"executioners" poems
Avian slave beneath arrays of decay
Beneath the will to move on
She is so rusted and gone
Afar from quintessence crossed
Into the realm of the lost
Slipped into the clutch of the maw
Of madness it’s savage
Where the judge is the jury
Executioners laugh at the magnanimous
Everything stripped from the flesh
Nothing left to see but a dejected show in the throes of wreckage
Because these lost prophets sit upon a stolen perch looking down on a fallen goddess
A desecrated figure devoid of any promise
The primary custodian of a land forever conquered
A society gripped in the chokehold of despair
Perpetual attunement to ruin consumes a flock of sheep in the leviathan’s lair
And the pretty little songbird
Torn asunder by each verse
Learns that from her inception
She never was a free bird
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
Everyone, after all, was killed:
he who was crucified,
he who died without skin,
he who died without a head,
he who was drowned,
he who was thrown down
from the wall of the Temple,
which shortly after that
ceased to exist.
Everyone, after all, was tormented;
he who was put at the mercy
of lions and Neros,
he who was roasted on the bonfire,
he whose eyes were gouged out.
Everything was justified
on the excuse that no one
can live eternally
and that it is impossible
to avoid death.
Through the narrow gates of paradise
passed so many martyrs
that the gates in the end
had to be widened.
Kudos to the executioners!
2.6k
*'Twas a dark sleepless night,
With no stars, moon or light,
His face became pale and so white,
He kept begging God and praying,
His bare skinny body is shaking,
He's young, will never grow old,
This heavy burden, his misery
Can't be described neither told,
'Twas dark and so cold,
In the corner of the cell,
Hearing death's bell,
Time is up, it's fate,
When the grumpy judge
announced the date,
Nothing to think of,
But to fly free like a dove,
When his head drops,
When his neck is cut,
When death takes his soul away,
It's his last day,
Among that noiseless jail,
Among that soundless hall,
Their steps chime,
For one last time,
Executioners and priest,
They grabbed him out,
No Mercy, No Mercy
It's fate...
They took him along with that hall,
He kept staring at the floor and the wall,
No eye contact,
No words were spoken,
Waiting for his life to be taken,
He was so down,
His feet drawn,
When he saw it,
He could not move,
He could not blink,
He was speechless,
He could not think,
They were merciless,
When they reached The GUILLOTINE.
*
© Copy right protected
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
the choppers blades
unaware
the cleansing of color
twist in the wind
like the means of unfit mothers
champions
of unfounded snare
who's revolution
of her weighted intent
should be held to account
when justness is spent
the judges, juries
and executioners trail
hovering the bluster
as appellants flail
<------------->
the choppers blades
unaware
the cleansing of color....
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
We don’t know whether every angel carries out the same tasks, or whether some of them specialize in certain areas. The Bible does speak about classes of angelic beings like cherubim (Ezekiel 1) and seraphim (Isaiah 6). We also know the names of two notable angels: Michael (Daniel 10:13; Jude 9) and Gabriel (Daniel 9:21; Luke 1:19,26).
The unnamed angels who appear most often in Scripture carry out a variety of tasks - all designed to serve God…
Worship and praise - This is the main activity portrayed in heaven (Isaiah 6:1-3; Revelation 4-5).
Messengers - They serve as messengers to communicate God’s will to men. They helped reveal the law to Moses (Acts 7:52-53), and served as the carriers of much of the material in Daniel, and Revelation.
Guiding - Angels gave instructions to Joseph about the birth of Jesus (Matthew 1-2), to the women at the tomb, to Philip (Acts 8:26), and to Cornelius (Acts 10:1-8).
Providing - God has used angels to provide physical needs such as food for Hagar (Genesis 21:17-20), Elijah (1 Kings 19:6), and Christ after His temptation (Matthew 4:11).
Protecting - Keeping God’s people out of physical danger, as in the cases of Daniel and the lions, and his three friends in the fiery furnace (Daniel 3 and 6).
Delivering - Getting God’s people out of danger once they’re in it. Angels released the apostles from prison in Acts 5, and repeated the process for Peter in Acts 12.
Strengthening and encouraging - Angels strengthened Jesus after His temptation (Matt 4:11), encouraged the apostles to keep preaching after releasing them from prison (Acts 5:19-20), and told Paul that everyone on his ship would survive the impending shipwreck (Acts 27:23-25).
Answering prayer - God often uses angels as His means of answering the prayers of His people (Daniel 9:20-24; 10:10-12; Acts 12:1-17).
Caring for believers at the moment of death. In the story of Lazarus and the rich man, we read that angels carried the spirit of Lazarus to “Abraham’s ***** when he died (Luke 16:22).
Executioners - Angels are sometimes used by God to punish sin. An angel of the Lord went forth and smote an Assyrian camp (2 Kings 19:20-34) “behold, they were all dead corpses.” The Assyrian army was annihilated. A destroying angel was sent, but later withheld, to punish David for his vanity in taking a census of the great number of his people. At the time of Moses and the Exodus, the Egyptian firstborn where killed by an angel of death.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Soft shelter
I urge your preternatural
brigades of perspective
to ground my resignation
in some hypothetical
formation of inclined leisure
If I'm treading mere chance
in my hope then I urge you
not to simply humour me with
sly tomorrows assuring
optimism in the brittle molts
of days shrinking to reveal
solar aspirations
I'll turn my back
to the broken weather like
a naked sibling
There is nothing humourous
in humouring
though I've taken it
in self-destructive perpetuity
Tie me to the rack of realism
like Odysseus before the Sirens
I'll sigh and swallow
yet another new medication
one for soft shelter
in compounded sleep
where perspectives hide
and the chemicals of moods
long dismantled
congregate behind blindfolds of
destiny's clumsy executioners
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
I ask for direction but only the spirit knows,
the semantic is lost in one ritual or another subroutine.
We breath in violable biology to voice a movement
that joins u to me and together we point there,
somewhere without realizing that I consciously exhale.
A relaxed breath in but two ways out.
There is no committee nor panel of experts,
endless discussions, of morality of us all;
There is only me deciding how to exhale,
which way to breath out.
There is no wrong or right, only the slow,
controlled, submissive, submission vowels
or short, percussive consonants full of sound
and fury signifying the falling
golf ***** scattered on off-target greens,
a lawn of flamed bogeys.
A brief pause in silence aftermath, memories
of honored and vicious executioners
before I pick up the next eddie current,
the next randori in forgotten volume,
in brownian space, in distance maai,
in movements unthinkingly remembered.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
Self-promotion arena supplying for
social gatherings and family space,
at times useful mirror and judge onto the lives
of the untrue, the corrupted, the vicious,
at most theatre for public sacrifice by the rule of the thumb
with mercy at the hands of the pleb.
Samnites, secutores and retiarii fighting to the death,
noxii and damnati hacked in the man-made
monument built for entertainment,
barbarian combats in the name of munus,
lethal games on the tilt of a double-edged sword
serving political agendas and commercial must,
their successes encouraging others.
Youths sold, batches addicted
to the screen of civilization
erected to conceal and divert the eye,
to the glittering murderous show
permeating the four cardinal directions while
confusing children's moral compass,
morphed into unactive witnesses,
blood-thirsty enablers, wishful executioners,
as loved ones helplessly watch
the self-destructions, the stabbing cuts,
and hear the roars of beasts feeding,
the shouts of be-headings acclaimed.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 1:43 AM UTC
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
Where every scene from every play
Ever written flows seamlessly into
Each other in no particular order
ALL THE WORLD'S A ****** MYSTERY
Where everyone’s a probable suspect
Including the investigating officers
Playwrights and audience
Yet we’re all sure we know whodunit
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY OR STAND-UP ACT
Where everyone’s a dressed-down clown
Even the straight man and the cast and crew
And everyone plagiarizes the punch-lines
ALL THE WORLD'S A PASSION PLAY
Where everyone’s a martyr
Even the judge and executioners
And the messiah must be
A flavour of the week superstar
ALL THE WORLD'S A SOAP OPERA OR CRIME DRAMA
Where the cast doesn’t realise
They aren't wearing any clothing
Even though they are seasoned
And respected award winning actors
And the show is being marketed as pornographic
ALL THE WORLD'S AN OFFICIAL DOCUMENTARY
Where everyone’s the subject
Director producer and crew
As long as the camera is rolling
And it’s rolling 24/7 !
ALL THE WORLD'S A REALITY SHOW
Where everyone’s a drama queen
Including the director producer and crew
And the camera is always rolling
Even when there’s no film in it
And the props and stage are constantly being
put-up and torn down all around them
ALL THE WORLD'S A COMEDY/DRAMA
Where nothing’s really that funny
And the edginess is trite and melodramatic
Like a cast of mimes in a Shakespearean play
ALL THE WORLD'S A GAME SHOW
Where everyone is the host
Including the audience
And there are no contestants
Only models on a flashy stage.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 2:42 AM UTC
*She woke up helpless and had no clue,
-What time it was- or what to vainly do,
She could never see, but hear their steps,
Chime in that vacant dark hall,
She wanted to speak it loud, to scream,
She couldn't wait seekinga light beam,
She wanted to know any whereabouts,
She wanted to **** all wonders and doubts,
'' Where am I?" said she.
She knew everything but what was happening,
She knew everything, but all was vaguely dark,
This **** food she shared with a rat,
Which, she ironically named and jack,
Jack, he, who happens to be full of romance,
He, who happens to be a charming prince,
He, who happens to come on a white horse,
Recklessly swinging his sword cutting their heads,
He who used to passionately kiss her lips,
Making her heart melt within a glimpse,
He who happens to be a lover never seen again,
They took her soul when taking him away,
She was a mere corpse, already dead.
Suddenly,
the door of the cell was slammed in a burst,
Voilently opened erupting the floor's dust,
They were there, executioners and a grumpy priest,
Light has made her blind, that beam of light,
Which she has always eagerly sought,
She went blind, for a while, until she reached the mighty blade of the guillotine.*
© copy right protected
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Not until you can see the pain in our eyes, the scars on our skin, the protruding ribs and distended stomachs of malnourishment, till you can gape at small black bodies disfigured by kwashiorkor and colonization, till you can gasp at people that don’t look like you being branded like cattle, like animals on their way to the slaughterhouse
(and thank goodness we’ve come so far, things used to be so bad)
Not until you can marvel at the mottled marks of a whip, the black and blue bruising only white hands can inflict, till you can shake your head at teens boldly drinking under a whites only sign, till you can cover your mouth and peek through fingers at the water hoses, the dogs, the guns, the blood— black blood on black bodies in black and white photographs
(and you inwardly sigh, relieved that it was so long ago and so far away)
Not until you can retweet teenagers face to face with riot gear and tear gas, till you can shake your head and show that you’re different because your black studies class told you so, till you can give a 40 character message about how sickening the violence is, but you keep watching the videos of him her him her him her him her him her
them
shot choked kicked punched beaten whipped slapped
killed
by government sanctioned executioners
Not until you can see everything but understand nothing
Always have to be ugly raw hurting bleeding suffering
Why can’t we be smiling laughing eating dancing breathing
Why can’t we be smiling
Why
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
Step into the cobbled courtyard where highwaymen roar with drunken debauchery, and rotten vegetables pelt the bare buttocks of ancient harlots who are shackled to the stocks of occult accusation.
Forbidden encounters are a certain mischief in the rafters of aristocracy, where disgust and desire mingle in unspoken dialogues and roll within the stench of damp hay.
I am captivated by the vanity of those carnal gratifications where Black Death casts her treacherous shadow across European boundaries.
Our markets are organised by macabre executioners in the finest of linen, who shout joyous proclamations, whilst the wise are aggressively coerced by vile salesmanship.
Please, open the gates to the city wall.
My desire is to listen to the wind, as she whispers reassurance amidst the haunted woodlands where those who are superstitious and faint-hearted fear to tread.
There is no taxation in the wilderness.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Dreamers dreaming the impossible
possible
dreamers asleep awake
alive and free
dreamers who answer calls
dreamers who know it all
dreamers with the music you need
dreamers who give you love in need
no matter what
if anything
this is the biggest lesson i've ever learnt riding on this ship
that sometimes you can choose your family
and they are your friends
and that. IS respect.
we walk on sacred ground
inside and out
so mad respect to you
and you
and all of you who pervade the all seeing ocean of cosmicness nice doin buisness
don't mess , tease and test hotline to humor is the peruser of this horizon
and i see we've reached land
we're all dreamers - ghosts driving machines
how many ghosts are drifting into machines these days
i wonder where our perspective can change , when we DARE to dream
;)
any dream
any time
day dream s
reality's gleam , bright awake alive like a sunrise with wine and cigarettes
surveying the coastal horizon
these people are all calling
screams and screams maybe your not tuned vibrational yet to the symphonies of earths war cry
the sleeping dragon has awoken
you dared to touch her jewels , her gems
you fools.
mine anything- but do not touch her babies
and no
i'm not talking about diamonds - they are not that rare- it's where you value more than money when it shows who cares
there are whole PLANETS made up of diamonds
we talking about home - ourselves
how rare is life ?
well for all we know
we could be the only ones
and we spend time killing each other?
I am the executioner
i have come to give you your wake up call
we are here to do a job
what? i know what i'm good at ..... (1)
fighting the enemies of truth
i stand for justice
served fairly
Karma is time
i'm talking past lives now
anyway
the point is
we've all got a reason
to be here
go find it
( it- may just be a person too )
or several people ?
or everyone ?
or for no one
ghosts in machines
whatever .
i just wanna say peace
this is my peace which i wrote primarily for me
and we wrote it together
all of us
we need peace
and we need quiet
the old kingdom is crumbling
we are
new
we are the ones who choose
we become our own judges
and executioners
we become our own best friends in the darkest of times
and someone once said
the sun always rises
and what a beautiful that maybe sunrise was
just like black magic
call me the magician
my name is SYD.
and i live in all of you .
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
A deep red hue drips from his eyes.
Bleak ideas being entertained by the executioner.
A sharp knife tells truths that no word can.
He slowly carves down the middle with intent to remove the heart.
No gasps or shrieks of pain as death has already set in.
The bored executioner sighs and a sparkling tear drops from behind his hood.
"I have done more than my share for this poor man. The rest is for the worms."
He removes his hood and cleans his blade.
"I need to **** something."
He leaves his chamber of death to frequent the nearby brothel.
He approaches the madam and asks for "the one with the ***
A tall young lady with orange hair and a behind that could easily hold a cup of the finest vino whilst she is standing appears.
She is "dressed" in a tiny bra covering only most of her ******* and a pair of shorts so tight her ***** lips are visible.
"How the hell did you even get that pair of shorts on that big ol' *** the executioner asks.
She begins to talk, but it is mostly mindless ambiance to the executioners ears.
He interrupts her jabbering, throws down a thousand dollars taken from his blood stained jeans and grabs the well endowed young lady and takes her back to the room upstairs, unknowing of the fact that she will never be seen alive again...
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Blue eyes
Smart lies
Sink into my core
Ten years later
And
You still get to me
A sudden electric connection
That still stings
So good
From the executioners chair
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 5:23 PM UTC
My only power is my greatest weakness
Although I hide my pain inside this fragile fortress
I give myself completely to anyone and everyone
Who come strolling down the path into my heart.
Past the blindness of the gargoyles that I built
To watch over all that makes me vulnerable.
Through the walls of clay that I have erected
To protect myself from hurting.
Walls that crumble in the
Face of the simplest kindness
whether or not it is real or perceived.
If my face was made of stone and my insides
Were as Cold as I tell myself that other peoples’ are not
I would be protected from all
Of the earthshattering heartbreak that
Is always one step away from removing the ground
From beneath my feet and plunging me
Down into the chasm of despair.
That bleak abyss where my only comfort
Is the story that I tell myself every day,
The lie I must choose to believe in order to survive.
That those who I have given the fragments of myself to
Will hold them and cherish them,
And use them to rebuild me at the top of the cliff
Instead of raining them down
onto my bowed head and broken spirit.
As if I were a martyr and they my executioners.
I love too much and I love to easily
I am never afraid to take a leap of faith
Until it is too late and I reach the other side
Of this chasm to find that there is nothing there
No friendship, no gratitude,
No understanding,
No help
No place to rest my head or
Friend to help me shoulder my burden
When this boulder I carry
Begins to crush me between the weight
Of loneliness and the hardness of my hopeless thoughts.
Again and again I cry out for comfort,
But the echo of my pleas, returning to my ears as a mockery
Is the only comfort that I find.
So I continue pretending that the voice I hear
Is not my own and the things I tell myself
To keep me going are words ringing
Out from a stranger in a distant land
Where friendship has meaning and hope is alive
And there is someone there who is willing
To share, their heartache with me
In return for becoming
A tree I can lean on.
A place to shelter myself in the time of storm
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
If only we were the executioners of our downfall
that would be a fitting windfall, and
a rollover on the lottery
win
as death grins on the side lines
I
remember the good times
sharpening the axe.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
Do you believe,
in the spirit that moves through all things?
It connects our souls as one,
and together they sing.
Do you believe,
that we are all one?
The only difference is,
our native tongue.
Do you believe in the spirit that moves through all things?
Binds us as one, humans and nature, the same.
Do you believe in the spirit that moves through all things?
Humans hunger for nature will never be tamed.
Nature once, wild and free,
is now oppressed by man and machine.
Gods lookin' down, shaking their heads.
Do we stop? No, we drill instead.
Taking the homes, of the animals,
eviction without warning.
A holocaust, all is lost,
Mother Nature is mourning.
We are murderers,
molesting and ****** the land.
We are executioners,
committing crimes with our own two hands.
Look,
what,
we have done.
Took,
a,
loaded gun.
Pulled,
the,
**** trigger.
And blew Mother Natures head right off!
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
it's not
that i can't breath
just that the air
is too heavy
too humid
too thick with lies and
sickly sweet half-truths
that choke me up
and fill my lungs with smog
drowning me with the intention
towards strife and barbarity to consume
the life-giving
and raise
the executioners
on their thrones
of thorns
it's not
that i can't breath
just that the air
isn't right
does not satisfy
this burning in my lungs and
the dizzy fog in my head
that trips me up
and fills my mouth with gasps
my lungs heaving against iron bands
of cultural and social restrictions
on the righteous
and leniency
for the cruel
on their stages
in masks
it's not
that i can't breath
just that the air
is alive
smothering me
intoxicating and illusory and
insubstantial as a midnight dream
that jolts me awake
and fills me with unreasoning panic
banishing from my mind all reason
in the laws of nature to protect
the awake
and disturb
the sleepers
in their hollows
of selfishness.
h.f.m.
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
Out hot executioners
ribbons in our wake
sensibility thru the vents
A paper doll cuts the clouds
Patience
She says
Allow her one paramount chance
to steal your heart for this dance
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
Its sick, I remember it
perfectly.
There was a moment in time when the fear let itself dissolve into my nostrils and her
hands laced in gauze gloves,
injured boxer,
beautiful daughter
and the light gleamed and glistened off of every glass plate,
fractals of xanax bliss flicking themselves on to a filthy rug
and the line thinned itself out,
the lines thickened as it thinned itself out
school busses found themselves in parking lots and
some found themselves sold to private owners and some
drove themselves to our madness.
Sad clown cries tears while he laughs
she gave us our pills for free.
and one morning her daughter awoke,
*third grade called her daughter to wake up early and dress herself for the occasion, as she was only in third grade and couldnt drive,
she went to wake her mother,
and the sad clown dried her tears on the executioners
pillow.
Fell Asleep With Too Many In Her
We spent a few weeks on our knees,
searching filthy rugs for fractals of xanax bliss.
One night I realized what I was doing.
Its sick.
I remember it perfectly.
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
his siberian thoughts crowded among themselves, exiled as usual, until the internal dog pile formed a pattern, a calling. there was sense and it spoke of a redeeming moment, potentially wrestling his family from tuxedo executioners. it would be a journey south. his father left him a felluca that had been sitting icy and still in a frozen lake. using his breath, he thawed his vessel loose and sparked the dilapidated satellite phone for the last sixteen minutes of its batterylife. several hundred penguins armed to the beak in soviet weaponry. so it was decided. the man scribbled for days aboard his ship, while the world met demands to cease certain luxuries. at least the ice melting ones like driving and cocktails. the estranged siberian landed a week after his empyrean vision, and presented each penguin with jobs to start and end in different months for the next five years. he explained that life was about good or bad timing, and that now was not the time for mutually assured destruction. not with so much to be done. one penguin swept twice a day. two penguins were to have a wedding interrupted by a third penguin. young penguins would get in trouble and be forgiven. a council of penguins were to renew the program for another five years. they crowded around him, contemplating each of their roles while he stood with a feeling of being the closest home he'd been in decades.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:34 PM UTC
Can I tell you a secrete told to me by the sky.
When I heard this secrete I knew it was true.
Can I tell you this secrete even tho once it left
my lips Death comes. Maybe years or days but the executioner will be on its way. I cant wait no longer I will tell
you this secrete told to me by the sky and its "I love you executioner and now I am ready to die".
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
—Adam Zagajewski.
9/11/2016.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
There upon the top of "the Skull"
Stood three old ****** trees,
That have see the ages change,
They had seen the older times,
When people slaughtered by command,
All types of animals to save themselves,
But the bloodshed could never end,
These trees have seen the New ways,
They have seen the lack of sacrifices,
They know the feeling of freedom,
They stand as reminders of the Old,
Upon this small hill,
These three trees saw the ages change,
With a final sacrifice, of Human blood,
One final all encompassing ****
These tree trees stood and held,
Three men above the rest,
So their agony was seen,
For all people to enjoy,
But what the executioners did not know,
That they were working for the executed,
Without this sacrifice, there was not redemption
They killed, and created their salvation,
The mysteries of thirty two A.D.
There upon the "Place of the Skull"
The unbelievable sacrifice to save the lost,
This love could crack any Skull
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC