"obliterated" poems
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.
You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
You would burn it all.
To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
To look in a mirror . . .
To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.
And it is in that moment, that you'll find
You’ll tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed
Your own obliterated youth . . .
To feel, and then
to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
Back to you.
To betray, and to amuse
Alone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.
And maybe, one day, one will choose
the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
until they find there’s nothing left.
To feel the flame within its breath consumed.
Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
And die a death,
Whose dance you six-times misstep
And on the seventh, betrays you.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
Evening slipped into the long abyss
So fell the red moon
Malicious shadows forecasting doom
For the cursed animal man
Inhabiting the precious earth
Fearsome rolling rivers ran dry
Black smoke filled the spanning azure skies
The churning murky green oceans gave up the bones of their dead
When the moon turned red
The crust of the hard ground shook
Split and burst into deep fiery crevasses
Dark yellow orange smoldering nooks
Swallowing all of life
So obliterated was mans world as we know it
Destroyed
Barron and dead
When the moon turned red
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby Jan.10, 2014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
*Teri Duzdeeda Nigahon Ko Dua Dete Hain
Jitne Chubte Hain Yeh Teer Utna Maza Dete Hain*
**For your peeking gazes, I pray
The more these arrows wound, the more delighted I lay**
*Jab Se Dekha Hai Unhein Apna Mujhe Hosh Nahin
Jane Kya Cheez Woh Nazroon Se Pila Dete Hain*
**Ever since them I saw, senseless I have become
What they pour from their glances, a mystery it has become**
*Takht Kya Cheez Hai Aur Laal-o-Jawahir Kya Hai
Ishq Wale To Khudai Bhi Loota Dete Hain*
**What is a throne and what are lustrous jewels?
Lovers surrender divinity against the rules**
*Aik Din Aisa Bhi Ata Hai Mohabbat Mein Zaroor
Khud Ko Ghabra Ke Naqab Apna Uttah Lete Hain*
**There is one such moment in love, indeed!
With nervousness, they raise their veil**
*Apni Barbadi Pe Khush Hoon Yeh Suna Hai Jabse
Woh Jisse Apna Samajhte Hain Mitta Dete Hain*
**Happy with my own ruin I am, ever since I have learned
Who they consider their own, obliterated have turned**
*Apne Daman Ko Zara Aap Bacha Kar Rakhna
Sakhat Aahon Se Bhi Hum Aag Laga Dete Hain*
**Your own hem a little, you save and claim
With deep sighs, we set the fire aflame**
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.” ― friedrich nietzsche
like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****
- kra
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
~
the
skies breath
aloud their sighs
as county-sized clouds
tower o'er the countryside
severed by the mountain's scythe
remnants scattered now like little spies
no hope of rebound to their former glory
only obliterated slices now the sun can’t hide
clouds reduced to skyscraper size must now suffice
and on it goes, cumulus fingers sliced by lofty granite spires.
~
*post script.
just a playful mix
of mindless alliteration
with a bit of concrete.*
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
V. Ethereal
Maybe being drunk
is the closest I will
ever get to zero gravity--
to walking on the moon.
My fingers curled
around the neck of a liquor bottle,
I wander to my bedroom window,
as a tipsy weightlessness settles
amongst my limbs
(and my thoughts).
Swaying slightly,
I part the curtains and,
in my intoxicated stupor,
search for Polaris in the night sky,
point to it,
press a clumsy hand to the glass,
convince myself that
I have captured the star,
and all the omniscient power
it possesses,
beneath my finger tips.
Star light,
{lips pant--
inebriated,
heavy}
star bright,
{my breath appears a catalyst
as the window pane glazes over
in an impenetrable paroxysm of fog}
first star I see tonight,
{I take a swig,
raise the bottle--
a toast
to the cosmos}
I wish I may,
{Lashes meet in
silent matrimony}
I wish I might,
{Behind closed, desperate eyes,
ribbons of colour dance
towards me in a disoriented jig}
have this wish I wish tonight--
to be
obliterated by the very galaxy
that birthed
these grieving bones
and this tumultuous heart.
Because only then--
as the Gods paint the Night
with the innards of my soul,
acrylic purples
churning against the blackness--
will I become what I
have always dreamed
of becoming:
Lovely.
