"knout" poems
Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes
See nothing save their own unlovely woe,
Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know,—
But that the roar of thy Democracies,
Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,
Mirror my wildest passions like the sea
And give my rage a brother—! Liberty!
For this sake only do thy dissonant cries
Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings
By ****** knout or treacherous cannonades
Rob nations of their rights inviolate
And I remain unmoved—and yet, and yet,
These Christs that die upon the barricades,
God knows it I am with them, in some things.
1.5k
A narrow path leads my way.
Little did I know I would end up astray.
For what they have told you is mendacious.
nothing else could give them that sensation.
That validation.
That hydration for their unquenchable thirst.
So believe me when I say this, it isn’t the first.
Don’t always take the obvious route.
They will approach you with their knout.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:39 PM UTC
They said we’re on to better pastures,
But we’re circling the field,
Running track but the team never lasted cause,
No training- we just deal,
With the things we hold inside us,
Insecurities and doubt,
Say nothing on the outside and,
Inside we cry and we shout,
For the hope of fulfilment,
A miracle to begin,
Never been to the land where dreams come true,
But don’t they start from within?
Or are we hopeless and deluded?
Too optimistic to see,
That dreams never come true
In the earths reality,
So what am I to do now?
Broken heart, shattered desires,
What’s the point of this uncertainty?
That’s got us on edge all the while,
There’s confusion in the illusion that we have it all figured out,
We stray and take matters into our own hands,
And we end up with knout,
So what am I to do now?
Broken heart, shattered desires,
What’s the point of this uncertainty?
Am I too optimistic to see?
That His plan is bigger,
Than what we imagine,
Dream or believe.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
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At first the world, seems on hire,
Threads chill through leaves on fire,
Black ponds grow still under sun,
In opens, slowest silence begun,
Smokey clouds in sweep overlook,
Clime of frosts branched under foot,
Cold winds come and with heaves,
Shattered froze crockery of leaves,
In icy banks bare rivers run out,
Snap as they steam into a knout
And in tawnys of soggy marshes,
Colours grow grey, wet and harsher,
In blisters to come winter shores,
A creatures huddle to frozen floors,
Above are trailings of birds who flee,
Below are underlings rooted in tree,
In sheets of white a graveyard blows,
Black stones piercing the first snows.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Me a fish
& you my sea
Your waves washed me
Onto the beach
The birds they came
& pecked my chest
My gills got filled
With earthly breath
I gasped and flipped
I flopped & squirmed
My fins went limp
My scales, all torn
(We go as fast as we are born)
I looked up high
Beyond the wind
& prayed to have
Just one last swim
The sun went dim
The wind did blunder
Your waves create
and swept me under
I gasped again
But in reverse
Submersed and cursing every bird
My fins are ripped
I cannot swim
I float along your currents whims
I asked you why
You pushed me out
To watch me bleed
struck with a knout
You calmed and said
Simply to me
You are my fish
And me, your sea
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
after the doomsday
there was an actual poet from the hell,
who always had a knout
to torture their pale faces
within huge dark fiery cell ,
he ruined and burned their compositions
and made them melting together
again and again
in a very dark position.
when the god revive them for the sixth time
one of them wailed and said to the poet:
my dear destruction divine
secretly, let the heaven to be mine
and stop giving our thirst
this cursed brine.
the poet responded and said
yes, i'm the real destruction divine
of course i will not give you a wine
but i will turn off the pine
to keep you close
to your final dark line
Jan 9, 2020
Jan 9, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC