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Marshal Gebbie Feb 2010
******* Bandit time is lost
A gone forever shroud,
Elusive as an errant fog
That’s slipped into a cloud.
Elusive as a crystal shard
Mixed secretly with sand,
You know the shard’s apparent
When It lacerates your hand.


Time lacerates your senses
Like sand between the toes,
It’s there and then it vanishes
Like vapored mist it flows.
Insidiously sneaky
In the way it sidles up
And gallops past like mercury,
Frustration's heady cup.


Were there ways to vanquish time
To pause it in limbo,
I would celebrate with agelessness
And a glass of fine merlot.
I would savour every nuance
And roll it on my tongue
For the taste of piquant victory
Is a toast to battle won.


Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
19th January 2009
Amitav Radiance May 2015
Intense
Pretense
Lacerates
The
Truth
Always
Burdened
And
Threatened
Pretense
Wins
Handsome
And
Charming
Faces
Smeared
With
Deceit
Hearts
Bleed
Quietly
World
Sees
Red
At once at the top of the Estinfalos, Marie des Vallées avoided all of them being injured and being swallowed by the strait. The bronze birds with great vigor avoided being part of the vast shore that hit them as Nephelleidae Helles. Here they were compelled by the Myth Frixo and Hele, in the process of their sacramentals. They took the assignments before running with the same fate as the children of Atamante and Nephele. Ino the second wife of Atamante wanted to get rid of them by burning the grain so as not to have crops. This is where the soul of the Herophilus Sybilla appears to them, consulting the Oracle of Delphi. The Children of Atamante were destined to be sacrificed, being Nefeles who sent a Golden Ram, the children were saved by climbing Ram's spine, taking him away from the executioners. When Heles was going to a great height he looked towards the sea that caused him vertigo, falling into the sea in its celestine waters, remaining from this instance with the patronymic Hellespont. His brother, Phryxus, clung tightly to his back and arrived safely at Colchis. Marie could see some Gerakis and then react in search of Heles, taking time to decide and enter. It was only a few hours before dusk, and the lacerated seventy were lowered from the Stymphalos to cross the waters in search. Marie joined the bronze birds with the interaction ratio of all the times that they would intertwine in the lines showing exploration, supplying what Theus and Vikentios did to grow in number, and with all the occurrences that occurred for the contemporary coincidence of thousands of years, for the current figure of millions of light-years that reacted towards the sky crashing in everything that a maximum roof allowed, and then allowed them to be in the interaction when crossing the Sea of Heles, where she always was, only being diverted by the bronze birds from above, and only being tangible by Marie's conscience when she saw that she had never fallen from the Golden ram, but had been only a weightless creature among the clouds of her mother Nephele, hanging around her neck some remarkable telesomatic beings sent by herself, in egregious tributes to her most adorable daughter. She subsequently falls into the sea, unblemished that Vernarth would go to rescue her from her. The Lacerates, Theus, and Vikentios gathered in the circular area of the Gerakis, leading them to the ancient Phrygian city of Dardania. The crowded currents of the celestial realm became ocean currents that lifted Heles's living body as Gerakis with her wings signaled to the Stymphalos to grasp her with precision. Silently the psyches of the bodies of the Trojan War were able to make Heles's rampage measurable, doing Vernarth's medication at a distance with Heles when her death throes accused her rejection of the balsamic intentions of Marie des Vallées. Then is she resorts to the bilocation of Vernarth managing to see from the surface the reckless surface of the sea, seeing a figure with a snowy white outfit and also a light blue tunic, in addition, she wore a crown of cocoons as a Diadema.

Nothing made it possible to presume that quantum was not bending in kilometers that separate Patmos and the Sea of Heles when this sacred figure was sighted that was glimpsed as psychosomatic physiology, for the good of the Second Age that Vernarth brought for them, noting that it was Bernardette Soubirous, which became immediate like a Benedict Akashic field. The small and large units of Massabielle's universe were pointed out from where this quantum elitrophic wave came, with living palpitations of Heles granting the inquiry of her by convulsions of his brain with small akashic vibrations before falling into the icy Sea. Non-local logic became arcane before this telepathic event, and the figure of Bernadette notified them by its coherence of subtle connection, that lately the light that she carried when she escaped from Ino will be rekindled, with the oblation for her was subordinating her, and that it would be supremely since there from where they would uproot her and then free her from the Akashic field from minor to major storm, where Marie des Vallées would let them know that she was safe. This space was already local, but it was detached from the terminal that made it originally from it for the connections of having it already on Patmos so as not to have to be transported by the Stymphans. Everything happened synchronously in unison, after the transpersonal boundaries of consciousness that were united among all to free it from these bonds in the freshness in Heles. All the micro-dimensional organisms became more than clairvoyant with the endowments of the falls and the uprisings after the rescue of Heles by Vernarth and the Akashic fields, applying the material field that was transposed in great extensions of material-immaterial time, before the immanent Electromagnetic gravitationally that could only be seen, heard and probed by Vernarth when he was meditating between the hemispheres of Aullós Kósmos, justifying nth parapsychologies where space is not empty and does not have a percentage mass in this case, and what has been called the quantum vacuum is in fact a cosmic plane (Akasha). Thanks to this information, it was conserved and transferred by the Akashic field, from the coherent universe of Heles, where it could be reconverted into a Sub Mythological being, thanks to a superhuman being happening at the site of the Dardanelles and which will also take place in another place in Patmos.

Marie des Vallées says: “everything that happened in one period also happened in the following times here at the Hellespont. Nothing was local, nor limited to where and when it happened. All things are integral, cosmic because everything is connected and the memory of all things extends to all places and times. Here is Vernarth who is the object and subject of his umpteenth parapsychologies, which are the replica of the joyous songs of Bernadette Soubirous's Rosary "

Vernarth sensing that Heles was in frank danger of life, mounts Alikantus and heads for the Strait of Dardanelles. Here he manages to specify that it was compared with the anachronism of the Bronze Birds, who had sailed through the upper Dodecanese, then over the Marmara counterclockwise from Kairos, meeting again with the Helladic period. Here it spread over Hellen; with the eponymous hamlet that boasted of the Stymphalos, as a coerced premonition in the pre-Helladic, towards the end of the Bronze Period. Thus, with this changeable phenomenon, Vernarth was directed, while he flew in the seconds of Kairos time as a symbol of subsisting in each deleterious life, almost with the powers of not getting intoxicated with any substance transited by the sea of the strait. Here Vernarth went to Alikantus, being this one from Thessaly and Sudpichi, right here among them Kanti appears with Etréstles, they came to tone up the survivals that would bear Heles after recreating the two great Ionic and Doric hydric colonnades. While Alikantus being of Cretan, the roots he had to emit breaths from the Eighth Cemetery of Messolonghi to revive the colonnades, to separate the waters and molecules that increased in density to move Heles from the depths of the ocean. Kanti was a super steed, he plunged under the Marmara, like a tiny sea to leave the waters of the Black Sea from one of the abutments of some seams of some Achaeans, which were disengaged from the seas that joined them. In this instance, the Helén together with Vernarth continued to release the ropes of a great Kizara that Nefeles had woven for her daughter, from here from the dean cloud and from the distress where she freed herself to go to her Gaugamellian aid. The Kizara was a Eurythmic wire rope, therefore its sound elucidated the sea and its celestial kingdom, magnifying and complicating Poseidon in the sea that actually resembled the sky. Therefore, Heles was with his ethnonym Hellespont who snatches her and redirects her to Helén, which was similar to her name, in such a way that the sky was embroiled by the point, from Helén by Heles creating the watery element of the Flood of Heles that was retracted by the impetus of Kanti and Alikantus when Vernarth increased with all his vivification when he saw her near the shaft of the Doric colonnade, organizing the waters that would rise from the susceptible Heles wrapped in a Himation that Vernarth had dispensed near the Vas Auric.
Nefheles
shåi Feb 2016
darling daughter, dad has left us
he says he won't be coming back
it's not your fault or burden, dear
a spell has made him lose his track

my dear mother,
the pain lacerates my heart
his leftover ***** rips my soul
and forever empties my heart of love

love is a concept
a figment of imagination
but does it truly exist
when i am here?


my heart's tearing too, my sweet
but i'd nimbly endure its double
if i could shield you from its cause
to spare you all grief's trouble

let's not give up on love, my girl
these aching holes in us are proof
we're made to seek its filling warmth
and to nest beneath its sheltering roof

your daddy's soul is broken too
like a well that's leaked all its water
plagued with a thirst he can't ignore
and demons he's out to slaughter

but mother,

is it so when
our hearts are ripped
from every corner of our soul,
we turn into unforseen beasts?

the pain seeps
into me like
some sort of poison
i can't control

my walls are broken
how can i ever mend
against a resistance
intent on pursuit of troubles


you weep with the spirit of asaph
who lamented in psalm seventy-three
of emerging a beast in his grieving
embittered by frail men's iniquity

he learned that the path to his healing
was sufficiently wrapped in God's love
that when all on the earth had failed him
perfection reached down from above

the spirits of lost winds
plague him
as he's filled and perforated
with fury


i've pleaded with his spirits
but they've forsaken him
continuously receded
and left his body


he shook hands
with the innermost depths
of his cold heart
and can't be freed


so maybe his leaving us is his love
to protect us from his deep torment
i know it's not right, but in his own way
feeling without him we'd be more content

i pray he'll find solace in God's grace
and the power that sets free a captive
for there's nothing of mortal persuasion
to redeem fallen souls unadaptive

if not for Christ's paschal atonement
no man could escape hellish rage
and except for His Spirit's blowing
we'd all be locked up in death's cage

no man has encountered more fury
than this One who was torn for us
marred beyond human recognition
to bear sin and shame on the cross*

i guess, mother
it's now time to leave
who he was
to what he has become


the path has been
divided into two
as if it were separate worlds
but the hell is all but subsided


(b.d.s.)
Here is my long awaited poem project with the absolutely amazing alyssa :) she is such an amazing person and allowed for me to come out of my comfort zone to write this :) i am beyond proud of this piece :)
MereCat Feb 2015
In my town
    The streets are paved
         With gold
              Because the rain
            Runs an infinitely unfinished race
        And the streets
   Are run thick with sky
       That swills above blocked drains
            And the street lamps
               Take a bathe in the puddles
                  And their lights
                       Unravel and swim
                     And sometimes
                  The wind gusts through
              And lacerates the
           Rivers of hoarded treasure
       So that our good fortune
           Is molten and fickle
             But somehow viscous
                  And the promises
                        Of our childhood
                            Wrinkle like
                               Aging skin

In my town
       The streets are paved with gold
           And so are the broken pieces
   Of their beer bottles.
Mike Arms May 2012
She lives in a figurative cube of lard
A clear turmoil tunnel channeled like
a river of boiling fat filled with shards
of shining glass shattering her flaccid
memory lacerates each emotion or
turn into adipose gluttony

I wear my heart on her terry cloth robe
the brain she was born with is the
***** on her clothes
david mungoshi Jan 2016
she succumbs to her own beauty
the way one yields to awesome fate
and carries it like an accidental gem
that she has to learn not to worship

to watch her you'd think it hurt for sure
with no conceited smile for good measure
her true asernal before which suitors wilt
is the stoicism of her serene countenance

she lends credence to roadside philosophies
based on the assertion that beauty and grace
are accidents of biology and heritage
and takes no credit for such accomplishments

a woman is beautiful even when the straits are dire
and days are darkest in the most depraved of places
she weeps silent tears when her children are hungry
and they gorge themselves on her loveliness and sleep

tomorrow being another day she struggles anew
and conquers hard reality with feminine creativity
and no matter how hard ill-fortune lacerates her
her delectable contours and carriage still shine through

she has no false pride though she's a pearl of great value
and is forever the stoic beauty driven by the calmness
of the aesthetic tremours of her bewitching gait
in the shadow of a moon rising on the horizon

woman you're nature's rival in beauty and depth
Marshal Gebbie Jan 2010
When the rain is cold and pelting
When the windstorm shreds the trees
Do you find your courage wanting?
Is there weakness in the knees?
Have you faced the dark intruder?
Have you stared that challenge down?
Have you summoned forth the fortitude,
To keep humiliation gowned?
Camouflaged the leaden spinelessness,
That dreaded empty space,
Where once there was a warrior
Who wore courage on his face.


Felt the thrashing of the current
As the waves come pounding in,
Inexorably it lacerates
And tears the fair white skin.
The brutality of bedrock,
The blackness of the night,
And the fear that runs like mercury
Through the torment and the fright.
The uselessness of effort,
The lassitude of limb,
It’s the cramping ague of gutlessness
That is consuming him.


Dissipating storm clouds
The skies begin to clear
And with it go emergencies
And with it goes the fear.
Residually it lingers
As a gnawing hollow blend
Of anxious blue inadequacies,
Of unsubstantiated end
To performance under duress,
Compared to that which is the norm,
It’s just a blinding lack of courage
Whilst in the torment of the storm.


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 November 2008
Owen Phillips Apr 2013
There are no bad people and there
Are no bad things and the
Music's always playing, always ringing, always singing
Cos the music that surrounds you, penetrates you, lacerates you
Is no different from the substance of your being,
All vibrations merely differentiated unities
You are gliding through that energy field
And consciously! How strange indeed
You're a kaleidoscopic porthole into
All that can ever be
You keep moving through time,
Accidentally rhyming, caught up in the games of the intellect
And introspectively, you can't believe what your
Mind tells you you are
Because you are and you aren't
There's not one true way to know it
If a word could capture what you are,
Then it wouldn't be true
Because the thought and spoken word
Is skewed so distant from the root
But the word is just a path to understanding what the source could be
A way to help the others see
What's going on at the edges of the galaxy
riri May 2021
beneath the pit of my soul
a flame lacerates my skin
the anger, the frustration, the confusion
of you not being here anymore
when my gut told me for sure, that you were the one
i put the fire out but the ashes still remain
Pearson Bolt Feb 2017
who holds the leash
of the pigs in the streets?  
follow the paper trail:
dead presidents
never fail to be the culprit.

it's not who
but what.
the police always
serve and protect
capital and property.
why else would they block
off a jewel store
during a peaceful rally?

they may not be
our enemy,
but they
certainly
aren't our friends.

they are the strong-arm
of the State,
fodder on a frontline
devised by fascist elite.
the boys in blue
with low IQs
are oligarchs' favorite tools
for bludgeoning
dissent and pummeling
free expression.
useful idiots—
truncheons designed
with punishing dissidents
in mind.

we may well be
the 99%, but they have badges,
guns, and a license to ****
emblazoned on the blue shield
slapped on their chests,
stoking overzealous
racists to respond violently,
a cacophony of bloodshed
seems to be the only language
they know how to speak.

smash the fraternity
that acquiesces to criminality.
white men in pressed suits—
who's speculative spending
lead to economic catastrophe—
get off scott-free
while black men are imprisoned
for possessing an ounce of ****.
not even the blind would fail to see
the "just us" system excludes
the majority of humanity.

all lives matter?
only ignorance could present
such a fictitious narrative,
a self-congratulatory hyperbole
disregarding contemporary reality.
private prisons designed for profit,
institutionalized bigotry instigating
a new form of slavery.
when mass incarceration
lacerates our communities
and exacerbates the conditions
of the working class,
the only dignified response
is to stand up, fight back.

we no longer
have a need
for this blatant idiocracy.
if we truly want to call this country
"the land of the free,"
then we must say,
loudly and clearly:
abolish the police.
https://www.thenation.com/article/abolish-police-instead-lets-have-full-social-economic-and-political-equality/
Poetic T Jan 2015
You stick fingers between my
Dried bones, concealing
The dark organs
Contaminated,
Oozing,
Nauseating
Stench radiates from within
But you see beauty where only
Decay breathes forth from
lungs that exhale particles
Of death, but you breath in
All I expel, your talons encroach
Upon this lump still
Beating,
Blackness,
Haemorrhaging
Concealed nectar of death running
through what flesh on bones remain.
Her talons of nail dig in,
I feel if for a moment something
Other than death,
She lacerates it,
"As black secretes forth"
My love erodes
Flesh upon her fingers
As she tastes the nectar
Blistering  her throat away
We both felt it for a moment,
"Love was bled"
"Love was tasted"
Even in darkness there is
"Love"
"We paid a heavy price"
As the heart dissolved us away.
But we were in darkness and love freed us for
That moment, now our spirits together
Solidified for eternity,
A blade fashioned for those who cant take
The pain of love,
"To bled it upon the blade"
For it will feed on that emotion
For it was called the
"Eclipsed twilight"
Where light was momentary,
But could still evoke that feeling  
"But love is eternal"
Its can never be bled out fully
Love once tasted in light or darkness
Never really *fades away.
Love can happen anywhere
Amitav Radiance Dec 2014
Through the warped mind
The beauty of this world looks askew
Riding the tumultuous waves
Every paradise becomes a desert
Armed with notoriety
Lacerates the souls with thorns
Finding nemesis in the actions
In the nadir world
Remembering that water's in the clouds,
I'm suddenly drenched in their tears.
My head is always in the clouds
sleeping and drowning in all of my drenched fears.

I yearn for my insides to stop embarrassing me eternally
because feelings are so out of season,
and not in the vintage retro cool kind of way.

Everything I compose is a duet
but my shadow, though it can emulate me,
can't embrace me like you can.
My shadow and I can't surrender into each other
like my late partner.

Who am I going to wander with in the frigid rain?
and who am I going to share this hideaway with
that's nested in my frigid brain?

I keep guiding these invisible spectacles in my head
like a ghostly shepherd,
and perform them for my imaginary phantom inamorata
igniting and burning my ethereal phoenix bird.

and so I'll linger here helpless and conquered
longing for someone to hearken my silent
high pitched banshee shriek,
which continues to remain unheard.

Feel like a raindrop in an ocean,
just a teardrop in a dragon's eye.
Just an ant in a sand hill
scurrying from gargantuan shoes and haunting lies

And so I'll hideaway and bide my time
until it's gone and I evaporate
because these great expectations
will forever be far too great.

This is familiar ground I stand on.
This is familiar ground I fall to my knees on.
This is familiar ground I sleep upon.
This is familiar ground I'm buried beneath.

So I'm waiting for someone to say something.
I'm waiting for someone to stop asking me,
"Are you okay, miss?"
as if it makes a difference.

You've fooled me once, you've fooled me twice
you've fooled me thrice
you've fooled me everlastingly.
I'm a dazed and gullible fool.
You're the jester; I just wish the joke was on you.

Forever only a lady
and never anyone's rose to tame.
I long to be the rose just this once, maybe.
Please. Tame me.

So I stuff the holes in my chest with neon lights
and curled up currency and healthy pours
as my viscera seeps out my unhealthy pores
making muddled puddles on these many ***** floors.

and your attention lacerates me like a disembowelment
but my it's my affection that  is the Hari-Kari
while your schizophrenic agenda is the knife.
Together we're a daily ritual suicide.

I never knew we were born to die
because I've been forever blind.
Thought you could be my lucky cricket
until my heart ended up dead on the roadside.

So sing my neglected soul to sleep.
May it rest peacefully in pieces
while my severed heart wanders aimlessly.
PK Wakefield Apr 2010
supping from
cups filled
with ill
darkness
the demon
on my
back
lacerates my
fleshy
shell
as he shifts
his horror
Lowercase Nov 2015
I’ll be fine, I guess.
So would you.
How soon
depends
on how we broke.
In half? Rough and jagged at the ends
With you clinging angrily to your end and I to mine?
Angry, stubborn tears stinging
in your eyes or mine
That’d be a while
But you’d be fine. I’d be fine.
Or maybe
the courting of Death
Seductive caresses across my wrists and lips or
something sudden and final
In screeching brakes and the smell of rubber tires
denial
and hollow ringing
as I think for the first time in my life
God, I wish I wasn’t wearing black.
It doesn’t matter.
A fight
An illness
A drifting? eventual (we had nothing left in common)
You’d be fine.
You’d remember me in fleeting moments
Flicking past a space documentary on Netflix
or pausing over a box of creamsicles in the frozen aisle
And I would see you
In the golden yellow hair of a passerby
But it would pass every time
One of us might laugh at the thought once we said
you and me
to the bitter end
That a teenager knew what forever and always was
and chalk it up to youthful naiveness
And we would be fine.
But I don’t want to be fine
I want to be laughing so hard my stomach almost lacerates
Because you know exactly what to say
And I want to be pressing
Kisses to your cheek and passing you hot cocoa
Because today we’re staying in and watching Disney
(singing along to every song of course)
I want to introduce you to everyone
Have you met…?
And tell strangers in the grocery store
About the most wonderful thing you did
And watch them smile kindly
over me gushing about you
across the stacks of tomatoes.
And I want to tell you over the phone about that stranger
So you can say
ew, tomatoes.
I don’t want to be fine, I want to be the kind of ecstatic
That only comes from us
From discussing everything from lipsticks to physics to musicals to dying
From knowing that when I am so tired I can feel it in my soul
You will hold me and let me cry
From believing it will always be us against everything
From living happily ever after
Because what is fine
Compared to this?
I made my best friend cry with this poem.
Poetic T May 2018
Bereft beyond contemplation,
          still do impoverished
memories still falter.

And every petal that
         lacerates within
inclines while scaring inward.


The blossom that you gave me,
        soils slowly. Soon I will have
just the decaying perfume to linger on.
zebra Sep 2016
wana make a devils brew
maybe you already have
its easy
just want something with all your heart
and never get it despite every effort
have you suffered an accumulation of insults and deprivations
is it not like eating barbed wire and rocks
a chewed claw
that lacerates the pallet
and tears the throat
as it goes down

loves corpse
the burial of the unrequited
a devil is dragged to life out of that grave
its every impulse retribution

if you don't kiss me
ill bite you
if you don't love me
ill hate you
if you don't caress me
ill beat you
if you don't **** me
ill **** you
if you think me ugly
ill disfigure you
if you intimidate me
ill darken your soul with fear
if you ignore me
ill stalk you
if you take from me that which i have not given
i will grow teeth
like cleavers a glitter
and eat all your dreams
if you enslave me
i will strip you of freedoms privilege
if you look at me sideways
i will curse your soul
with a blink-less evil eye

he is here on earth by gods decree
hurled down
to this head stone of a planet
this mud ball coffin
to kick the guile and ignorance out of us
force our evolution
all this submerged
underneath our civility
and good manners

if you want to see it
look at your own reflection
and make a face of horrors
roll your eyes wide widdershins
disapproving
are you not ghastly

the sin is not the skin
it is the limits of mind

we live in a world of devils fighting devils
each shrunken creature
thinking themselves godly
ridding war chariots
outfitted
with square wheels
and appalling blood stained hooks

is that not the history of the world
is Satan not a deity
an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
GODS GIFT!
Chase Graham Sep 2014
Crystal monument's blossom upward
and white light from them
lacerates a black skyline
as the blood of ancients trickle from tired
atmospheric wounds.
These droplets remind some of eternity
as they soak existence up and dampen past lives.
But for me they commemorate the now
and of a tangible present, rather than rejected antiquity.
Receiving this gift
I'll swim through today's rain
and accept the delirious drowning
of tonight.
tuckered wayfarer

Blitzkrieg cacophony debilitates Earthling
spiritually, mentally, emotionally... castrates
analogous post traumatic stress disorder
status simulating shell shocked warrior
dizzily descending darkening dimension
aghast - weakly ******* wherefore art thou
Elysian Fields?

Mine skeletal atrophied, diseased, gnarled...
once muscular flesh now awful blight
trumpets, dons, bespeaks... existence
regarding barren toothless anchorite

desolate physical environment
offlimit superfund site
mirrors equivalent condemned
toxic physical body quite
piteous, hideous, atrocious...,
this human bag of lovely bones

can barely, limply, scratchily... write
forbidding natural geography might
best demarcate courtesy skull
and crossbones bleached white
optimally reflecting feasting
carrion did delight

post mortem cannibalized habeas corpus
can never know where Edenic Garden
bloomed ah... magnificent sight,
nor reckon eyes me
how poetry doth not excite
forever striking living daylight

emancipating soul joining spiritus mundi
relieving tortured corporeal skiff good night
amidst abandoned, desecrated,
gutted... wasteland rendered might
of mankind quest to tame and temper
breathless fecundity kickstarting

rejuvenation linked to potent Gaia despite
havoc wrought regenerative force
repurposes deadened muscle and cellulite
unbeknownst decomposed organisms
comprise yours truly, nor what bright
transformation new life regeneration
will kindle, snapchat, tender... excite.
Jo Swan Nov 2018
This Picture Perfect Family
Is family of contradiction.
Hands hold the frame of the Portrait;
Bitterness seethes with friction.
Repulsive as summer cockroach,
Its artwork I wish to reproach.
Faces full of fake smiles-
Cloyingly sick, I want to puke!
The portrait presents many lies.

This Picture Perfect Family,
The truth is it has been defiled!
Father fights Mother; home havoc!
Harmony crushed by clamor.
Though I may be a naive child,
This family has a vicious void.
Resentment rattles with full force;
The essence of love long destroyed;
Hatred only settled with divorce!

This Picture Perfect Family
Can only appear in my dreams.
The tone of painting I abhor;
Behind our smiles, gloominess gleams,
It does not show there is a war.
My mind screams in frustration
Like the ******’s first castration.
I wish this wretched pain to bury-
Emotions blurred by apathy!

This Picture Perfect Family
Will not exist any longer!
I wonder now what is at stake-
Foundation of love macerates.
Hands tremor in anguish anger;
The Family Portrait drops and breaks.
Glass frame shatters; heart lacerates.

Oh, let this Portrait rot in hell…
Picture Perfect Family farewell!

(c) Jo Swan
Children suffer in silence in a domestic abusive household. I wanted to convey the thoughts of a Child as processing her parent's divorce and the frustration she feels about her predicament.
Rangzeb Hussain Jun 2018
Her name was Razan Ashraf Abdul Qadir al-Najjar,
From 7am till 8pm she helped the injured,
Tending to them on the fields of freedom.

This was her weapon,
Her white medical coat,
Now stained with her life’s blood.

“Her only weapon was her medical vest,”
Her Mother’s voice drowns in pain,
“She may have been small, but she was strong.”

The last time she saw her daughter,
“She stood up and smiled at me,
She flew like a bird in front of me.”

The angel of mercy,
Her goal was to save lives,
And offer relief to the wounded.

Her arms raised high to show she was unarmed,
She approached a victim lying upon the ground,
But the ******’s trigger only knew the language of hatred.

And a bullet blinked hard and fast,
The wrath of the single butterfly bullet was so brutal
It ruptured into three other medics.

A bullet designed to explode upon impact,
It lacerates and pulverises bone and tissue,
The Devil’s Banned Bullet.

It was a Friday,
In the month of Ramadan,
When the desert sand drank her blood.

A weeping Mother kisses a jacket
Stained with her daughter’s blood,
“I wish I could have seen her in her white wedding dress.”

Only the songs of lamentations now,
Grief shrieks through the streets without water,
And the world watches in censored silence.
three drops of heaven into weakened eyes
levitating now a vulture in the sky
murals of demure travertine thighs
spreading like scissors unveiling a bride
glowing green phosphorous hunger
bones rattled empty consumed by age
one eye is swooning and the other is set
ana crystalline Goddess lamented in red
skinless throne on glossed marble shards
blood that eludes her makes for the whitest macabre
vulture perching high on a skeletal frame
eyes lit with desire burning and depraved
cloth less a statue walks pale as death
black eyes a void present as the blackest breath
globes of carrion eyes shudder with lust
claws tap like lightning
towards delicate pearl legs
fog light greenhouse of dead human dolls
she plays them like puppets in clusters of storm clouds
laughs as my vulture ascends to his place
smiles as she caressed him and he pants as her slave
dances with the corpses as my madness descends
will kiss with the languorous feel of the dead
shivers descend
down  feathered carrion spines
calmed preternatural
leather nails unholy white lines
black lips press to a mewling bald head
sleep cuts the sound and lacerates the strings
falls into the earth the grave worms begin
Unfathomable dread
is etched deeply in my bones
An invincible rope
Strangles my dry throat
I struggle for breath,
but I am soon to remember I was never alive

Is it normal?
To feel so livid yet numb?
Is it right?
To feel this way?
I believe I don't care what they do
But somehow at night I feel dread
This dread carries with it the plans
Of how to end it.

Slowly I stand up
Determined to never feel this dread again
But how, I wonder.
This dread has always been with me
It hurts and lacerates me
But can I ever learn to go on without it?
More like do I want to go without it?
It may be the only thing
keeping me from complete lunacy.

My DNA has grown to like the feeling
And maybe now it's my antidote.
This pain that tears me so
May be just what I need
They may throw me stones
But I've been through worse
This dread is my brutal sidekick.
With this dread at my side
I will fight through this hell
Until the fated day that we fall
I shall stare down at my foes
They will run, for my dread and I have become one.
As one we stand, As one we will fall.
ali rose Jan 2014
Day by day, I sit and wait
I count the footsteps that I take
They haunt me, ticking down the hall
And every step catch as it falls
And fall in love as so, I must
But not so tender gentle lust
I count the syllables by hand
Some day some day, you'll understand
That numbers curse me as I breathe
Or follow me the words I weave
But honor, oh, what it would be
Together we rest so gently
That although time lacerates us part
I count the ticking of your heart
Riya Mar 2020
Rearranged my cupboard
Nothing mucky was found,
But,
To get control of the situation
Sometimes,
To get through
I do that too!

Arrows lacerates,
Like those unspoken words,
That we were supposed to express
Once!
That were meant to be heard,
Once!
Eventually they got off track,
And with each passing epoch
Resentment stays.

Feeling crouched,
Tried walking on the green grass
Barefoot.
But for how long
Will I be able to crawl,
I thought
Reminiscing,
And just drawl.

I might not know the reason,
Maybe I'll find it someday,
Till then,
Let me search for truth,
Veracity
In every single way.
Amber Lodrigues May 2017
I see you're
Bald spot
And flowers
On your shoes
How beautiful
All it does
Is remind me
Of you
The one
With no name
My beautiful
My sculpture king
I wait for you
I dream of you
I want only you,
I wonder
What does
Your hair feel like
Now?
Your ankles
To touch again
Your breath
Your smile
To watch you
Work again
To see your hands
Covered
In wet plaster
I miss you
I want more
From you
Your whole body
Your whole mind
To see
How many twist
And turns
To feel
Your heart
In my hand
How it thumps
How it bleeds
To feel your pain
Sarcasm
Cuts me
Your tongue
Lacerates me
I lay
And take it
I cannot leave
You
Again
I dream of sleeping
In the same room
While you
Work
Just in case
I wake
And can see
Your beauty
Create
Safana Mar 2022
A place where is consipirates
Between two or more pirates
To seize and bombing all states
To build and light in their states
And to see so much dehydrates
In Palestine as everyday escalates
Homicide, infanticide no filtrates
In Afghanistan all, propagates
Genocide and suicides, creates
In Iraq, everyone gone denigrates
And the Great Libyans emigrates
To the other nations and lacerates
It raised in Syria like egg uncrates
And Yemen, is now not federates
And no one talking, just as to orate
The child of allies is attacked and the alliance mouthes are vomiting with no action to be taken. Except implement on propagated bad agendas.
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago

hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief

he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)

invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,

deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions

commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,

butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal

impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"

recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb

firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding

immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.

— The End —