"lunging" poems
Snarling, fangs shining, moonlight illuminating ferocious beasts,
limbs tangling, separating, lunging, caught within deadly battle.
Scarlet streams trickle from trees gouged like the bellies of their prey,
canine fiends bare their teeth, their growls like black thunder,
facing these soulless demons smeared with the blood of many.
Bodies drop with screams still rattling inside their rib cages,
demons devouring with rage that can never be quenched,
their hearts ripped from their chests, veins slit,
arteries torn mercilessly out of still warm flesh.
Creatures created from pure insanity that breed nothing but anger,
fear and despair, children's corpses torn apart, their skulls shattered.
Snapping of jaws still slimed with internal juices,
bits of raw flesh clinging to hair that shimmers under the blood red moon.
Hissing from the shadows, knotted into frenzied war,
animated corpses beside twisted bodies of wolves,
wounds gushing ruby tears, still pulsing organs shredded.
Flames rush from overturned fires,
shrieking forms, torches wavering through darkness.
Pale beings gather for the finale,
blood spatters across ground, staining everything within it's reach.
Only two are left, facing each other in the coming dawn.
Heaps of creatures litter this burned, bloodied ground, none alive.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
This is what she looks like when she's sad:
The human condition effective immediately.
Winter shades shift side to side,
exploding out of each iris.
Skin falling off,
when lunging forward to kiss me.
Fingernail daggers dig into my pores.
I'll bleed under her fingernails,
if she'll drag them down my torso
until her knees click the floor.
This is her tongue inside of my mouth:
We taste each other before we waste each other.
Hip bones parallel and our eyes rubbing shoulders,
my hands surfing her rib cage
and it's all the rage because she moans.
And when she moans,
color tones orbit around her head.
Planetary tumors dancing around her skull;
jump roping with her hair,
eating morals and removing plurals.
Those are her lips around me.
Her head moves up and down
but her eyes focus on me.
She makes eye contact
and I empty my dreams
into her mouth.
We are a public forum.
I ache with alcohol poisoning
and liberal undertones.
The terrain that is my face
bleeds oils that would lubricate
the axle of the car that she drove
into the tree
that we carved our name into.
Come back to me.
I miss you so much.
I watched you die.
I watched you die
and there was nothing I could do.
They told me that she wouldn't make it.
They told me that she might make it.
My hand gripped at blood stained blanket.
I think she said my name under the air mask.
I could tell if she saw me;
her eyes rolled back into her head
after she gazed a thousand yards away
into the field of black
that sheltered the tall grass
that we would chase each other through
and get lost in
as we got lost in each other.
I love you! I ******* love you!
My back, a membrane coil
that rises my stiff neck
that cares my head full of memories.
I turn on the light and you're not there next to me.
I put my hand on your copy of The Thornbirds
and know that you've read it more than the notes
I leave in your inbox,
hoping that it'll say that you have seen it.
Walking to your grave,
I am a darkness that the abyss has swallowed
and I have followed myself into nothingness
that is such bliss
that I forget
your kiss.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry
Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels
Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet
No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals
Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed
All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal
Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance
Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt
The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word
Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
do you have mental jewelry, or anything of the sort ?
any spangles to mesmerize the solitude of crowds ?
do you spearfish in sand dunes ?
heavy crowns float in amber, where you breathe dense thought
you are slender as the nail in your palm
anointed to poach the seldom heard
beneath the random you are certain
spinning in illusion
open to the rogue star
lunging for the steeple of lost charms
a miracle, you knew said nothing
but you heard it
anyway ?
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
She's this insatiable urge
gaining on me,
like a herd of horses
galloping in the treachery of the wild,
their muscles brushed to a shine
rippling down their calves
to embrace the ground
beneath their ironed hooves
shaking it up, tormenting its calm,
whipping up tremors
that know no chains and travel far.
When she's around
dust and sweat break free
with muscles aching in symphony
the heart is all worked up
like a boiler room in heat
pummeling all of its adrenaline
in one fleeting indulgence
which the universe with all its hatcheries
is itching to contain
before the raging tides in
and floods my world.
She's the elusive horizon
used to passionate chases
and the sly azure lunging at it
for one sweet glimpse of the cleavage where it conjoins with the earth
looking for Elysium that never is.
Ah! But that is what it is
for the tamed to think of love
is an impossibility
for it grows in the wild
separated by a hundred chasms
and a million mazes
waiting for a fool to cross over.
When she isn't around
the rumpled sheets tell our story
for it has seen the storms
that raged in the cavernous nights
and filled up balmy noons
with the savagery of love
still crackling like embers of fire
which have seen better days,
and, light up still, with a death wish
to tell of our smouldering lives
that thrived in spasms of our last breath.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
I've always pictured Lust as a woman
A seductive and voluptuous goddess
with golden curls and a sensual smirk
Her eyes would be the reflection of diamonds
or stars in an eerie, romantic night sky
A perfection of human kind
An angel fallen from heaven
But oh would she be cruel
She might be beautiful and appear innocent
but she is a trickster, a wily temptress.
A consumer of hearts
A demon in disguise
She'd lure her helpless, naïve victims
with pleading eyes and hypnotizing sways
They'd follow, attracted to illusion of vulnerability
That's when she'd strike,
lunging for the **** in a snap
Another bleeding artless heart...
stolen, stomped on, kicked around,
cut up, spit on, and set on fire.
Another pathetic man blinded by Lust.
Poor *******
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
Drinking wine by candle light
Small flame that might've
toasted music
Holding off instead
a flood of grief
Some wall I must retain
Some hope I still maintain
called life
...or was it love or...
one of those foolish things....
It's not important now
I am not known for caving-in
complaining
Not one for asking
nor for needing much
to hold my own...
I just need everything--
Boundless days of youth
forever slipping
Only one dream yet remains
Wash over
tender tide
The sea has found the breast
Seals it with its mouth
a hunger
lunging toward its home
of earth-warm woman
a deep surround
Longing there to cry
to take her back
to take it out on all
the taking
hurt of it
the bitter
and the knowing
loss of song
I can't recall
...The music that I cannot make
for lack of everything
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 12:53 AM UTC
Your western heads here cast on money,
You are the two that fade away together,
Partners in the mist.
Lunging buffalo shoulder,
Lean Indian face,
We who come after where you are gone
Salute your forms on the new nickel.
You are
To us:
The past.
Runners
On the prairie:
Good-by.
2.7k
**Lacking of life now
I lol on my fine divan**
*Laziness often
lacks the power of rapture
as in sofa or bedsprings*
**Labour of love her
for large obese lobster me**
*Mermaids capture me
a symphony of sea-sick
rasping tongues lick our lumps*
**Little old lady
typing the language of love**
*A real cyber date
computer romance limits
operational life's love*
**Laughing over lines
of disco **** pure *******
*Lewd obscene language
grasping lemon or lime highs
to count Hollywood star shootings*
**A full length of life
the longing off, lay proceeds**
*Lady of the Lake
lunging our lisps sound depths
we are - breathing harmony*
**The land of Lincoln
legion of Lucifer's Lord**
*landscaping of lawns,
losing our liberty's law,
leaving on lights, blinding*
**Lots of Laughs or 'lol'
populist abbreviation**
*language often less,
leftovers of literate
gone to libraries of late*
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
I like to bite,
not overly hard,
just enough to make one wince,
perhaps, a sharp intake of breath,
showing that my bite is hard enough.
I so desire feeling soft flesh,
tensing between my teeth,
especially when rounded and firm.
Neck first, working downwards,
nipping into the shoulder,
chewing that succulent muscle,
with tight, tentative nibbles.
I am even bitten in return,
my pressure gauged by intent,
taken from the one biting me.
If teeth come hard and sharp,
trust me, then so do mine,
if they are loving and gentle,
once again, so are mine.
I work across the *******
delighting in the ***** *******
chewing drawing responses,
tongue sliding over her stomach,
lower, lower, down to the hips.
Biting very hard into thighs,
making her cry, back arching,
bringing writhing gasps to die for,
reaching her vulnerable centre,
soothing with deep, heavy licks,
tantalisingly teasing, so sweet.
Suddenly, flipping her over,
rough as you like, choice slaps,
smarting on her plump bottom,
before biting, biting, biting,
taking in every curvaceous part,
devouring, chomping, so yummy!
I part her legs, diving between,
my tongue lapping in a frenzy,
deep, deep, tasting the juice,
before rising, pinning shoulders,
entering, gliding, slowly, surely,
giving long, languorous strokes.
Hips grinding, hard and deep,
circling round and round,
momentum building, building,
firm hands gripping her hips,
flesh slapping against flesh,
as we match our rhythm,
lunging, pounding, thrusting,
exploding, on and on,
more and more, until,
we are spent, trembling,
slowing, easing.
A final twisting whip,
circling the very edge,
bringing smiles,
a playful giggle,
it tickles, so nice,
I lean forward, so good,
nuzzling, caressing,
ah, all because,
I like to bite.
©Paul M Chafer
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
You're going on the highway,
Bringing a new 4-string bass guitar,
And a drum-set too for your sons.
Now you could be a family rock band,
You could churn your own Summer of '69,
The world will know you three now.
A really hot chick hitchhikes in your car,
You are tensed as your eyes meet.
There is unfathomable longing in hers,
And the bathykolpian woman's so inviting.
You can't play the good man at this age,
You decide to cheat your own wife now.
You stop the car quickly anyhow,
A quickee's on your mind & nothin' more.
She smiles at you and lunging towards her,
You smell the inviting scent of hers.
In middle of the kiss you start foreseeing,
You forsee a bright romantic future,
Suddenly her wellbeing's lost & she vomits.
Then you bring her to the hospital,
The gynaecologist congratulates you,
"Congrats! You're going to be a father!"
Taken aback, you say, "But I just met her!"
The girl who hitchhiked says, ***"He's ****** lying!"***
The doc summons the police and your test is done,
"Good news & bad news," the doc says,
"One, you're not her baby's father."
Hearing this you're relieved.
"Now the bad news, doc," you say.
The doc says, "You could have never have fathered any even if you intended to."
You are flabbergasted, "What the hell! Why?"
The doc pacifies, "Your load doesn't have any sperms,"
Seeing you shocked the doctor says,
***"It's a birth defect that happens rarely but yes it does..."
"...You may sue the girl for everything."***
The biggest shock in your life so far.
You just shake your head and turn around to go.
You're in the middle of a nightmare,
It couldn't be true!
***If not you then the 2 kids back home,
They belonged to whom!***
Now that's the biggest tension!
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
It was not when temptation came,
Swiftly and blastingly as flame,
And seared me white with burning scars;
When I stood up for age-long wars
And held the very Fiend at grips;
When all my mutinous body rose
To range itself beside my foes,
And, like a greyhound in the slips,
The Beast that dwells within me roared,
Lunging and straining at his cord. . . .
For all the blusterings of Hell,
It was not then I slipped and fell;
For all the storm, for all the hate,
I kept my soul inviolate!
But when the fight was fought and won,
And there was Peace as still as Death
On everything beneath the sun.
Just as I started to draw breath,
And yawn, and stretch, and pat myself,
-- The grass began to whisper things --
And every tree became an elf,
That grinned and chuckled counsellings:
Birds, beasts, one thing alone they said,
Beating and dinning at my head.
I could not fly. I could not shun it.
Slimily twisting, slow and blind,
It crept and crept into my mind.
Whispered and shouted, sneered and laughed,
Screamed out until my brain was daft. . . .
One snaky word, "What if you'd done it?"
And I began to think . . .
Ah, well,
What matter how I slipped and fell?
Or you, you gutter-searcher say!
Tell where you found me yesterday!
2k
ink on skin and wit on tongue, i love you.
a sucker for seizing the moment, i adore you.
never turning my head for more than a moment, i study you, discreetly.
a form with new curves, new golden aspects, new wonders, i would devote all of my life to knowing you.
in a room that i’d normally call a cave, i felt free and wild, like the days of my youth, running on the streets, bare-chested, no-hair chested, shorts, no shoes and my spirit ten feet in front of me. such pure panic, the panic that has always hurled me into the moments in time that have beauty speckled with the gorgeous glimmers which have been plucked from the eyes of everyone involved. that panic was always there on the streets with me, jumping, swinging, playing and lunging into life with more ferocity than ever documented in NatGeo. scraped knees and grass stains on my face, you are my summer and you will go. i will always remember the way you smell.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
did because i well jeez 10:23 farther steeper i'd was a outside 10:24 a junebug
is creaking on the well like a fine cylinder. it's because steeper or 10:27 clunking
a light of amiable is sort of. at 10:31 a common a cool the. into if.
a very sorry long is diacriticly loose with the scab of lunging trees
by the barn 10:31:53 is . it's was almost because i did i well jeez
the june is a crimped fine determined juice. did it seem because or and a breif
i s haloed somewhat or creaking a junebug is big for by the stalls shuffling with legs in the sort of barn by the 10:36 it's gabled a bit. or does it seem a because well did i and meyou. pm well it were 10:37 and longest brown is seemingly. otherwise unmarked a phonetic element. by a 10:39PM leafing softly
the scuttle a. unnerved little scraping. beneath or metatarsaled cadence a the grassed stripping earth went from the basest mouth of timbered certainly to the unskinniest blue. a vanity of wheels or because well did i jeez
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 12:19 PM UTC
Above the haunting music,
and the banshee screeches of children;
My eye catches sight of the mysterious ponies.
The ones lunging, twirling, and spinning,
in a frantic loop around the circus tent.
Their muscles taught.
Eyes rolling in fear.
Lips pulled back in a terrified scream.
Or is it a frozen snarl?
A defiant sneer at the ones who would capture them?
And while I ponder it . . .
What sorcery was used to trap these mystical ponies?
And what dark arts aided in binding them?
It must have been painful,
That much can be seen in their arched necks
and wild faces.
Mouths gaping in a silent scream,
as they run ragged circles.
Trying to escape their enchanted prison.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
Could it be that locked in memory
Ancient thoughts are held in store,
Passed on by Neanderthal man
Who's origins we may recall.....
Ape like in physique and frame,
Prominent prognathus jaw,
Burning eyes intense and sharp,
Intelligence to seek for more.
Telepathic thought transference
Little need for guttural grunt,
Massive strength in hand and thigh
Stinking pelt to back and front.
Rushing through the reed and long grass
Casting lance with lunging throw,
Mastodon with roaring bellow
Thrashing trunk with thunderous blow.
Darkness in the smoky cavern
Clustered at the flinted flame,
Family and others warming
Squat encircled, chewing game.
Listening in the chill of moonlight
Listening to the wolf pack howl,
Out across the snow clad forest
Out beyond the hooting owl.
Chewing pelts to soften leather
Massive teeth in massive jaw,
Wary eyes observe the weather
Southern winds may bring the thaw.
Luscious she with scent ascending,
Luscious she with hairy maw,
Bent to me in sweet surrender
Downy hip and coaxing paw.
Roar in rage and beat the earth
Blazing eyes and heaving chest,
Invasion from the **** Sapiens
Seeking females for their nest.
Skies descend with fire and brimstone
Rock cascades and burns the earth,
Mountain God has vent his fury
Scamper hard to cave’s safe berth.
Cold, so cold this bleak snow weather
No retreat from Winter’s ire
Brother, sisters, sons are huddled
Frozen dead in blue ice byre.
Few, so few now to migration
Trek to southern food and heat,
Starving, wet and hypothermic
Staggeringly trudge the weak.
Few, so few to intermingle
With the **** Sapiens here,
Serfs in ******* low and squalid
BUT SURVIVORS..STRONG AND CLEAR!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 August 2011
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
We’ve accomplished grace
In the eternal august night
To unchain a soul that is contrite
Her soft touch gave men a pleasurable fright
She made me endless dry nights
With a twist of the forthright sunrise.
I’m wondering
I’m wandering
In your vast spacious eyes
I’ll find exile in your fragrant dream
I’ll watch your promises steam
In the waning night
I felt the lunging freedom by the touch of your hand
To the glimmering dusk
We’ve failed to alternate
To the passing bliss
We reasserted
To your musky perfume
Angels tried to elaborate
Frozen words of wonder you maimed
A love hitherto acclaimed
Wintertime is upon us
Memorabilia
Worn dour faces
Grazed by memories
Wintertime is upon us
Lenient breaths
Defying the freezing weather
Like white cotton bursting into the air
Numbed fingertips
And cold lips
Winter was the season of you heart
Winter became the season of my life
Now loneliness is my last supper
The ice for my heart will scupper
I’m alone amidst the feral waves of sobbing
And my heart is drunk with its salt
The crescendo will exalt
Now I must repent
For the placid lament
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
She laughs;
Mocking his fear.
Smiling lustfully, she dances around the prey
in a game of cat and mouse.
Hungrily she stalks him.
Lunging now in madness,
she claws at his skin.
She sinks her teeth into raw, cut flesh.
Blood pours from the wounds by the bucket.
She bathes her tongue in the rich, red liquid
like a savage dog.
Agonizing cries echo in the dark abyss of hell.
Then a sigh of satisfaction follows.
She carelessly tosses the fresh corpse aside.
She wipes her dripping chin with her
blood-and-dirt clogged nails.
Her eyes reflect the insanity she holds
and then with blood-stained lips,
she smiles.
A new prey is soon to come.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
Tainted love once swept past my door stopping only for a brief moment.
Wreaking havoc Straining, spitting lunging anger and misdirected truths
Smiling softly, throwing insults into a face of innocence
Destroying the essence of beauty and faithfulness
Pure love cast aside by wickedness, Unfeeling, unjust accusations
Unmatched fury, bitter pride spewing forth obscenities of half eaten hate
A future wracked with pain and sorrow, desolate emptiness never ending fear.
Crushing resistance of commonsense, ending all hope
Fleeting moments of happiness, promises made, promises UN-kept, wringing hands of frustration
Stirring emotions of unfulfillment, and discontent
Seeking “nay” desiring solace in the arms of understanding
Giving all, breaking all vows for moments of contentment
Only thoughts of death to stop the pain, only to wake and feel again
Selfishness rears its ugly head, and smiles at the havoc wreaked
Love nurtured from an evil past, masked by innocent eyes.
Black sated desires, Intentional destruction of love.
Wilted rose clinging to hope. Unnoticed tears, fear supersedes all
Numbed pretense of happiness, escape inside.
Wander through mundane existence, Empty smiles, and soulless eyes.
Watching lovers embraced in happiness. Endless envy.
This prison, this life of darkness, this shameful existence
Hold together your true self. Unlock the beauty inside.
Wisely hear words of knowledge, speak to the pain. Re-live to lessen the hurt.
Open doors long locked, enter the domain of evil. Cast out doubt, and insecurities
An extended hand of happiness and safety, unconditional affection.
Surrender to love, and tenderness, embrace childhood dreams of love.
Awaken to a smile, a slight kiss, a lasting embrace
Sweet whispers of undying love. All passions fulfilled.
Written by
Edward Green
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
~
from the dock he calls her name,
now beside he grasps her rails,
deftly steps aboard her frame,
to loose her lines of mooring.
leaned o’er, he shares his secret hopes,
ocean breeze her mast is callling;
then wings are spread with hoisted ropes,
the call of ocean’s blue alluring.
he guides her through the shallow drafts,
gliding faster, hull and ballast,
like seabird’s cry on wing, her craft,
his touch responding in devotion.
she heels about now, lunging forward,
together ’cross the waves;
he, the author of this poetry,
keeps rhythm with each changing motion.
they float above the salty spray,
white sails, her wings, a swan of grace;
in fading light, ’cross waterway,
her highway now a full moon bright.
his bearing set for emerald isle,
she tacks to follow compass lines;
together tame the ocean’s wild,
in flight as one to form their rhymes.
from high atop her outstretched form,
he guides her body through the night;
shifting lines to feel the storm,
like bedsheets thrown, arched and open.
then far above this watery bed,
her canvas flows with watercolor,
of sapphire, jade and ruby red;
a sunrise o’er bejeweled ocean.
sailing on,
in stunning sight;
as one they sigh,
in heavenly flight.
~
*post script.
unwinding from the first work week of the new year and a chaotic Friday night commute, these out-of-the-blue, out-from-the-blue lines strike me as i hear strains of Chrstopher Cross crooning his 1980 classic, “Sailing”, from my dear wife's Pandora station, aptly named.
“Well, it's not far
down to paradise,
at least it's not for me.
And if the wind is right
you can sail away,
and find tranquility.
Oh, the canvas can do miracles,
just you wait and see.
Believe me.”
the song takes me back to a simpler time in our marriage, but sailing... this always takes me back, all the way to childhood, and a carefree state of mind. and no wonder... for in my pre-teen years, i and my brothers helped our father build a small, eighteen foot, sailing sloop, crafted after plans he found in a Family Circle magazine. thereafter, childhood summers were spent freshwater sailing at the foot of Fuji, sometimes alone, sometimes together. it is no surprise that today i am most at peace on or beside the water.*
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC
Who is paranoid?
Me or you,
as you shield the pages
on the train
from me
with your shoulder
as I
try and see
what you have written
thinking you are hiding
something from me
as I clutch my bag to my chest
and start to breathe faster
lungs tighten
face feels warm
as someone speaks in foreign language
accidentally pulls against my hair
and they face me
straddling the seat I’m in
pushing me towards you
as I try to disappear
as the people get closer
and the train gets faster
and everything is swimming
in bright fluorescent yellow
until
the tracks point upward
and upwards
and upwards
lunging from the underbelly of the earth
and the light bursts through the windows
and the beast emerges,
breaking through
like a sigh of relief,
like breaking into heaven
so fast
that no one could stop us
if they tried.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
As Refugees,
from babylon,
How will we,
ever carry on?
They're wondering,
To where we've gone,
But we're almost home.
We kept on running,
Running on,
Distanced ourselves,
From babylon,
They must have known,
Just where we've gone,
Still we're
running all alone
Hateful hearts,
fast on our track,
They keep on lunging,
Quick to attack,
Taking cover,
From all the flak,
Keep on moving,
Don't you look back,
Turn away,
And you'll die today,
Then the world forgets,
What you had to say.
Hurt as much,
As it may,
For every man,
Comes the time to pay.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC