"forked" poems - Hello Poetry

"forked" poems

when she was eight years old she asked her mother have you seen the girl with lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches? a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach it feels buttery to stare at her: see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon proclaiming she trickles with stars when she was eight years old her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage. she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees. see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues

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Oct 15, 2017

Oct 15, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC

When She Was Eight

when she was eight years old she asked her mother have you seen the girl with lashes like butterflies against sharp cheekbone branches? a dandelion sprouting from sludge covered gutters and streets streets, where you feel that bitter bland nothingness in your stomach it feels buttery to stare at her: see how snow outstretches arms and twirls tippy toes, envies her grace see how balloon sized raindrops pop, target the freckles on her arm see how her forehead crinkles when she concentrates, nothing more than a beacon proclaiming she trickles with stars when she was eight years old her parent's violent protests slipped bruises under her skin like pennies in a coin slot but they could not contain the celestial girl tucked under her ribcage. she would still look at her like she was the breakfast sun on a saturday whistling by the creak, catching glimpses of dresses from behind the legs of trees. see how this is special love, sweet as strawberry fields under soft sun they would never feel on their forked, sour tongues

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Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. Yes I am torching ber curves and paps and wiles. They scorch in my self denials. How she meshed my head in the half-truths of her fevers till I renounced milk and honey and the taste of lunch. I vomited her hungers. Now the ***** is burning. I am starved and curveless. I am skin and bone. She has learned her lesson. Thin as a rib I turn in sleep. My dreams probe a claustrophobia a sensuous enclosure. How warm it was and wide once by a warm drum, once by the song of his breath and in his sleeping side. Only a little more, only a few more days sinless, foodless, I will slip back into him again as if I had never been away. Caged so I will grow angular and holy past pain, keeping his heart such company as will make me forget in a small space the fall into forked dark, into python needs heaving to hips and ******* and lips and heat and sweat and fat and greed.

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17.2k

Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. Yes I am torching ber curves and paps and wiles. They scorch in my self denials. How she meshed my head in the half-truths of her fevers till I renounced milk and honey and the taste of lunch. I vomited her hungers. Now the ***** is burning. I am starved and curveless. I am skin and bone. She has learned her lesson. Thin as a rib I turn in sleep. My dreams probe a claustrophobia a sensuous enclosure. How warm it was and wide once by a warm drum, once by the song of his breath and in his sleeping side. Only a little more, only a few more days sinless, foodless, I will slip back into him again as if I had never been away. Caged so I will grow angular and holy past pain, keeping his heart such company as will make me forget in a small space the fall into forked dark, into python needs heaving to hips and ******* and lips and heat and sweat and fat and greed.

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Be kind to yourself. You have come so far. Each emotion you feel tattooed to your skin the seasons wash away like chalk. Be kind to yourself. You are braver than you thought. No longer scared of what lies beneath your bed but what awaits when you wake up. Be kind to yourself. You are worthy of love. Only you give permission for forked tongues to leave passing words as lasting scars. Only you can adopt old failures and stack them as obstacles upon each new path. You cannot dictate what will be only – who you are. Be kind to yourself. You are doing enough. You cannot always be switched on. Sometimes you have to lay down and breathe – it is not greed. If you are always exhausted you cannot help anybody. Be kind to yourself. You did not grow from a single cell born from a dying star in order to feel so small. You did not close the door on friends when you expected more from them. Why beat yourself up for who you were before? Be kind to yourself. A faltering dancer who gets up again and again draws the loudest applause at the curtain call. A person who spent half their life at war with themselves knows the value of peace, the feat of getting out the house; the measure of good mental health. Be kind to yourself. You have come so far. They say ten thousand hours is the time it takes to master an art. You spent so much longer than that learning the patterns of your heart. You can pull at those common threads that keep you together even when you are falling apart. Be kind to yourself. You are stronger than you thought. Like Leonard says, “there’s a crack of light in everything. “ You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to live in the dark. Be kind to yourself. Make sure you get to the end. Do not worry how you stumbled at the start.

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Apr 18, 2017

Apr 18, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC

Be Kind To Yourself

Be kind to yourself. You have come so far. Each emotion you feel tattooed to your skin the seasons wash away like chalk. Be kind to yourself. You are braver than you thought. No longer scared of what lies beneath your bed but what awaits when you wake up. Be kind to yourself. You are worthy of love. Only you give permission for forked tongues to leave passing words as lasting scars. Only you can adopt old failures and stack them as obstacles upon each new path. You cannot dictate what will be only – who you are. Be kind to yourself. You are doing enough. You cannot always be switched on. Sometimes you have to lay down and breathe – it is not greed. If you are always exhausted you cannot help anybody. Be kind to yourself. You did not grow from a single cell born from a dying star in order to feel so small. You did not close the door on friends when you expected more from them. Why beat yourself up for who you were before? Be kind to yourself. A faltering dancer who gets up again and again draws the loudest applause at the curtain call. A person who spent half their life at war with themselves knows the value of peace, the feat of getting out the house; the measure of good mental health. Be kind to yourself. You have come so far. They say ten thousand hours is the time it takes to master an art. You spent so much longer than that learning the patterns of your heart. You can pull at those common threads that keep you together even when you are falling apart. Be kind to yourself. You are stronger than you thought. Like Leonard says, “there’s a crack of light in everything. “ You do not have to be perfect. You do not have to live in the dark. Be kind to yourself. Make sure you get to the end. Do not worry how you stumbled at the start.

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Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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12.5k

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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Color of lemon, mango, peach, These storybook villas Still dream behind Shutters, thier balconies Fine as hand- Made lace, or a leaf-and-flower pen-sketch. Tilting with the winds, On arrowy stems, Pineapple-barked, A green crescent of palms Sends up its forked Firework of fronds. A quartz-clear dawn Inch by bright inch Gilds all our Avenue, And out of the blue drench Of Angels' Bay Rises the round red watermelon sun.

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9.9k

Southern Sunrise

Color of lemon, mango, peach, These storybook villas Still dream behind Shutters, thier balconies Fine as hand- Made lace, or a leaf-and-flower pen-sketch. Tilting with the winds, On arrowy stems, Pineapple-barked, A green crescent of palms Sends up its forked Firework of fronds. A quartz-clear dawn Inch by bright inch Gilds all our Avenue, And out of the blue drench Of Angels' Bay Rises the round red watermelon sun.

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LONG ago I learned how to sleep, In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away, In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all, In a passel of trees where the branches trapped the wind into whistling, "Who, who are you?" I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon and there I took a sleep lesson. There I went away saying: I know why they sleep, I know how they trap the tricky winds. Long ago I learned how to listen to the singing wind and how to forget and how to hear the deep whine, Slapping and lapsing under the day blue and the night stars: Who, who are you? Who can ever forget listening to the wind go by counting its money and throwing it away?

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8.5k

LONG ago I learned how to sleep, In an old apple orchard where the wind swept by counting its money and throwing it away, In a wind-gaunt orchard where the limbs forked out and listened or never listened at all, In a passel of trees where the branches trapped the wind into whistling, "Who, who are you?" I slept with my head in an elbow on a summer afternoon and there I took a sleep lesson. There I went away saying: I know why they sleep, I know how they trap the tricky winds. Long ago I learned how to listen to the singing wind and how to forget and how to hear the deep whine, Slapping and lapsing under the day blue and the night stars: Who, who are you? Who can ever forget listening to the wind go by counting its money and throwing it away?

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Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, ***** One head desire, two face succubus Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil I smite her without a flicker of remorse Death to the succubus. Death to Venus

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Jul 6, 2013

Jul 6, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC

Web caught trembling prey, blistering sadness in a shallow grave Repulsive, rotten ***** stench, locked box of putrid sorrow Blood clot hidden trench, vile secretion burrow Wolf-dressed goblin ***** muttering incantations Teetering on a broken fence, seething hatred regurgitation Greedy, evil, spineless, ***** Cunning, patient, ***** One head desire, two face succubus Speech craft, forked tongue. Slithering witch, foul gargoyle Rebuke the venomous. Castrate the young. Stoke the funeral pyre Incubate the serpent fetus. Demon, devil, liar Nevermore, sinister toil. Bone-covered soil I smite her without a flicker of remorse Death to the succubus. Death to Venus

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Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard. I am the noise you can't shake. Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue. I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you. It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies. No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies. Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out. False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts. I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide. I am not a criminal, never was. Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one. I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose. With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife. I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice. I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain. My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.

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Apr 9, 2015

Apr 9, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC

Permission to speak, I am the ally of the silenced and unheard. I am the noise you can't shake. Two sharp points like the accents I carry on my tongue. I slither and squirm as I observe what they have done to you. It's a tragedy what they think of you and how arrogantly they use you for self proclaimed prophecies. No! I am not that! I yell loudly, but only the echo replies. Incarceration, deportation, degradation, gentrification some of the words that burn as I spit them out. False ideologies are accepted as realities ignoring the facts. I am not illegal and you don't have the right to label or decide. I am not a criminal, never was. Don't obstruct my academic path, I will jump each and every obstacle one by one. I was born free, you labeled and shackled me with lies and hatred but I broke loose. With my forked tongue I battle your double sided knife. I am not content with the destructive pattern that has emerged with your avarice. I will not **** for you and I will not die in vain. My snake like tongue has no mercy and will not cease until I see dignity and peace obtained.

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On the land molded by footsteps and ruled by obnoxiously bleached clowns, Visited by swarms of neighborhood guttersnipes and the opulent from uptown. Allured by the traditional Irish circus music and the grinding of rusted gears, To arrive at dawn and to leave only when the night sky is tired of fireworks and flares. Skittish and gleaming eyes would roll on the floor, struck by daze and lost in wonderment, At the marvel of giant steel rides and god forsaken and socially foretoken genetic mutants. The word of a woman with two faces and the boy with a tail would make any catholic priest run. Amusing the rational ones, alongside the man with elastic skin and the girl with the forked tongue. The opera lady with outlandish proportions and tumorous lips sings to break a piece of cheap glassware. Little do people know,that the magician’s red gloves are actually stained with blood of rabbit that disappeared. Their noses get caught in the medley of fragrances from the exotic perfumes shop, Blended with the saccharine tang from the stall that sells candy floss and soda pops. Indulging over the overly priced confectioneries at the stall of the baker with the forbidding grin. Try it a hundred times,try it a thousand,you’ll never get the fifth one right in the game of rings. People will come out screaming from the haunted house,only to laugh about it later, Little do they know,that skeletons that drove them pale and white couldn't get any realer. They’ll jostle and struggle to make their way through the crowd to various rides and attractions. Hustling to navigate through the maze the carnival is, encountered by countless illusions. And once your body wears out and senses give in,that’s when you've truly entered the carnival state of mind. Your ears stinging ,nose stifled,tongue baffled, eyes exhausted,and your sense of judgment blinded. That’s when my masked act begins,the most profitable act at the carnival, Diving into the heart of the crowd,to draw an act of brilliance lasting an ephemeral. Slithering across the crowd in a different disguise every hour,concealed by stealth. Sneaking into every nook and corner and slipping my furtive hands into your pockets for a little bit of wealth. Only to dine with the clowns and the carnival family at the haunted house at the end of the day. And of course, rabbits for dinner,if the baker may

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May 7, 2015

May 7, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC

aditya-garikapati

On the land molded by footsteps and ruled by obnoxiously bleached clowns, Visited by swarms of neighborhood guttersnipes and the opulent from uptown. Allured by the traditional Irish circus music and the grinding of rusted gears, To arrive at dawn and to leave only when the night sky is tired of fireworks and flares. Skittish and gleaming eyes would roll on the floor, struck by daze and lost in wonderment, At the marvel of giant steel rides and god forsaken and socially foretoken genetic mutants. The word of a woman with two faces and the boy with a tail would make any catholic priest run. Amusing the rational ones, alongside the man with elastic skin and the girl with the forked tongue. The opera lady with outlandish proportions and tumorous lips sings to break a piece of cheap glassware. Little do people know,that the magician’s red gloves are actually stained with blood of rabbit that disappeared. Their noses get caught in the medley of fragrances from the exotic perfumes shop, Blended with the saccharine tang from the stall that sells candy floss and soda pops. Indulging over the overly priced confectioneries at the stall of the baker with the forbidding grin. Try it a hundred times,try it a thousand,you’ll never get the fifth one right in the game of rings. People will come out screaming from the haunted house,only to laugh about it later, Little do they know,that skeletons that drove them pale and white couldn't get any realer. They’ll jostle and struggle to make their way through the crowd to various rides and attractions. Hustling to navigate through the maze the carnival is, encountered by countless illusions. And once your body wears out and senses give in,that’s when you've truly entered the carnival state of mind. Your ears stinging ,nose stifled,tongue baffled, eyes exhausted,and your sense of judgment blinded. That’s when my masked act begins,the most profitable act at the carnival, Diving into the heart of the crowd,to draw an act of brilliance lasting an ephemeral. Slithering across the crowd in a different disguise every hour,concealed by stealth. Sneaking into every nook and corner and slipping my furtive hands into your pockets for a little bit of wealth. Only to dine with the clowns and the carnival family at the haunted house at the end of the day. And of course, rabbits for dinner,if the baker may

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The river forks at big stone eddy rending currents meandering course, its silence speaks not with forked tongue as kismet's swirling eddies abide as if time immemorial; a river naturally cleaved in two separate distinct directions befallen destiny without a choice Spinning round and round in big stone eddy, time just drifting by in the throes of doubt — high water rising beyond the bounds of earth taking drowning souls up to the sky Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions, suffocating on the parting words left unsaid; distilling life into poetry hew from being — trickling out like the spilled out sky — taken down to the empty riverbed leave lay' til it's all washed away, in the music of the pourin' down rain Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations riding the prevailing currents it can't control Gravity-gathered down to the shoreline, manifest reclamation after the deluge, from somewhere far above the high-water mark Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides, thinking you carry such a weight to hold... It seems all got a handful of sand to toss up into the wind to seed the clouds The totality of eclipsing silence grows that rent the stillness of a dream of peace on an eroding shoreline In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment dark waters will ebb and flow, imponderable as drowning hope, leaving it all out there to dry after the rain believing in your heart — the best is yet to come Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018

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Nov 24, 2018

Nov 24, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC

jesse-stillwater

In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment

The river forks at big stone eddy rending currents meandering course, its silence speaks not with forked tongue as kismet's swirling eddies abide as if time immemorial; a river naturally cleaved in two separate distinct directions befallen destiny without a choice Spinning round and round in big stone eddy, time just drifting by in the throes of doubt — high water rising beyond the bounds of earth taking drowning souls up to the sky Choking on a mouthful of unanswered questions, suffocating on the parting words left unsaid; distilling life into poetry hew from being — trickling out like the spilled out sky — taken down to the empty riverbed leave lay' til it's all washed away, in the music of the pourin' down rain Freedom embodies metaphysical incarnations riding the prevailing currents it can't control Gravity-gathered down to the shoreline, manifest reclamation after the deluge, from somewhere far above the high-water mark Swallowed by all the darkness woe betides, thinking you carry such a weight to hold... It seems all got a handful of sand to toss up into the wind to seed the clouds The totality of eclipsing silence grows that rent the stillness of a dream of peace on an eroding shoreline In an Eddy of Expectations & Disappointment dark waters will ebb and flow, imponderable as drowning hope, leaving it all out there to dry after the rain believing in your heart — the best is yet to come Jesse Stillwater ... November 2018

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You stripped me of my innocence. Yours were the first lips To press passion onto my stunted **** My body bruised by your touch, Your forked tongue hissed through gritted teeth, Caress me, as your hands rattle With anger, desire. Testosterone fulled triggers Blew holes into my anatomy, Ripping apart my flesh. Now I tie stitches where skin should be, I'm bleeding out my purity. Drip, Drip, Drip. The beads of sweat, roll downwards, Trickling off your looming armour. They dance with the oceans in my eyes. Itching spiders romance with the bones Upon my empty corpse. Hollow reeking mass, Devoured by play pretend. Love lead way to self devouring devotion, We play on ties with lit matchsticks. Broken, singed strings, Where my innocence should lie.

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Sep 22, 2014

Sep 22, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC

You stripped me of my innocence. Yours were the first lips To press passion onto my stunted **** My body bruised by your touch, Your forked tongue hissed through gritted teeth, Caress me, as your hands rattle With anger, desire. Testosterone fulled triggers Blew holes into my anatomy, Ripping apart my flesh. Now I tie stitches where skin should be, I'm bleeding out my purity. Drip, Drip, Drip. The beads of sweat, roll downwards, Trickling off your looming armour. They dance with the oceans in my eyes. Itching spiders romance with the bones Upon my empty corpse. Hollow reeking mass, Devoured by play pretend. Love lead way to self devouring devotion, We play on ties with lit matchsticks. Broken, singed strings, Where my innocence should lie.

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The bonfire was loaded With exiting tales Our forerunners legendary Exploit's these daggers Cut deep trenches in Our mindseye we felt Like the next generation Of wrath true tales from A culture of devil worshippers Yet the tongue's wielding The blade was non the wiser Our innate minds chewd Every word our lives Satan's Recycling bin two five ten Deaths and many generations After we now realised that We have to cut out the blade From these forked tongued Folk tales that whispers filth Unto the unsuspecting ears Of our beautiful children Heroism emenating from The subculture of criminality And gangsterism must no Longer be tolerated it have savaged The Innocence of young lives For far too long

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Sep 17, 2018

Sep 17, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC

The Devils tongue

The bonfire was loaded With exiting tales Our forerunners legendary Exploit's these daggers Cut deep trenches in Our mindseye we felt Like the next generation Of wrath true tales from A culture of devil worshippers Yet the tongue's wielding The blade was non the wiser Our innate minds chewd Every word our lives Satan's Recycling bin two five ten Deaths and many generations After we now realised that We have to cut out the blade From these forked tongued Folk tales that whispers filth Unto the unsuspecting ears Of our beautiful children Heroism emenating from The subculture of criminality And gangsterism must no Longer be tolerated it have savaged The Innocence of young lives For far too long

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Hmm how to discribe You As I see you Two faced. You smile And talk buddy buddy To me But behind me You throw me in the dirt It is people like you That really get me angry Why be one way to my face And behind me another Take a good look And see the damage Your forked toungue has done For now I dont want to Even be your friend For when I found you Two faced I realized Friendship wasnt worth saving So be two faced And the world will see How you really are And who you are Two faced.

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Aug 20, 2012

Aug 20, 2012 at 6:05 AM UTC

Hmm how to discribe You As I see you Two faced. You smile And talk buddy buddy To me But behind me You throw me in the dirt It is people like you That really get me angry Why be one way to my face And behind me another Take a good look And see the damage Your forked toungue has done For now I dont want to Even be your friend For when I found you Two faced I realized Friendship wasnt worth saving So be two faced And the world will see How you really are And who you are Two faced.

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Despicability is the foundation to their life For them it is intrinsic Genetically encoded Simplistic Poetically eroded Reprehensible at best **Unscrupulously callous Secrets and facts, they conveniently ingest Distorted byproducts, they release to the masses To aid their campaign; a forked tongue fest** Pathetic and unapologetic A beast armed to the teeth Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police A weakness and an act, They so vehemently attest **Harvesting greens off the branches of the people Pockets engorged with wads and folds Crushing blue collars at the lower levels As they sit atop their pyramids of gold** Today they sip champagne To celebrate their reign Tonight we'll skip being humane To feed them excruciating pain **You've incited this coup with ill-thought deterrents Now herald the arrival of the scourge Down with lopsided governments Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!** Justin G ryn**

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Feb 24, 2015

Feb 24, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC

Tonight We Purge! (Featuring ryn)

Despicability is the foundation to their life For them it is intrinsic Genetically encoded Simplistic Poetically eroded Reprehensible at best **Unscrupulously callous Secrets and facts, they conveniently ingest Distorted byproducts, they release to the masses To aid their campaign; a forked tongue fest** Pathetic and unapologetic A beast armed to the teeth Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police A weakness and an act, They so vehemently attest **Harvesting greens off the branches of the people Pockets engorged with wads and folds Crushing blue collars at the lower levels As they sit atop their pyramids of gold** Today they sip champagne To celebrate their reign Tonight we'll skip being humane To feed them excruciating pain **You've incited this coup with ill-thought deterrents Now herald the arrival of the scourge Down with lopsided governments Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!** Justin G ryn**

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... ***I've got a few visitors tonight; they're all associated with the wolf under my eyes*** I. *I've left loneliness to starve on a stone table, while jealousy can bleed me a lake; fear and I are equals, on the battlefield of fate.* "Pay no mind to the rebel." II. *Forked tongues recite wickedness; of all the shadows gaining power as the sun was slain. Black flames banish all that is golden, as darkness bent my silent skeleton; but it didn't break.* "I'm just some sin you committed...right?" III. *A basilisk waited for me at my chambers, it requested a lullaby, and a glass of iron wine. Who knew poison would be my new best friend? Who knew my company would be kept by an oracle of silver'tongue? Dead languages clutched my lively secrets.* "Every wolf gets tired of the moon at some point." IV. *And just like that; We were splintering at your wolfsong auburn poems at the feet of trees waist deep in misery you sat, head crowned in autumn's diseases. Witnessing you tilt your head to plant a kiss on the night's wings;* ***"Oh, it's ******* agony."*** *Watching your eyes harvest hurricanes love sinking in tongues of ebony sorrow. they don't belong to me you don't belong to me.* ***"I suppose I can't change the world but I will leave it colder."*** V. *And sometimes, love is just the aftermath of a tragedy.* ...

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Oct 2, 2015

Oct 2, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC

Autumn Killings.

... ***I've got a few visitors tonight; they're all associated with the wolf under my eyes*** I. *I've left loneliness to starve on a stone table, while jealousy can bleed me a lake; fear and I are equals, on the battlefield of fate.* "Pay no mind to the rebel." II. *Forked tongues recite wickedness; of all the shadows gaining power as the sun was slain. Black flames banish all that is golden, as darkness bent my silent skeleton; but it didn't break.* "I'm just some sin you committed...right?" III. *A basilisk waited for me at my chambers, it requested a lullaby, and a glass of iron wine. Who knew poison would be my new best friend? Who knew my company would be kept by an oracle of silver'tongue? Dead languages clutched my lively secrets.* "Every wolf gets tired of the moon at some point." IV. *And just like that; We were splintering at your wolfsong auburn poems at the feet of trees waist deep in misery you sat, head crowned in autumn's diseases. Witnessing you tilt your head to plant a kiss on the night's wings;* ***"Oh, it's ******* agony."*** *Watching your eyes harvest hurricanes love sinking in tongues of ebony sorrow. they don't belong to me you don't belong to me.* ***"I suppose I can't change the world but I will leave it colder."*** V. *And sometimes, love is just the aftermath of a tragedy.* ...

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These eyes have felt their fair share of tears that burn Forgive my eyes for they are yet so green They have seen much but still they do not learn These lungs have breathed The air both fresh and acrid Forgive them for they are yet so green They only do what they must when all runs turbid These ears they've heard Hurtful promises and whispers that have stung Forgive my ears for they are yet so green They're know not to ignore the language of forked tongues These lips have served The most callous of opinions Forgive them for they are yet so green They can't seem to curb pent up notions These hands have grown tired From shielding my tear-stricken face Forgive these hands for they are yet so green They're still so afraid to welcome the gift of future days These legs are sore For they have travelled far Forgive them for they are yet so green They knew better than to enter through doors left slightly ajar This mind is weary From thinking of a life meant only for dreamers Forgive my mind for it is yet so green They know not of the inexistence of greener pastures This heart... My heart Pounding each beat that betrays Beats with an anvil in tow Forgive it for it is yet so green It's having more trouble than it cares to show This face I wear A weathered mask I'm unready to shed Forgive it for it is yet so green There's still life in it... For there's yet much to be said

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May 21, 2015

May 21, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC

These eyes have felt their fair share of tears that burn Forgive my eyes for they are yet so green They have seen much but still they do not learn These lungs have breathed The air both fresh and acrid Forgive them for they are yet so green They only do what they must when all runs turbid These ears they've heard Hurtful promises and whispers that have stung Forgive my ears for they are yet so green They're know not to ignore the language of forked tongues These lips have served The most callous of opinions Forgive them for they are yet so green They can't seem to curb pent up notions These hands have grown tired From shielding my tear-stricken face Forgive these hands for they are yet so green They're still so afraid to welcome the gift of future days These legs are sore For they have travelled far Forgive them for they are yet so green They knew better than to enter through doors left slightly ajar This mind is weary From thinking of a life meant only for dreamers Forgive my mind for it is yet so green They know not of the inexistence of greener pastures This heart... My heart Pounding each beat that betrays Beats with an anvil in tow Forgive it for it is yet so green It's having more trouble than it cares to show This face I wear A weathered mask I'm unready to shed Forgive it for it is yet so green There's still life in it... For there's yet much to be said

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the darkest of my fantasies whisper Your body is a scuba suit insist i breath with your ******* through your mouth dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom where we petrify by gorgans gaze i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea. Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin i am without Your oxygen when breathing would terrorize the wind where words belong still, my forked tongue writes i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy when i had You, it was still selfish the revolving doors of pain and perseverance more time invested in us then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You out of habit You begged me to beat You it's been seven hands dealt rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin on the tarot card of death my tolerance for vacancy a brownish red stain i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea **the Pills... where are... please no, God. The Voice, run! get out!** *I would gladly go to prison to **** your lifeless body. I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow of your affection. there is only one true Sin, Objectification. I indulge relapse in every memory, find your shed snake skin pull it on, like your ******* how disturbed I've become with you gone* how selfish of you of course "I" blames You when the Pills dull i indulge by studying Your location i know where You escape too i want to go there does that scare You? i want to bump into You apoligise for what i want "want" as a word is like plexi-glass, or kevlar standing between Us keeping the bullet safe. i want a hard impact in a school hallway where we drop all our Books and look up and You see my ghost, that would be enough for Me i want the impact to hurt. i want the tumbling of all our Book's i want the messy hair and ripped knees, then Our eyes to meet and linger I want to watch the fear fill you. i want to sit there, watching. petrify from parcel tongues as i gaze at Your gorgon body shedding skin if i shed my snakeskin, maybe i'll see You i can't leave this Poem i can't leave this Poem yet i won't leave this Poem please kick me out Poem Poem end Me .. end . I ..

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Jul 17, 2018

Jul 17, 2018 at 8:17 AM UTC

the darkest of my fantasies whisper your body is a scuba suit a.k.a. this is why You have therapy / obsession is why i have therapy / let's acknowledge the stalker thoughts to **** the stalker thoughts

the darkest of my fantasies whisper Your body is a scuba suit insist i breath with your ******* through your mouth dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom where we petrify by gorgans gaze i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea. Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin i am without Your oxygen when breathing would terrorize the wind where words belong still, my forked tongue writes i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy when i had You, it was still selfish the revolving doors of pain and perseverance more time invested in us then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You out of habit You begged me to beat You it's been seven hands dealt rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin on the tarot card of death my tolerance for vacancy a brownish red stain i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea **the Pills... where are... please no, God. The Voice, run! get out!** *I would gladly go to prison to **** your lifeless body. I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow of your affection. there is only one true Sin, Objectification. I indulge relapse in every memory, find your shed snake skin pull it on, like your ******* how disturbed I've become with you gone* how selfish of you of course "I" blames You when the Pills dull i indulge by studying Your location i know where You escape too i want to go there does that scare You? i want to bump into You apoligise for what i want "want" as a word is like plexi-glass, or kevlar standing between Us keeping the bullet safe. i want a hard impact in a school hallway where we drop all our Books and look up and You see my ghost, that would be enough for Me i want the impact to hurt. i want the tumbling of all our Book's i want the messy hair and ripped knees, then Our eyes to meet and linger I want to watch the fear fill you. i want to sit there, watching. petrify from parcel tongues as i gaze at Your gorgon body shedding skin if i shed my snakeskin, maybe i'll see You i can't leave this Poem i can't leave this Poem yet i won't leave this Poem please kick me out Poem Poem end Me .. end . I ..

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We have heard the words they preach The Gospel carpetbaggers teach That some of us can make their own rules. Any white people that don’t are fools. They redefine the meaning of equality The gladly withhold my rights from me. They choose what part of good is good And happily red-lined my neighborhood. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church. They think us blind and cannot see That they openly abhor equality. They say one thing in the South Up north they use another mouth, And speak with a totally forked tongue And push half the race down a rung. They cry like they have all been hurt But it is they who treat the rest like dirt. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church. There is no difference from your chant And the Inquisition’s deadly cant. These punishing words out of you Are ages old, they are not new. If Jesus were here to hear you start This ugly talk, it would break his heart. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church.

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Nov 15, 2016

Nov 15, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC

We have heard the words they preach The Gospel carpetbaggers teach That some of us can make their own rules. Any white people that don’t are fools. They redefine the meaning of equality The gladly withhold my rights from me. They choose what part of good is good And happily red-lined my neighborhood. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church. They think us blind and cannot see That they openly abhor equality. They say one thing in the South Up north they use another mouth, And speak with a totally forked tongue And push half the race down a rung. They cry like they have all been hurt But it is they who treat the rest like dirt. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church. There is no difference from your chant And the Inquisition’s deadly cant. These punishing words out of you Are ages old, they are not new. If Jesus were here to hear you start This ugly talk, it would break his heart. Don’t wave your seditionist flag at me/ I believe in liberty, equality ad fraternity. Your rhetoric is a disguise of old John Birch. If I want to hear your hateful sermon I prefer to have to go to your church.

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Schwinny, Baby, You were supposed to be my Bicycle. So I don't ask for anthing special. No dark Harley divas To whisk me off into the sunset. But I thought we were at least On the same road together. So please. Don't go droaning on how Life got too complicated. I mean, You've got one flimsy gear. And don't go moaning how The road got too bumpy. I mean, You went blind bonzai batshit over burnt black tar pavement. You just Let go. Threw away your Chain of reasoning Faster than I could brace for impact. So am I bleeding? Yeah, I'm bleeding. And the worst part is, I still need you! No, No, no. Not like Pom Pom pammy Needs her purple-plated pogo stick Nor like Princess Paris And her prissy pink prom queen limo, No. I mean I need I need you like Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel, Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot. Because work is 37. Blocks. Away. And it starts in 16 minutes. And the bus is really unreliable. So we ride again, Guts against the wind. But now I've got all ten fingers and toes Crossed, Two by two, And point in fact, Racing down Guadalupe with Forked Philanges Gets really hairy. But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me. Your thirst to incur first degree burns, Fractured femurs, And flayed skin whittles my patience To tire track thin! Think I'll Roll my dice with a Segway. She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl. Type to show off To a Mom and Dad Reveling in rosemary jubilation. Aw, son. We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy. But in ten days tops, I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath. I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat. So let's just say, I'll give it one more shot. But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer. It's storming outside and We both got a few blocks to go.

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Feb 4, 2010

Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC

Schwinny, Baby, You were supposed to be my Bicycle. So I don't ask for anthing special. No dark Harley divas To whisk me off into the sunset. But I thought we were at least On the same road together. So please. Don't go droaning on how Life got too complicated. I mean, You've got one flimsy gear. And don't go moaning how The road got too bumpy. I mean, You went blind bonzai batshit over burnt black tar pavement. You just Let go. Threw away your Chain of reasoning Faster than I could brace for impact. So am I bleeding? Yeah, I'm bleeding. And the worst part is, I still need you! No, No, no. Not like Pom Pom pammy Needs her purple-plated pogo stick Nor like Princess Paris And her prissy pink prom queen limo, No. I mean I need I need you like Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel, Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot. Because work is 37. Blocks. Away. And it starts in 16 minutes. And the bus is really unreliable. So we ride again, Guts against the wind. But now I've got all ten fingers and toes Crossed, Two by two, And point in fact, Racing down Guadalupe with Forked Philanges Gets really hairy. But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me. Your thirst to incur first degree burns, Fractured femurs, And flayed skin whittles my patience To tire track thin! Think I'll Roll my dice with a Segway. She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl. Type to show off To a Mom and Dad Reveling in rosemary jubilation. Aw, son. We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy. But in ten days tops, I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath. I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat. So let's just say, I'll give it one more shot. But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer. It's storming outside and We both got a few blocks to go.

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You're so beautiful darling, your words can move mountains even when you think they can't touch an anthill. You are a rebel with a cause and the cause is me. You are Janis Joplin in the evening, without the ****** "Darling, I love you" "I love you, darling" and there was no need to say "too" Three words were enough to throw a curveball in a hockey rink, to ride horses in a car race, to love someone at night and even more in the morning. You are an earthquake, I know you'll break my heart but I welcome it. It would be such an honor to be broken by you. You are my guilty pleasure and all of my proud ones. I want to tattoo you on my skin in places only I can see so that every time I take off my sweater and my tshirt and everything masking my scars and tree rings of age, I will always be surprised to find you. I want to hold you in the crevice of my elbow like a baby and never ever let you go. Darling, you're a willow tree that I write poems under. In the most poetic way, I found you in hallways, always. In my high school where I hid in the bathrooms, Jane loves John and everything else scribbled in hearts in bad ninth grade writing. I found you there. I find you here, in my heart. You are filled with blood, you are 72% water that I would gladly drown in. I think if I kissed you you'd poison me with your lips. You are the forked tongue of desire. I want to talk to you about dreams, I want to be your sweetest nightmare. I don't want you to question reality but if you do, think you're lucid dreaming. Because I want you to want me around; even when you're sleeping. You are 2am with the lights on and the music loud. You are a five hour time difference dancing inside of me like a storm. If my knees wouldn't give out, I would run to you. And when they did, I would crawl to you. My hands scraped from debris from car crashes, you are electric. You are heat lightning. You give me flashes of hope on a humid day. You are a winter breeze through a cracked window in all of the glorious ways that could be glorious. I will whisper to you that I don't know why I'm whispering, there is nobody home, "I love you" sounds better in hushed tones. You're so beautiful, Darling. The prettiest pictures you'll ever take will be self-portraits. Don't argue with me, I know you're stubborn. It's written in the stars. You can move me like a mountain or an anthill because your strength is a blood diamond permanently placed on my left hand. I did, I do, I will. You are forever.

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Aug 18, 2013

Aug 18, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC

You Are Forever

You're so beautiful darling, your words can move mountains even when you think they can't touch an anthill. You are a rebel with a cause and the cause is me. You are Janis Joplin in the evening, without the ****** "Darling, I love you" "I love you, darling" and there was no need to say "too" Three words were enough to throw a curveball in a hockey rink, to ride horses in a car race, to love someone at night and even more in the morning. You are an earthquake, I know you'll break my heart but I welcome it. It would be such an honor to be broken by you. You are my guilty pleasure and all of my proud ones. I want to tattoo you on my skin in places only I can see so that every time I take off my sweater and my tshirt and everything masking my scars and tree rings of age, I will always be surprised to find you. I want to hold you in the crevice of my elbow like a baby and never ever let you go. Darling, you're a willow tree that I write poems under. In the most poetic way, I found you in hallways, always. In my high school where I hid in the bathrooms, Jane loves John and everything else scribbled in hearts in bad ninth grade writing. I found you there. I find you here, in my heart. You are filled with blood, you are 72% water that I would gladly drown in. I think if I kissed you you'd poison me with your lips. You are the forked tongue of desire. I want to talk to you about dreams, I want to be your sweetest nightmare. I don't want you to question reality but if you do, think you're lucid dreaming. Because I want you to want me around; even when you're sleeping. You are 2am with the lights on and the music loud. You are a five hour time difference dancing inside of me like a storm. If my knees wouldn't give out, I would run to you. And when they did, I would crawl to you. My hands scraped from debris from car crashes, you are electric. You are heat lightning. You give me flashes of hope on a humid day. You are a winter breeze through a cracked window in all of the glorious ways that could be glorious. I will whisper to you that I don't know why I'm whispering, there is nobody home, "I love you" sounds better in hushed tones. You're so beautiful, Darling. The prettiest pictures you'll ever take will be self-portraits. Don't argue with me, I know you're stubborn. It's written in the stars. You can move me like a mountain or an anthill because your strength is a blood diamond permanently placed on my left hand. I did, I do, I will. You are forever.

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I Who would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea, In a golden curl With a comb of pearl, On a throne? II I would be a mermaid fair; I would sing to myself the whole of the day; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair; And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, 'Who is it loves me? who loves not me?' I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound Over the throne In the midst of the hall; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate With his large calm eyes for the love of me. And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality Die in their hearts for the love of me. III But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks; We would run to and fro, and hide and seek, On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells, Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call and shriek, And adown the steep like a wave I would leap From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells; For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list Of the bold merry mermen under the sea. They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me, In the purple twilights under the sea; But the king of them all would carry me, Woo me, and win me, and marry me, In the branching jaspers under the sea. Then all the dry-pied things that be In the hueless mosses under the sea Would curl round my silver feet silently, All looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from aloft All things that are forked, and horned, and soft Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, All looking down for the love of me.

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3.9k

Alfred Lord Tennyson

I Who would be A mermaid fair, Singing alone, Combing her hair Under the sea, In a golden curl With a comb of pearl, On a throne? II I would be a mermaid fair; I would sing to myself the whole of the day; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair; And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, 'Who is it loves me? who loves not me?' I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of gold Springing alone With a shrill inner sound Over the throne In the midst of the hall; Till that great sea-snake under the sea From his coiled sleeps in the central deeps Would slowly trail himself sevenfold Round the hall where I sate, and look in at the gate With his large calm eyes for the love of me. And all the mermen under the sea Would feel their immortality Die in their hearts for the love of me. III But at night I would wander away, away, I would fling on each side my low-flowing locks, And lightly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks; We would run to and fro, and hide and seek, On the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells, Whose silvery spikes are nighest the sea. But if any came near I would call and shriek, And adown the steep like a wave I would leap From the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells; For I would not be kiss'd by all who would list Of the bold merry mermen under the sea. They would sue me, and woo me, and flatter me, In the purple twilights under the sea; But the king of them all would carry me, Woo me, and win me, and marry me, In the branching jaspers under the sea. Then all the dry-pied things that be In the hueless mosses under the sea Would curl round my silver feet silently, All looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from aloft All things that are forked, and horned, and soft Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, All looking down for the love of me.

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I have a right to be hostile. I have a right to place blame to a person who has hurt me in the "Lord's name". I have a right to hate when my people are scared. You are supposed to serve and protect and yet, your weapons are aimed where? I have a right to shout in the face of your ignorance. Because just me being alive is a ******* political statement. Being a decent human is not something to congratulate. Be decent because that is human, not because you must compensate. Don't force me into a box and say I cannot escape. **** the paths of this forked road I choose my own fate. Adding pressure to silence will only turn us into diamonds, because in our hard-earned victory we'll sparkle and be shinin'. There are too many of our voices, we're impatient, that much is clear. We're angry not because we want to be, but because we refuse to live in fear.

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Sep 8, 2014

Sep 8, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC

I have a right to be hostile. I have a right to place blame to a person who has hurt me in the "Lord's name". I have a right to hate when my people are scared. You are supposed to serve and protect and yet, your weapons are aimed where? I have a right to shout in the face of your ignorance. Because just me being alive is a ******* political statement. Being a decent human is not something to congratulate. Be decent because that is human, not because you must compensate. Don't force me into a box and say I cannot escape. **** the paths of this forked road I choose my own fate. Adding pressure to silence will only turn us into diamonds, because in our hard-earned victory we'll sparkle and be shinin'. There are too many of our voices, we're impatient, that much is clear. We're angry not because we want to be, but because we refuse to live in fear.

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the lakewater near the banks darken with the shadows of coniferous trees not unlike the way my ***** darkened just the other evening with transgression and i find myself waiting,arcing the ash from my cigarette in fiery transient streaks. this is north west angle's public dock, a sunken relic of the anishinabe appropriately too young to be old just like the ******* rest of us. kee no wahh she spits with conviction, her forked tongue a testament to the near science fiction that keeps its ugly head low to the ground in the backwater communities of rural ontario and manitoba and saskatchewan and beyond. purple and yellow and green galaxies span across the deep space of my neck and that's good enough, they reckon, to land me in the passenger's seat. now the sun's shallow beneath the canadian shield leaving only a violent, open **** on the skyline and the watered down blood of ritual sacrifice to filter up through the cheesecloth of the underbrush and effectively discolour the poplars in a pastel identical to the lining of my **** so ask me how many children have been stranded on the pallid, uneven terrain of my thighs and i'll stop making references to my ******

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Feb 22, 2010

Feb 22, 2010 at 10:12 AM UTC

pow wow grounds

the lakewater near the banks darken with the shadows of coniferous trees not unlike the way my ***** darkened just the other evening with transgression and i find myself waiting,arcing the ash from my cigarette in fiery transient streaks. this is north west angle's public dock, a sunken relic of the anishinabe appropriately too young to be old just like the ******* rest of us. kee no wahh she spits with conviction, her forked tongue a testament to the near science fiction that keeps its ugly head low to the ground in the backwater communities of rural ontario and manitoba and saskatchewan and beyond. purple and yellow and green galaxies span across the deep space of my neck and that's good enough, they reckon, to land me in the passenger's seat. now the sun's shallow beneath the canadian shield leaving only a violent, open **** on the skyline and the watered down blood of ritual sacrifice to filter up through the cheesecloth of the underbrush and effectively discolour the poplars in a pastel identical to the lining of my **** so ask me how many children have been stranded on the pallid, uneven terrain of my thighs and i'll stop making references to my ******

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happiness is the best protection from this cruel world they run at you they run at me every day with their harsh words and forked, hissing tongues i feel fear and sadness why me? why am i the target? but now i know they're just afraid themselves they too feel fear and sadness happiness is the only escape from reality

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Nov 25, 2017

Nov 25, 2017 at 6:52 PM UTC

elusive freedom

happiness is the best protection from this cruel world they run at you they run at me every day with their harsh words and forked, hissing tongues i feel fear and sadness why me? why am i the target? but now i know they're just afraid themselves they too feel fear and sadness happiness is the only escape from reality

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Incarnate devil in a talking snake, The central plains of Asia in his garden, In shaping-time the circle stung awake, In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple, And God walked there who was a fiddling warden And played down pardon from the heavens' hill. When we were strangers to the guided seas, A handmade moon half holy in a cloud, The wisemen tell me that the garden gods Twined good and evil on an eastern tree; And when the moon rose windily it was Black as the beast and paler than the cross. We in our Eden knew the secret guardian In sacred waters that no frost could harden, And in the mighty mornings of the earth; Hell in a horn of sulphur and the cloven myth, All heaven in the midnight of the sun, A serpent fiddled in the shaping-time.

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3.5k

Incarnate Devil

Incarnate devil in a talking snake, The central plains of Asia in his garden, In shaping-time the circle stung awake, In shapes of sin forked out the bearded apple, And God walked there who was a fiddling warden And played down pardon from the heavens' hill. When we were strangers to the guided seas, A handmade moon half holy in a cloud, The wisemen tell me that the garden gods Twined good and evil on an eastern tree; And when the moon rose windily it was Black as the beast and paler than the cross. We in our Eden knew the secret guardian In sacred waters that no frost could harden, And in the mighty mornings of the earth; Hell in a horn of sulphur and the cloven myth, All heaven in the midnight of the sun, A serpent fiddled in the shaping-time.

Continue reading...