"lettings" poems - Hello Poetry

The sun glistens And the ice on the trees shine While the church bells send a haunting chime Lost in the glory of the apmasphere She wraps her arms tighter around herself sensing he was near She knows the end is ineviable And unquestionable These are the risk you take as a spy You know, being the bad guy She slips behind the building hoping for a moment of reflection Believing in reincarnation Another day and another time we will be reunited Our love song rewritten The gunefire echos off the wall of the building Feeling the sharp pain piercing Never lettings go of the one piece of hope for another tomorrow

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Feb 2, 2015

Feb 2, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC

innocentvu

Rewritten

The sun glistens And the ice on the trees shine While the church bells send a haunting chime Lost in the glory of the apmasphere She wraps her arms tighter around herself sensing he was near She knows the end is ineviable And unquestionable These are the risk you take as a spy You know, being the bad guy She slips behind the building hoping for a moment of reflection Believing in reincarnation Another day and another time we will be reunited Our love song rewritten The gunefire echos off the wall of the building Feeling the sharp pain piercing Never lettings go of the one piece of hope for another tomorrow

16

Blood lettings, for my thigh and wrist My blood like fire, the swiftness of grace My flesh is above all and yet disowned My spirit is fierce as fires doth burn These creatures will learn… Middle class brats, bred from base corruption A softness and kind of conformity for their kind Take, steal, feed, greed and gluttonous ****** But oh how they craft their own plights Little ***** to think they know plight! Arch, I’ll give them plights, oh I shall give them sullen plight Tortuous, tormenting, agonising, haunting plights Plights of the daughter brought before the beast Plights of the family too poor too common Plights of the body taken against will Plights for my blood! Your petty little girl, plain Jane, boring and dull, like a corpse Bring her to the beast and she’d how she’ll fair? Ha! She is nothing of the woman I am… Take that ****** and let him see the horrors of thy household Many are alike mine in this lower domain He’d break like glass to the father who raises his fist! And you, what of you? Boy Solider… You speak lies snake! Not a killer, but only of truth! Sexuality all in tatters, heart forsaken by she cheated Dearest Mother to tend to thee at all hours You never tasted poverty, never saw the world The world through my blood None of you, not she lifeless and dead Nor he pitiful and weak, and you another Father but in boy form! I pray you never have daughters, I hope you take a liking for men Never breed your filthy bloodline Middle class **** Judging, gossiping, lying snake! But in those 7 weeks you took a taste of thy blood, like the wine at the alter It was burning hot like magma, it was filling and sickening Sweet, bitter, sour, to it your eyes once so blind Saw the world a new You saw the **** the abuse, the bulling, the carer, the suicide, the mental illness You saw your fictional demons in mine The blood upon my hands, twas ours It rain through us all, like a fire It burned and scorched us with the hands of reality And once it was done, only I was left standing With one foot out the door, into the world reborn But my old blood still remains upon you boy soldier And I carry the new

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Dec 6, 2016

Dec 6, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC

hayley-siebert

My Blood

Blood lettings, for my thigh and wrist My blood like fire, the swiftness of grace My flesh is above all and yet disowned My spirit is fierce as fires doth burn These creatures will learn… Middle class brats, bred from base corruption A softness and kind of conformity for their kind Take, steal, feed, greed and gluttonous ****** But oh how they craft their own plights Little ***** to think they know plight! Arch, I’ll give them plights, oh I shall give them sullen plight Tortuous, tormenting, agonising, haunting plights Plights of the daughter brought before the beast Plights of the family too poor too common Plights of the body taken against will Plights for my blood! Your petty little girl, plain Jane, boring and dull, like a corpse Bring her to the beast and she’d how she’ll fair? Ha! She is nothing of the woman I am… Take that ****** and let him see the horrors of thy household Many are alike mine in this lower domain He’d break like glass to the father who raises his fist! And you, what of you? Boy Solider… You speak lies snake! Not a killer, but only of truth! Sexuality all in tatters, heart forsaken by she cheated Dearest Mother to tend to thee at all hours You never tasted poverty, never saw the world The world through my blood None of you, not she lifeless and dead Nor he pitiful and weak, and you another Father but in boy form! I pray you never have daughters, I hope you take a liking for men Never breed your filthy bloodline Middle class **** Judging, gossiping, lying snake! But in those 7 weeks you took a taste of thy blood, like the wine at the alter It was burning hot like magma, it was filling and sickening Sweet, bitter, sour, to it your eyes once so blind Saw the world a new You saw the **** the abuse, the bulling, the carer, the suicide, the mental illness You saw your fictional demons in mine The blood upon my hands, twas ours It rain through us all, like a fire It burned and scorched us with the hands of reality And once it was done, only I was left standing With one foot out the door, into the world reborn But my old blood still remains upon you boy soldier And I carry the new

46

i want to prose you on the kitchen table with my smile melting into your own. and i want to prose you as colors of the sunset awash your skin, preserving our moment in amber. oh, and can i prose you in the morning before we go to work and sleepiness has not quite fled from our muscles? i want to prose you while your fingertips trail from my cheek to my hair to my shoulders, effortless like water trickling down the length of me. i want to prose you roughly, gently, quietly, loudly, taking our time, lettings details fill themselves between the hours. i want to prose you in the dead of winter, with the fire crackling like a whispered secret, and in the slowest molasses days of summer, when grime and sweat clings to flypaper skin. i will prose you ‘till we are speechless, and sleeping tucked between the pages of a masterpiece.

0

Oct 27, 2014

Oct 27, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC

caitlin-cromley7

prosing.

i want to prose you on the kitchen table with my smile melting into your own. and i want to prose you as colors of the sunset awash your skin, preserving our moment in amber. oh, and can i prose you in the morning before we go to work and sleepiness has not quite fled from our muscles? i want to prose you while your fingertips trail from my cheek to my hair to my shoulders, effortless like water trickling down the length of me. i want to prose you roughly, gently, quietly, loudly, taking our time, lettings details fill themselves between the hours. i want to prose you in the dead of winter, with the fire crackling like a whispered secret, and in the slowest molasses days of summer, when grime and sweat clings to flypaper skin. i will prose you ‘till we are speechless, and sleeping tucked between the pages of a masterpiece.

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