Ethereal.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
What joy calls Silent Noise plagues me too
As the new love in young hides behind the sun
The House of Monaco burns
it is a simple matter
and joy pretends in two and three
She accuses that it is all in the eyes
Loosely veiling self doubt in the idealism of love
Complexity contradicts and she gives up
Preferring to live inside
It wants what it wants and Joy succumbs
drinking water she knows is poison
You are not a hopeless romantic Joy
You are a Romantic
You are all Woman
And twice as amazing
-The Zone
Your **** has torn my hinges off..... obliterated my door
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
With 8 billion people in the world,
You'd think it would be
Impossible to feel so isolated.
So tough to explain,
I'm frustrated,
This is complicated,
I feel like my soul has been obliterated,
Mutilated, and violated.
I can't think straight,
And no, I'm not gay,
Just a little confused
Feeling battered and abused,
My heart's been misused
And I have been accused
Of using others, when I'm the one being used.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
im not going to give you credit
and say that you are the one that
you obliterated my life
because i can do that by myself
im not going to give you fame
by saying you tortured me
because i can do it
i am going to tell you
you made me strong enough to leave
and smart enough to know when to leave
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
Hidden in the darkness, an entity of no real significance,
Cloaked by despair, ruled by regret, acknowledged by few,
The shrouded one lives, misunderstood, banished, forgotten,
But it lives, it lives.
Concealed in the shadows, a being of no hope,
Masked by lies, commanded by sorrow, Befriended by none,
The shrouded one lives, misconstrued, expelled, obliterated,
But it lives, it lives.
Obscured in the black, a presence of no ecstasy,
Veiled by self-hate, ordered by fear, hated by all,
The shrouded one lives, misinterpreted, rejected, meaningless,
But it lives, it lives.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
I have eyes
But I don't see what I don't like
I have ears
But I won't hear what I don't want to hear
I have a memory
But only remember what's convenient
I have thoughts
But I keep them in safe cages
I have a mind
But I refuse to change it
And so, you see
Let rhetoric over-rule logic
Let fake news obscure truth
Let corruption replace propriety
Let bluster confound reason
Let nepotism overcome merit
Let democracy be obliterated
As long as I don't have to admit I was wrong
By Phil Roberts
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
I scare myself with bitterness:
Mersault found within him
an invincible summer in the midst of winter
but I do not want even to pretend
that that is what I am looking for.
I am numb beyond existentialism.
But not numb with cold.
In my youth, my favorite colour was green
because of spring and trees and turtles and frogs
and when the weather turned
and the leaves grew back
I would whittle the time away outside
barefoot, on the grass,
loving the warmth of sun-kissed skin
and the breeze on my dry cheeks.
Today the leaves grow back
and the green resurfaces
and the warmth has the world walking
with an optimistic spring it its step
but today I think that maybe I do not like green
that maybe my favorite colour is orange.
Dark but bright? Or yellow,
because it can be cheer to some
but the moment you place it beside white
suddenly yellow is impurity
and for all the pure innocence of spring,
everything is, is it not, washed over in a
translucent coat of yellow, stifling sunlight.
So I yearn for winter
and for cold
for numb fingers
just before they are thawed by yellow fires
for sweaters and scarves and hot cocoa
for bare trees outlined with snow
and for the world blanketed, from
green grass coated with frost
to yellow sun obliterated by clouds,
by the sparkling snow,
white in all its gloomy glory.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
Here God,
Everything is for you:
Here are my
Testicles, looking like smashed purple grapes,
Bruised, mashed, and crushed along with what
Is left of my once proud, now exploded, tattered *****
I have laid before you my
Disemboweled, bloodied and tangled intestines;
Blown into bits and pieces, here lays my torso along with
Shattered ribs, ruptured lungs, exposed internal organs:
Erupted heart; battered, split, spleen; torn, mangled liver;
Next to them, my legs, minus a few toes;
Arms with hands missing thumbs, fingers;
My head,
Less pieces of skull, cheek bones, nose, tongue, and teeth,
Is nearby;
Those puffy messes of glutinous, jellied, deflated ****** orbs are my eyes;
Over here, piles of chunks of obliterated pieces of flesh floating
On a thick soup of congealed blood, mixed and meshed with
Splintered, fractured, cracked bones; everything
Convoluted, disfigured, impossible to identify.
All of this is for you,
I am your martyr,
Your soldier,
Your obedient servant;
I blew myself up,
Along with many infidels including
Men and women,
Unborn babies and children,
Young boys and girls,
I tore their bodies to shreds,
Mangled and mutilated, they
Suffered deaths no nightmare could imagine.
I sacrificed myself for you,
Exemplifying piety and righteousness,
I await my reward,
Wait for you to put my pieces together again;
Been here for what seems an eternity and
You have not come near;
Not made me whole.
Where are you?
Are you not great?
Where are the young, innocent, ****** girls or
The boys with silky, pearl smooth skins;
Will I ever have an ******** again?
Uncomfortable, anxious, concerned I
Lay here on this sacred, hallowed ground,
Like a fleshy puzzle, scattered in jagged pieces,
Waiting to be solved;
Praying to be completed and recomposed.
Where are you God?
A virtuous, faithful, prostrated one waits;
I have much to show you.
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
I am what’s left of a dying breed that called life beautiful
Truly worth living and dying for
But it was your kind that fornicated, violated, and devastated the soul of a beautiful entity
Who gifted us with art, beauty, and taste for desire
Maybe it was her who corrupted us for loving us too much
Or was it our nature to have more than we are given?
Demanding more and more
Until we ****** the life out of the meaning, be grateful for what you have
I’m sick and nauseated by the false portrait of life
Sick and twisted figures painted with false smiles
True emotions hidden under heavy painted sunrises that tells a different story
Literally sweet and innocent characters erasing themselves from this reality
Just to escape the hardship of this imprisonment your people have created.
I can’t stand to see your kind preach to us, we do it for the art, for the beauty, and the taste
You cursed that meaning
You ripped the soul of a greatly spirit
You proudly preach a lecture of hypocrisy and false love
If you truly cared to love us
You’ll not be worshiped like a god
Deep down
Angels are dead
Demons are dead
The doctrine of the trinity
Is my doctrine of my divinity
I am the Father
I am the son
I am no holy ghost
I am a plague
Not from hell nor heaven, but a world that rejoiced beauty from an unbalanced reality
Of love and hate
I am not your God
I am not the Devil
Both are dead
No creator can save you
I am your deity
I am your life
I am your death
I am your escape
I am your only freedom
This profound meaning
Ascends through my heart & soul
The flower of life spreads through me
Like a wildfire
No angel or demon
Can’t stop me
Proclaim me as one in all
I am divinity!
You absorb the supplements of life
Resources are obliterated
Left & right
By tonight your life will be ended by the knife
I've awaken from an eternal slumber
Count down the numbers
You oppress Art
The beauty
You tainted the taste of absolute harmony
Your desire to have power
Has blinded you
You eat our flesh like starving vultures
You left us to be tortured
The rapture will soon be among us
Nature will take it places
To immaculate this famine land
Natural selection will have entirely new meaning
I’ll pick up where you left off
For now…
My sentiments for aesthetic judgment
Will run through every vein in your body
Clogging every end
Suffocating you in every way imaginable
The oceans will dry
This green sphere will rebuild itself
New seeds of life will cleanse
This heinous reality
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
If you look closely
You will see
The cracks and fault lines
That comprise me
From the outside, to the unattuned eye
I look like a normal vase,
For the glue is now dry.
Truth be told
I was smashed
Obliterated
Pieces essential to my core
Strewn haphazardly across the floor.
But thanks to those that saw me,
And a little internal conviction.
My pieces have been collected
My old form resurrected.
Thanks to a little glue
I appear to be almost brand new.
But don't be deceived
For what you perceive
Should not be completely believed.
For the vase is very fragile,
Not to be toyed with.
Not a player's game.
Please don't mishandle me,
And resurface days of misery.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
When I was a girl I loved cars and Kim Possible
And green rocks I’d find in the pebble fillings of our school playgrounds,
Because they were rare and therefore special.
I read twenty books on gemstones and minerals and stared at the pictures for hours
Hoping one day I could be beautiful and solid and reflect the colours
You can’t see
If you burn your retinas looking directly at the sun.
When I was a girl I became a driveway because I thought
If I paved myself with tarmac or cement
I’d be hard enough to withstand the weight of everyone around my heart
And grounded enough to support myself,
But the construction workers forgot to check for groundwater
And I caved in when people decided
To unapologetically and unquestioningly park their ***** in the handicap spot,
Mistaking the importance of my handicaps for the importance of their egos.
When I was a girl I became an asteroid,
Seeking a gravitational pull around a star that would give me a name and meaning.
But instead I found a black hole,
And before I realised my mistake in universal direction
Her gravity obliterated me
And absorbed whatever the **** was left
Of the force I could have been.
When I was a person I became a tree,
Rooted to the earth rather than separate
And absorbing the light for sustenance.
I’ve forgotten what it means to be hardened,
But even my cells have walls around them
And now I’m as afraid of the ground as I am of the sky
And brave enough to reach into both
And just maybe find some answers in the crust or clouds.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
I have precisely not one but two stalkers, two malaise menaces in my hands. Well, not quite literally.
Its all in my head, you see.
They pervade my robust, iron clad, sheer willpower.
Hmph, not really.
The two little rascals, attractive ones at that, present themselves during frenzied times of scattered notes, inked fingers with frustration crashing in the air.
Frustration grows ever-so-slightly when they efficaciously whisper to you, it will only be five minutes.
They leech time off my circadian clock, inevitably painting black under my eyes.
A pair of smooth-talking liars, the scourge of the Student Underworld.
Their flamboyant, beguiling gestures of distractions, alas, it is far too much even for
my
mind.
Even doctors cannot prescribe a medical concoction to rid me of these pests!
Beware these criminals!
They need to be obliterated, removed, pruned away from us, young innocent seedlings.
I introduce you to... ughh...
Mr & Mrs Procrastination.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
Faded skies of grey and blue
Obliterated memories of me and you
Twenty one days of pain and pleasure
A rewind of the things that we cannot measure
Resisting the affection that you’ve been asking for
Slowly the tears fall down to my cheeks once more
How can you love the monster standing infront of your door
Are you even sure that you are capable of loving, at all?
You can cry but not for too long
Your heart has been broken once more
This is the price that you have to pay
For playing the game, you weren’t suppose to play
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
I'm in love.
I'm in love with the way grass smells after it's been mowed.
It has a certain smell that reminds me of summer days and childhood memories.
I'm in love with how that rain hits my window during a storm.
It's like it wants to come in so badly that tries to obliterate my window but only to realize that as soon as it hits the glass, the raindrop itself obliterates.
And I guess that's how I feel in love with you. You reminded me of summer nights and some childhood memories and I wanted to get into your heart so badly that I thought if I made myself fall you would catch me.
But, just like the raindrop, I obliterated on contact.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
I was caught off guard by the everlasting effect of your smile.
In all honesty I thought I was prepared for the well placed explosion that took place in my heart.
In actuality, I was not.
Absent minded to the total embodiment that was you.
The coming of your lips,
The taste of your stare.
I did not know the effect your voice would have on me.
There wasn't a prayer that could have prepared me for you.
There was nothing left of what my heart use to be.
The occurrence of everything obliterated; Emptied.
The horizon filled by your silhouette; my hands lost in the light cast
by the radiance of your smile.
I was reduced to nothingness in the blink of an eye by a single look cast from
The stare of your eye.
The total sound of nothingness filled my heart with a peaceful hush
after the destruction you've caused with just a single look.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
hang
ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
in primal urge
to take out the words
in one long
graceful arc
of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
and let myself feel
what I cannot show:
the daily coldness gnawing
at my innards
blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
in clear spirals,
a prayer commences to
be spun:
for the harsh
and bitter
be flushed out
in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
core
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
-A lament by the preteen Queen of Mesopotamia.
Late September,
During summer,
My great kingdom was obliterated by raiders.
My poor people,
Young and feeble,
Were all mercilessly butchered by those strangers.
Every temple,
Made of beryl,
Was then looted and set on fire by their archers!
And as for me,
A preteen Queen,
Slavery is now my role for their vile leaders!
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 9:53 PM UTC
They put me on a high pedestal
Took away away my mischief
There was no to begin with
They obliterated the chance
I first realised when I turned 14
Was writing last year's memoir
Had no adventure to illustrate
Had no idea of rebellion
I thought and contemplated
For a long long time
What the reason was
Turns out it was me
Me the *****
Me the image conscious
Me the people pleaser
Me the rational.
I envied the free spirited
I yearned their charisma
I wanted to be them
Rebellious and loud
Fair to say
It didn't work out
I was myself
And I'm content.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC