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Jordan Rowan Dec 2015
With the red lights in my eyes
And the gray haze in the sky
With the fire red reflecting back
The neon skin distracts me from where I am
And where I should be
In the winter clear, I sit
And I'm sick of it

As the snow falls on cars
On pedestrians and bars
Wrapped in pea-coats and ***
Under the foggy winter sun I slowly stroll
With a woman in my soul
Like a gypsy king and queen
In a lucid fever dream

Up in the offices and desks
With stress in their chests
These people think of home
While their lovers are alone and stuck with screens
Like windows into scenes
They thought money could buy
As they drift and die

Pouring out from the walls
Of worship chapel halls
With hands in their pockets
Stealing trinkets and lockets to give to the men
Who promise the end
But all will be right
If you pay the right price

From the streets of gods
That will one day rot
Under our wandering feet
When we longer speak but are just memories
Passed on like a disease
On death, I've made my peace
Until then, let me be free
veritas Jul 2018
gods and goddesses stilled mid-flight,
immortalized in a glory fast fading.
distilled sunlight filtering through, unheeded,
as a devastating dawn for redemption awakens.

     dust scattering over marble hands, forever supple,
as angels fall from grace,
wings clipped and torn asunder.

the sigh of a thousand lost souls, searching;
the thunder of a thousand chariots, unbridled.

     a wing outstretched, a bow pulled taught;
drawn, not fired.

frozen heroes lifting voices unheard;
     the calm before a storm, a fight unforeseen,
silver linings beckoning victories
of heaven's epics left unsung.

look up into the clouds and you'll see a history unwritten,
for they speak to you in murals
of smeared colors and pure light.

but hush! sweet child,
off you drift into an insincere sleep,
until these stories buried beneath your lips,
     singed, searing, burning away memories of the battles that
   linger ,over your tongue  ,
are no more than a shadow of a flame.

   and as his lashes flutter closed over blue eyes
   and his heavy golden curls fall on white sheets
   she whispers,
        the renaissance was not painted for you.
look up. and then higher than that.
gleck Nov 2016
“We could be gods amongst mortals"*

“Why be a god when the earth gave me you?”

His slight whisper
Another’s warmth on my hand
Body sculpted like those of gods
Engraved into my own
He is very humane; -

He is gravity;
Retain me against ascending
Pummel my sins

He is water;
Take away my thirst
Drown me when greed takes over

And I am grounded,
I am thirsty,
Lain earthbound onto the ground at his side
Heart aflame far away from Mount Olympus
I am still only  *
human.
As the Thunderbolt God Jupiter
Saturn’s brother
Pursued his loves in disguise
The Goddess Hera sat upon her throne
Irritated and plotting
Gazing with angry jealous eyes

Oh, courageous intelligent Athena
****** Goddess of the hunt
Dare the foolish to cast eyes upon her unclothed
Under the sentence of a tortuous death
Its said by many she was not birthed
But sprang surprisingly from her father’s head

The lovely Aphrodite
Would melt the hearts of many a man
Who would offer up their life
For but a faint touch of her hand

The Light God Apollo admirer of the word, reciting poetry
Pluck the gold lyres delicate strings
While the sea god Poseidon’s twelve daughters
Mermaids
Dressed in dripping seaweed began to sing

Ares of the bold god of war
Feared conqueror and great warrior
Planted flowers
As was his custom in the spring

Artemis in fervent haste strung her magical bow
For it was pursuit that stirred her blood
It flowed through her veins
Aged Roman wine
Running stags through shadowy woods

The gods of the Kings
The Gods of the people
To whom many sacrifices were made
Lived thousands of years beyond the lifespan of man
So, say the storytellers of olden times and past days

All right Reserved. Tammy M. Darby. Jan. 31, 2019
All Material Stored in Author Base
Against the navy blue sky
Stars shine brightly in the night
A peaceful serenity

Dew On a wild rose
Petals softly glisten in the morning sun
A perfect picture

A rainbow appears in the sky
The sky god’s promise remembered
After a rain fall
Derek Leavitt Aug 2016
When she's around... time slows down... almost to the point of complete nothingness... I look at her and think, is there truly anything more gorgeous?..

When She's around, I feel safe and that anywhere could be called home. Her eyes; a curious stare... my hand twitches, longing to touch her curlicious hair.

Our gaze's meet, and I find myself drifting... closer and closer to her feet. Her lips just within a leanings reach. Her dimples nearly touching my cheek... Her sent... 'Heavenly'.

I run my hand through her hair, and I hear her gasp, a sudden rush and a cool breeze changes the whole atmosphere. Her legs grab my waist and I stare into the pupils. She leans in, our eyes drift shut but our lips finally meet and I feel the grip of her legs tighten around my waist...

I walk forward until her chest presses against mine and her back makes love with the wall. I wrench her hair and kiss down her chest, real slow.

I mumble sweet nothingness into her ear whilst I caress her bare *******... Her legs decend and wrap around mine and I hear her begin to beg. The second my tongue makes contact with the nape of her neck her hips grind tight against mine.

This is not routine, she is trembling. Brewing like a steam pipe, compressed, ready to burst. I slip my tongue into her mouth and open it as I **** the air clean from her lungs.

It is at this point her legs curls inward and rips me back, causing me to fall and back crashes against the floor and she lands right on my lap. I grab her waist as she grips onto me.

The night is young, and ready to be explored. Our quest into each other will bring us beyond the star systems to a plane uncharted and unlike any other, ventured before. The night sky will bear witness to our event and the stars will weep out of sheer awe from beauty. Life, being made in a single dance of love and our moans, and wails and cries of ecstasy and desire, passion and Love...

and when it was all over.. we held one another.. and peeped into each others soul. It was love... Love.. Love of the Titans.
In the endless of the Universe in an Unknown World exists a Lone Black Rose that flourished at the beginning of when time itself did not even exist. Its mysterious mesmerizing power drawned the God Of Immortality towards it's enigmatic eerie existance. The unimaginable beauty perplexed the God that he drawn himself closer to it not knowing the outcome of what might happen He asked himself ...what could be there in the endless void of the multiverse that has not been created by my hand doing here? All the sudden tremendous power eminates from flower and it's beautiful tentelizing petals begin to transform it's root begins to take shape and the rose itself the color of the purest form of the shades of black materialize to a gorgeous young woman a Godess the color of the void.

God known by endless multiple names mainly known by the human race as Yahweh* or Immanuel* the immortal one the one in charge of creation the ultimate light or radiant one stands there petrified at what he has just witnessed. At the brink of an instant the mysterious Black Rose that transgressed to recreate itself to the image of a woman telepathically communicates to Yahweh calling him by his nameless name a name not even the Son his primordial creation knows. I am the Goddess of the Void the one in charge of ending the endless cycles of Galaxies, Stars and Universes. I am the opposite of you and I am the ultimate force that will always remain aware and alive to complement your divine power and will. We are the Gods of creation and destruction you being the Creator and I being the Destroyer. You who's boundary of power is limitless and forever changing, transforming and evolving into the purest form of Light ...and me who's power is limitless like yours but is never changing forever staying the same and always and constantly destroying and disposing of matter and at times even anti-matter who's sole purpose is to bring death to all things excluding you. We need each other for the Cosmos to coexist peacefully within the Multiverse. For your time and my time has no boundary no limitations therefore we are linked to each other we share the fate of immortality and unimaginable power a force so that immense that in itself you are me and I am you.

You are the White Rose the Divine God of Light. Maker of the Multiverse,Time and Space. I am the Black Rose the Ominous God of Darkness. Maker of Parallel Dimensions, Ultimate Death, Dealer of Destruction. Without us...Nothing can exist without us no source or essence can withstand to be able to be created without us what makes everything work in the past,present and future cannot be. Our sustainability depends on the link we share as God's of the Universes. As you know and I know we are ONE made to share this power and to never abuse or unbalance it's nature. Hence the moment we do that will be our last instant alive and upon us self destruction shall be made.

From that moment on destiny changed the Gods in charge of all reality. The Immortal Gods balancing everything together making sure creation itself is sustained in the everlasting balance a equilibrium so perfect that even perfection is not good enough to describe it.

From there on the God of Light and the Goddess of Dark became close and discovered a force even greater than themselves...LOVE. Finally unified they made the races of many kinds to inhabit the cosmos to worship them. In time imperfect they all became due to disobedience to their makers and that created disharmony and hate among each other.

That displeased the Gods and in the end and ever since the beginning it all stayed as it always was...The Right to have Free Will. Lastly, we can search for the immortal ones but they can be found within you...for you and I where made in their likeness and their image. So come now search deep within your soul and find the God in you and awaken the ONE who gives eternal life and ultimate bliss...

Who is the intermediator...his name is Christ. Talk with him in your heart and he will change you. Allow love to exist in your life and it is the first and last step you will ever make to getting to know the path you must take to gain salvation. May the Light of the Radiant One shine in you and may the Darkness be embraced carefully but do not allow evil to roam in your heart. Allow love to flow thru you so you can die knowing where your headed.

May the Gods bless you. Thanks for reading.
Franko The Christian Poet® 2016
The Two Immortal Gods
Deities of Alter Reality
Katherine Smith Aug 2018
A moment. A blunt, passed.

Watching him get higher and higher in the wind-bitten evening.
This town, this place, isn't home anymore, but for a moment we can pretend to belong to the dusty air, the crumbled ocean of Joshua trees.

Someone blows smoke in my direction and suddenly it's summer again.
Does he remember those days?
Back when his hair was longer than mine, when we spent the nights chasing back insomnia and the fear of failure.

We were two tired immortals, shoulders made heavy with the weight of another god's world.
a completely romanticised telling of my first college beau.
jane taylor May 2016
i watch you walking
as I sip
my morning tea

what’s your story?
i see your glory
as you walk down the street

i am honored
to behold your presence
as I watch you from afar

you are gods in motion
i can see you
behind the scars

©2016janetaylor
September Roses Dec 2018
You'll notice him in the busy streets of Peru, dodging vendors and laughing like the sun.
You'll notice her at a small diner past 2 a.m, lost in thought, meloncholy notes on her smile.
You'll notice him on a street corner wearing bold colours and singing
about the lives he's lived and the fools he's loved.
You'll notice her on mountain peaks, soaking in the wind with feathers in her hair.
You'll notice him weaving flower crowns and writing in his journals, squinting into the hot sky with dew on his lips.
You'll notice her kneeled on the side of the road, comforting a small animal she found with the voice of sweet honey.
You'll notice them, dancing at sunset, colours streaking across their face.
You'll notice them running through meadow fields in the early hours of the morning.
You'll notice them laughing like the wind, smiling like velvet, with whispfill sparks in their eyes as they sit by the waves at dawn.
They are the sun and the moon
The sky and the sea
Fire and the ice
They're not likely to tell you who's who,
In fact they're not likely to tell you who they are at all.
But even without the spoken reveal
Even without the clarity of meaning,
I promise that when you see them.
You'll notice
David Flemister Mar 2017
i was born all naturally
formed in a lax factory
im actually
a hack with ******* in my nose, practically,
every day,  haphazardly
stumbling home, half asleep
i cant tell whats happening
vision begins blackening
im whack like kriss kross
crack like rick ross
major brown boy to houston
be like, "yes, we have liftoff"
dont like me when i'm *******
cause *****, i'm bruce banner
or maybe i'm bruce wayne
either way, i got mad manners

tearing down walls like berlin
preaching like its a sermon
potential begins to burgeon
i'll cut you up like a surgeon
killing in place of coercion
so you better lower the curtain
my head and my body are hurtin
so tell me how quick does the world spin?

i'm taddling on ya, you can call me a toddler
but the snitchin n' **** is somethin im never fond of
and i never grow up, cause i'm the neverland smuggler
peter pan turns into one of my best customers

i never grew into my head, im not cocky
never had the eye of the tiger, im not rocky
growing up i never got in fights or caused a lotta ****
but presently im screaming "**** the world", i've got a bone to pick

i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
you hold me captive, keep me trapped in your facets of laws
looks of repulsion are what cause me to brandish my claws
constant compulsions reminiscent of prodigal flaws
i've gotta problem and i think its the probable cause
see im a goblin shark i'll sink in my nautical jaws
im not a joker im a jester with lesser facades
wrought with insomnia cause drugs are american gods
Experimenting with rap lyrics
Powdered skin,
Brush strokes,
Go coat
those desperate pokes
The shakey nature
Of made up favors
So playful
And able
We are
To Make the devil
Weak in the knees
As he does me,
So what if you suffer
You are but a drop
In an endless sea
No one will notice
When you drop
And you bleed
Just a mixture of rage and pain in threw up when I felt too much and thought my chest was gonna implode.
Today is tomorrow,
For now does not exist.
It passes way too quickly
For anyone to catch a hold of it,
So now is then,
And then is in the past.
Time passes too quietly;
Words are no longer sufficient
To appease the gods that control it.
They decide when time stops
And when it runs away.
We, the invisible reasons for your problems, blind ourselves to the
dismal inevitability that we will
suffocate because you refuse to stop
the pillaging of the future for the sake of your own ******* lineage being able to further itself and potentially give you a chance to again close your mind and scream as loud as you can when confronted with your own toxicity

We, the ones who humbly take the bludgeoning from your self-proclaimed pious hand, know these chains are only on your bleeding wrists and ankles.

We, the silent and the broken, know Santa Muerta by the nicknames she had in college and all accompanying wildness she brought in her wake.
We still will stroke your hair while you
throw your tantrums and wail about what is and isn't fair on your deathbeds.

We will burn the mattress and all while cheering you on on your flight into the night sky you ignored for a lifetime.

We, the servants of streaming digits and stewards of bottled stardust, will create stories about how it wasn't your fault and how you shouldn't be hated for bringing the world crashing into the excrement of wasted potential so our children know there was a choice to be made.

We, the overly polite pariahs pry laughs and love and lust and learning from looming catastrophe like Burroughs writing Naked Lunch with a glassy eyed stare that burned holes in the veil hiding the tide of partially coagulated blood and ******* that YOUR world preached as milk and honey.

We, the proof in the moldy pudding still finding time to rot, will burn tobacco fields in your honor just to dance while getting drunk on the breaths you'll never waste.

We, the lovers of questions and haters of creeds, let tears stream in the hope that they are not considered part of our body's 75 percent while fantasizing about your ghosts seeing them and the dehydration they may be in spite of and quiet your tired old yelling and shaking of fists at the clouds when overcome by the slight sadness that whispers "its too late" lovingly into your ear.

We, the lovers, the thieves, the reviled, the *******, the witches, the junkies, the ******, the reptiles and worms under the rocks society deems unusable and misshapen, will be the ones lifting the crowns off your corpses and throwing them high as graduates do when full of a hope only ever dashed by themselves.

We, the drooling monsters you vehemently deny anything besides the cramped closets or the space between bed and floor in childhood bedrooms, will be the Valkyries to descend onto the blood-choked battlefield you set aside for your souls to suffer on and offer you respite in the form of soggy bread and wildflower honey while  ravens and jackdaws bicker over the eyes and fingers of those that once showed us how to ride a bike or drunkenly beat us beneath our favorite trees or touched us in dark rooms in ways that would chase Love away from the shadow of our hearts until we finally climbed high enough to see it all as someone screaming of war and bravery while running from the sound of steel biting steal because their protectors talked so highly of honor and duty that it seemed as if it were God and Adam touching fingertips on the arched ceilings of youth. that, then was painted on the crumbling walls of abandoned houses they would secretly indulge on the forbidden fruit soaking pages of a faded **** magazines or up skirts of blushing  girls who put on their mother's prudishness until fingers pushed past
cotton and virtue alike to the warm center they both melted in.

We, the unsung and numb, walk in spirals while the complexity you rebuked as devil-born becomes the sigils of yet-to-be kingdoms bringing about golden age after golden age in the distant mists rolling over hills and valleys of memories of moments yet to coalesce into rigid experience.

We, the eyes weeping blood atop crumbling pyramids, have seen the walls you want to build in futures dissolved in the winds blowing dust over the dream-roads we skip down and how it resembles the one you built to keep your heart from breaking from the pressing mass of what you can't file away as noise or heresy or communist propaganda;
We drew throbbing ***** and dripping ***** on all the blueprints we came across and tucked them back into the secret compartments of wardrobes and roll-tops passed down through generations.

We, the keepers of the singing stones you traded for cheap concrete, will embrace the tiny souls you neglected out of ignorance to the existential snake oil pitch you broke every tooth biting down on all because the salesman reminded you of your drunk father or mother imposing their wills like you make shadow puppets dance on peeling wallpaper in the silence that ensued after they had passed out on creaky couches reeking of Lucky Strikes and spilled ***** while the shine of the staticky T.V. set covered them like the blanket no one ever put over their slumbering forms because of those infinite lists of excuses used to skirt the skirmishes of showing any kind compassion even if they alone were sole witness to it.

We, the pieces of self the deathbed "you" sent hurtling backwards through time to shine lights on the siege seething at the gates of what you stand for, are only holding those lanterns to show you that fleeing is futile and your death is just a hallway with a door that leads to the knowledge that life is not a cell to watch time morph into tally lines scratched into cold stone as if they were epitaphs for the seconds bet and lost at the roulette table crafted from any slave ship the ocean never swallowed.

We, the flames mimicking those dancing girls you longed to have squeal under the idea of your thrusting masculinity amidst the graffiti on the bathroom stalls in seedy dive-bars or the paupers playing prince you follow giggling with hope in hand like a bouquet of baby's breath and daisies for that one day they would stop and turn and smile so handsomely that your knees would shatter against one another and wedding chapels would bend down to tie tin cans to bumpers of beat up Buicks and Oldsmobiles your fathers give dowry and the crowd could watch "just married" poorly written in shaving cream on the back window grow small until it disappeared over the horizon.

We, the dreamers, are tired of sleeping and are in need of a old tree to swing from, to bury our dreams like beloved pets under, and watch as it lets its leaves fall to the hungry earth that is more patient then anyone closed eyed and humming ancient syllables beneath crooked branches could ever be.

All the trees you climbed and kicked and fell in love under have died from too many hearts around intials being carved into them or were used to make fascist pamphlets you yourself passed out at churchs mistaking the mask with bone structure or the river for the people it swept to sea.

We are laughing;
like a loving mother at her clumsiness on display in her cackling child and not like the crowds gazing at the sideshow stage as the curtains pull back and stage lights illuminating John Merrick's flesh and the intricate dissonance it lent to minds.
Minds that afforded only sips of bliss as monotonous stints on factory floors but were preached about like they were some heaven-sent golden cobblestones laid lovingly all the way
to the beach where Heimdall will one day sound his horn, one foot feeling the grit of the edge of the world and the other washed clean for the grave we will all step in.

So, all these words, all these images, all of it is intended to be a moon so all the stagnate tide pools that have forgotten their origin and the freedom they used to give form to lesser forms they forage forgetfulness from.

We, the ones beneath you on the climb to the summit of our collective potential, beg you to think of something beside yourself when taking a ****.

It is not just ******* in the wind if there isnt wind and we are right below you and dying of thirst.

It is not an inalienable right if someone else is deprived of the same.

It is not Heaven's gate if the brilliant gild has a melting point or if it remains latched to any soul's approach.

It is not "liberal *******" or a myth if whole flocks of birds fall from the sky or schools of fish wash up on beaches while people snap photographs for their feed.

It is not "god" if love dispels it like smoke hanging in the kitchens your great grandmother sat in and told you about a witch shapeshifting into dogs without heads to scare drunks stumbling home because she was a ******* racist.

It is not just food if someone's organs fail from starvation that even the worms and flies are free from.

You wave your banners and let your war-horns echo and you wear your ignorance as armor.

We, the eaters of life and death, will chisel a name into stone and pick your bones clean if you think we should march to the sounds of drums and trumpets just because you were stupid enough to think it was anything other than your masters convincing you to whip yourselves ****** because "at least God hath been kind enough to give you a purpose" or "he works in mysterious ways".

**** that.

Look at what it has brought out of the swirling sea of " all that could be" while you write the same song about how shiny and numerous the scales of the prize are.

We are not responsible for pillaging God's bounty.

We are the bounty and our emptiness and lack of foresight are in jeweled bowls at your feet, but in your hubris you believe it to be the slaves that come to wash the dirt from between your toes.

We are Death and She is the wet-nurse that will give us intimacy to fertilize our hearts by refusing us her breast but turning our heads to your silhouettes shambling off the edge of existence far off in the distance only a decade or less could be confused for.

[AS ONE VOICE WE SING/SANG/HOWL:
Lux amor potentia restituant propositum dei in terris.]

As if it were as easy as holding the hand of a dying tyrant afraid they cannot the luminous terminus while wearing your father's face as a mask to trick radiant angels or the contortions of gods reeking of struck matches by those trembling and their swirling black hearts closed to the breeze carrying leaves celebrating their liberation and caressing a cheek they were too ashamed to kiss when opportunity was their ally.

We shouldn't hate these piles of skulls all parroting the same axioms to those who only show up to add another or leave an empty bottle turned into a candle holder, wax dripped down the neck and froze before any trace of tallow could finally unite with the dirt it longs to become one with;
icicles hanging from the eaves of abandoned asylums.

This place was supposed to be alot of things but that is what lead THEM to drown in the sound of buzzing bees, birdsong, and abundance in all directions.

I suggest we stop trying to squeeze it into a shoebox we scribbled Promised Land on and just let it be the open armed paradise it inherently is.
Let it be the heart and home as well as the hostile territory because it is only ever that and what we wont find in any Oracle's Prophecy.

I'll end my rambling with a question and it's answer.

How do you turn a police station into a hospital and a schoolhouse?

Burn it to the ******* ground.
lenore Apr 2017
Dance; bathe your heart in sweat:
Make the hurricane jealous of your fervour;
Sing; summon gods with your breath:
Make the stars beg for your favour.
pk tunuri Feb 2018
When you can't help yourself, they say
You are not passionate enough okay

You can't run away
You will end up regretting every day

Is this how you repay
Your parents! Think before you betray

When you can't help yourself, they say
Even gods can't help you today
There will be a point of time in everyone's life where they can't help themselves.
We get to listen to all types of
discouraging lines unfortunately
when we CAN'T HELP Ourselves.
OpenWorldView Sep 2018
Nyx
You took my hope
to find the right path.

You tormented me
denied me a look at life
to entertain Thanatos.

**** you and your gods
who feed on misery.

You took my life
even before I woke.
Matt Shade Nov 2018
As all of the planets pass me by,
I’ll often wonder- is it them, or I
holding the earth in this position?
We call this a stupid superstition;
I must point out how odd it feels
assuming that the eternal wheels
would pick just any empty fools
to mold into the vacuum's tools
before pulling the world away.
I know to them I couldn't say,
but if I did, I would explain
I’m more than just a brain-
I too am all the universe.
Now, to whisper a verse
in words so fit to bless
is a sin, but I digress.
Sylph Oct 2018
Im tired of being a piece in these games.
Im tired of being a lonely pawn against a Queen and a bishop
...
I dont want people to starve at the hands of the capital, NO more Hunger games
...
Please
..
Sorry. Is all me because im constantly making people upset in this silly game..Im sorry

Monopoly is coming, Im almost completely broke to where
People are giving me their pity ones.

Life..
I wish i could find my mate just by rolling the dice
I wish i could get that good of a job
I wish had that much money or even my own house

Life is the game i want to beat
  
                        But  

                          ­             Im so tired of playing Gods game.
Of aaaaaaaaallll these games Life is the only game i would want to beat more then anything.
Louis Verata Dec 2018
The river will cease
Just like Crete
The ocean’s tides and waves
On land there is no to be
One can proclaim
“Nothing is created nor destroyed”
A rather compelling case.

Yet memory
Emotions
Thoughts are soon to be forgotten
Like it never happened
Oblivion does not discriminate
She does not hate
Nor retaliates
For she conquers all.

Lets artists take the fame
Saints to be prayed
Wars to take place
Atomic bombs to take shape
In an instance
The gods will proclaim
“Oblivion is here to stay!”
Obscurity her only way.
September Roses May 2018
Hot chocolate no longer tastes like chocolate

Tea gets me as drunk as wine

I get about as high on cannabis as I would rosemerry or thyme

The clocks in my house have stopped ticking

Though I never stop to check

There's a litter of stray kittens, outside my door, on the front step

Although time has stopped passing
And the gods have fallen asleep

I still find myself laughing
That I've wept to much to weep
Ive had a few people wonder.
Its limbo
Juhlhaus Jan 25
Wellspring of blood and gold
In flame and glory ever
Doest thou faithful rise
Cast off thy vapor shrouds
Radiance of ancient godhood undimmed

Magnified by singing ice
As prophesied in the late darkness thy
Hoped triumph heralded while
Bearers chained on metalled rails
Muttered protest under
Hoary breath of polar air

But lo! The brazen promise of thine
Image graven in beholder's eye
Rings hollow in the bitten ears
And the stung flesh
Feels thy boasted fire
Not at all

Above thee stands the city's goddess proud
So virile once thou smilest
Upon her white clad shoulder now
Ceres scorns thine impotence turns not
But fixes her steeled gaze
On the frozen north
Mythos of a -15˚F Chicago sunrise.
Erin Suurkoivu Feb 2017
the edges are stained blue

and no matter
that spring is holding out its hand
in a promise,

spring becomes summer,
summer fall,
and winter again,

and the hours and the hours and the hours

and cities rise
and forests fall

once, gods
are now falling into disrepair,
temples on the verge
of imploding.
An old friend of mine is dying. He's on the other side of the country. I wish I could see him one more time. Money is nothing to some people, but everything to me.
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