still wounded between crossbows and moments that undermine all origin, under a toast of heavy eyelids that pretended a Bing Bang, before taking the float towards a mound that would allow me to fall into the unsustainable gravitant, in which the acceleration causes me, and that weatherizes everything, even though I am not the one that transports myself. Before Elpeneor, I witnessed three uncorrupted deaths, one with the scythe on his shoulders cutting the fences of the impiety of raising micro-times in the Odyssey, another as a prey of biological dowels that debate science that fall incapable before the granule of the involved brain similarly to the multisectoral questioning of conscious conflicts; and final hunger within my contradiction and inconveniences of the loss of the sense of taste, cloistering myself as I live in its metempsychosis, losing the sensitivity of my hands and trying to leverage my swords and spears, not defending my defenseless body from immortal carcinogenic fears , of a lost sacred soul and in sequence of losing reason of seven times plus another seven that remain for my way to paradise, evacuating primary psychic elements and codes of life that rest in formalin, before those who do not fear revive me when drowning  in Ouzo, for all my phalanx soldiers who live in me still dying in my arms.  Constituting the triple of the human being, which affirms the transfer of certain psychic elements of my body to another after my death that does not allow me to walk in the threads of the dust of my bones that wish to be taken back from the corners, from the old and sticks of the termites that eat my crow. I am still in creationism, dressed in yellow, so that the poet who only ***** and breathes me with his great senses, is closer to Christmas than millions of years I have lived, before the Christmas carol woke me up as a divine child, being only a large hoplite cop entangled in an igloo of Panentheism, deifying me or perhaps semi-deifying me, to house the stars that would walk out of my intellectual herd, creating my own low hills of consciousness, that look through the balustrades of the flint of Saint Peter in their Altozano, self-creating vital, but immanent. Transfigured, I decant my teeth in the crottals, on the carpet before the scarcity of their dilapidated embryos, before the Biblical Revelation that tells me that, among all creatures, I will be the only man capable of daring to apprehend the concept of eternity, in between of the serpents. As in one of the theological versions of Ecclesiastes imploring God: “He has made everything beautiful in my time. He has placed my eternity in the hearts of men”.

When I hail Heidegger after a sense after lingual ..., with the amphora ***** in his philosopher pipe, and with Wittgenstein I ***** half – half brain tobacco. Averaging Newtonian ignorance’s, before an absolutism that are revealed in the universal psychic drama, while God awaits me early in his catechesis, ordered, gummed and omniscient of myself, I am agreeing with the precious perfidious date still in my Eurydice's crown, that it looks eloquent of my new date of birth without a month that fits in any calendar that is known, to then go after the capitol in Athens itself, running aground with my ship after my hurricane, possessing its great reliquary itself Parthenon, with my ship over all this stiff structure that is reborn together with my eternalist suicide "Perpetua et incorruptibilis, in æternum vive"

"... Vernarth, breathes unfathomably and comes down from the Euridience crown, as if nothing had happened, when he sets foot on the deck full of liquors and ambrosias, he joins the others and dances Zorba without stopping next to them
Perpetua  et incorruptibilis, in  æternum lives
t watson Jun 2015
Like a drug or wine it fills up the mind,
evacuating the brain one thought at a time.

At the mercy of it's creators, anticipation looms,
making cherished spaces out of standard rooms.

Seeking it out becomes an adventure;
sitting with it in solitude, our guilty pleasure.

Now we've become spoiled, or at least our ears.
Feeling so grateful,  to that let's cheers!
On a bus in SF
Graff1980 Jan 2017
So, an orange ape,
with hair so real
you’d swear it was fake,
said we have to make America great
and the first thing he plans to do
is punish anyone who chooses
to burn a flag.

Doesn’t mind the kind
of KKK dudes who burnt crosses
the David Duke
white sheet brotherhood
who endorsed him,
but if you’re a Muslim
or a Mexican
you better watch out.

I don’t want to be divisive
but this guys been selling *******
and conservatives wonder why
a lot of people are contemplating
evacuating America or suicide.
It is because in our younger days
this nation faced
fascist states that grew the same way.

Lesbians and gays are afraid
cause the VP Pence
tried to pass a law that allowed
people to discriminate.
It is strange cause people used to proclaim
that the LGTBQ struggle
and the civil rights movement
were not the same.

So some sit in terror,
some rise to march on,
some show their solidarity
with Facebook posts,
and others write in hopes
that words can overcome
this ******* rerun
from nineteen fifty-one.
Phoenix Sep 2016
---
Tears
So many painful tears
Tears shed late at night
When no one can see them

Quiet sobs
Echo into the black
Almost silent
To not wake the family
They cannot see my pain

My soul is empty
Evacuating my body with each exhale
As if there is no room
With the demons
That enter with each inhale

I force a smile
An empty and pretend smile
With broken laughter
And pretend light in my eyes

16 years of practice
I've gotten good at pretending
Outsiders never notice
The lifelessness in my eyes
Or the emptiness in my smile

I'm even starting to fool
The ones closest to me
The people who see me
Nearly every day

I could probably fool myself
Into thinking I was okay
If it wasn't for my heavy, broken heart
If it wasn't for my lifeless soul
And clouded mind
I could probably fool myself

How do people live like this?
I wouldn't really even call this living
It's going through the motions
Faking it until you make it

When will I find rest?
When does it get easy?
Because I'm questioning my strength
The strength everyone says I have
Even though
They can't feel my burdens
And my pain

Even connected with God
I feel all alone
In the war in my head
It seems unwinable
Impossible

I want to end it
The pain
The tears
The suffering

I pray to God
Almost every night
To just **** me
Let me die in my sleep
So I can escape the world
And finally be at peace

But I wake up
Every morning
Just as empty as the day before

Suicide isn't an option
Even though it is so tempting
So so tempting
But if God won't **** me
There must be a reason

But I don't see one
I'm a monster
I'm destruction
I'm chaos

I love my family
So I fight for them
Even if I feel abandoned
And rejected
And alone
Because when I love
I love with my everything
And I almost never stop

So I cry myself to sleep
As an attempt to ease the pain
I quietly sob into my pillow
Praying for an escape
That I know won't come
sofolo Sep 2022
I’m twelve
and you’re in
the living room
gasping.

I thought the
coffee ***
was percolating
but it was just your
last breath
death rattle
reverberating.

Your damage
wasn’t deleted
by the coroner’s
gurney leaving.

It bubbles up
in flashes
rapid fire
and
seething.

Dripping from
your body bag
retreating.

Echoing down
every hall
leading
toward a
semblance of
healing.

The finality
of your
lungs
evacuating.

Eroding
into the
beginning
of my digging.

Twenty-seven
years later
still
excavating.

Memory
a delicate
figurine.

Tumbling
into nothing.
Nitin Pandey Dec 2022
At any time,
To earn a valid reason.
There will be a knock,
On the threshold of time.
For people, to leave,
Yes, to just evacuating.
That time, as memory,
And they will be gone.
#thought
All Constituencies only be yours, not mine…,
Even, after you left I did not set you free, it was easy for you to cross the threshold of time, but equally difficult for me.
You know, I tried my best to forget everything.
But, still I remember all happens that imposed by you, that rough moon, that thirsty river, that bundle of wood, that screaming flames and that restless night, it was very difficult for me to accept that…
Arek Oct 2019
I'd love to be a dove
skies gracefully navigating
and somewhere high from up above
my bowels evacuating

with an olive branch
hanging off my beak
giving me a carte blanche
to peacefully take a leak

and during my release
amidst applause and cheer
I'll be spreading love and peace
and lots of my diarrhea
Yggy Jun 2018
Bodies fold in this smoulder, emptying the air from out their heads, evacuating the lingering dread that inside they're already dead.
Souls writhe in this disorder, touching anything that they can, reverberating the color red as the blue fire slowly gets colder.
From where
Did this
Empti  
             ness
Find
A wish
That arms
Could bear?
Every atom clashes, and in this disarray, ecstasy establishes a Winter King's reign.
As these fingers touch this skin, reason goes insane. Following the heat, as aimless as the rain.
How
Does one
Conjoined
Within
Reach  
            out
To heal
To mend?

Whispering denials in the grips of evidence,
The body draws to pleasures in lieu of spiritual penance

— The End —