Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Umi Mar 2018
Endless nights are passing, shadows lurking upon one another, one of greater darkness than the other, just waiting for pray alike a spider,
Fingernails possessed by a woman, sharper than knifes, almost alike claws they are an ornament to her delicate looking sweet body,
Her ****** devotion, driving her mad in a moment of distraction from deep within her split mind, time stands still, meaning is lost,
What's left to hunt in a place in which a monster causes rampage ?
Wasting no time, she seeks her next victim, drenched in impurity.
Approaching it the girl pretends to be gentle, caring yet worried but in truth she had only one plan, to feed of its despair, its infinite pain,
With crimson tears of both joy and fear of what she had become, the gal greets it to the end of its already shortened life after she gained trust, respect, maybe even a little love in this blazing hell with no sun,
Knocking it over she ramms her nails into the flesh of his face, piercing through while making sure he is not able to gain any motion,
Softly, in a slow cruel yet elegant manner she rips off chunks of it,
A distorted scream fills the room, laughter accompanies it as she loses herself to this waving melody of pain, questioning wheter or not to be replaced by the transience they have named life, or wether to live on,
As soon as he stops screaming she cuts through his cheek, getting stuck, breaking away her nail to set her hand free once again,
Nine knifes remain in there after all, surely that would be enough,
Clapping her hands in glee her next motive was a skillful punch to knock him out after her satisfaction of ruining his face had reached its peak in a riot of unexplored, absolutely undefined emotions,
Awaiting the awakening of her pray the lunatic sharpens her nails once again, now they would go on to the second act of her crime,
Tortured with true or false of this action she decides to take a stand
*******, simply to draw on the blood drenched body with cutting marks of the finest lines in an art of lunacy, a nightmare,
Recurrance in emotions, recurrance in her actions, for her it's "fun",
Act 3 has come close, it was time to rip him open and reveal his treasure, for what she actually wanted was a heart she never had,
Straight cutting to the mans chest it had been done, all what was needed now would be to break his rips to fully expose his insides,
Ah, phantoms of a long past, as the present burns away with cuts,
The symbol of hatred had achieved her final destiny, at last that is,
Each ***** was either ripped off and thrown out in fury or devoured immediately in her hunger she felt whilst working,
Hanging him by his guts she takes everything out till he is hollow,
Lifeless she watches him rot a little, having crushed his bones,
What was left when time is moving once again in a realm of light ?
Her crime goes unrecorded, unnoticed as the corpse became fuel for the fire alike hell, until her twisted mind drags her to do this again

~ Umi
ArturVRivunov Oct 2011
life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr
TheTeacher Oct 2012
Come on over and sit right down
The storyteller has come to town.

So many stories I have acquired and that's a fact....I keep them hidden in my knapsack in a book that's white and black.

This a story about you.......It was a day just like this .....a total stranger came to offer you A gift.

It was wrapped in the most beautiful paper one has ever seen.  The workmanship was awesome.....some would say prestine.

He leaned on his cane .....due to a bad leg.  He hurt it one night wrestling until the early morn......he also received a gift like a mother who cuddles her newborn.

So ....as he leaned upon the cane and lit his corncob pipe ....and blew smoke in the air.  The extravagant gift was placed on the chair.

He said "This gift that is contained in this box is something that everyone wants." " You have have been chosen to receive this gift." "You don't have to take it.....you can give it to another.....if you chose.  Although....it wouldn't be wise to make such a move."

The gift is still sitting in that chair......should I open it or leave it there?

A potential to change my life and end the strife I face on a daily basis.  This isn't a deserted scene where you will see a thirst quenching oasis.

My basis for this story is about choices.....you have so many voices guiding your every thought......sometimes we chose wisely......and other times not so much.

These are the occasions when we lose touch or sight between right or wrong......the consequences for that wrong selection.......will have me singing a sad song.

If I chose wisely the day will be a lot easier to travel...not a perfect ride.....but I will arrive with all my bags in tow.

Chose wisely ........

So....he gathered his belongings and blew a smoke ring in the air.......and hobbled off into the distance.  He hummed a jovial tune and yelled back that he would return soon.

The Storyteller...........
Chelsea Rae Sep 2018
The damage was inside her,
Like the blood coursing in her veins.

Invisible cracks running under her porcelain skin.
Scars from the erosion of constant
Toxicity.

There's nothing more I wish to do
Than to fill in the cracks.

Sand and polish her
Back to prestine condition.

The way she was before the world
Wore her down.
Some people are just too far gone.
Let everything be in its prestine condition
Hold on to your ambition
2017 has already ended
But don't worry my friend
Here is a new year
A new beginning for us all
No need to fear
Because God will hear your call
So let us welcome 2018
And it will be good to us all
Here is a new year to reaching our dreams and leaving the bitterness of the past year.
*HAPPY NEW YEAR FOLKS
Greetings to you all!! :*
SG Holter Jan 2015
Going home to the country side for
The weekend, where
The snow is twice as
Deep and prestine.

I've promised my girl we'll put
Winter clothes on and trek through
The woods; play children.
Lay flat on our backs

On soft whiteness between naked
Trees, just listening to
Winds like the ghosts of whales
Swimming the skies singing;

Calling to the echos of
Their echos' echos.
Then, red cheeked and sniffling,
Brush January from ourselves,

Stump snow from boots, and head
Inside for hot showers.
Her wet hair slowly drying
By an open fire. Wine, and either

Music or just the whispers of
Winter playing with the ancient
Wood in the walls between
Silences.

Candle light catching the white
Flashes of flakes falling outside
Ice cornered window glass
In complete, quiet darkness.

She calls it camping in the cabin.
To me, it will
Always be
*Home.
This is a improv poem
As vibrant and vivacious as a brand new totem
My luck feels like a bad game of Texas Hold 'Em
Instead of picking up the cards I fold them
The moon is covered in clouds when I walk out on the porch
Letting my presence sink like a dying torch
I'm not the one who rides on self pity
But I'm the lonely beggar drowning in the city
Barely making it
I can swear to you I'm not faking it
Everything that happens in my life
Should not contuine in my offspring
For they only know unity and peace
Until I send them off into this world
Where people are hanged and ******
For being the ones who want to live freely
As I know times are tough
I must not get my hands too rough
I must make sure the water is just right and my tone is prestine
So they can comprehend why I'm intently serene
So they can remember my words
So that they can swing the sword
With only thier words
For that they can become much more ambitious than other kids in their generation
And seize the hearts of a nation
They could become beloved sensations
That would be my greatest iteration
God bless me for that I've loved
Will bless me with the most beautiful people the Earth could possibly have standing
Taking after their mother
Who is my queen of the kingdom I so want to return to
As life is the opposing men capturing me and keeping me in their cold, lonely, prison.
This poem was done by improv. I really honed my skills at coming up with poems out of the whim. It's a beautiful skill.
These three hundred dollar candles on this table
Are challenging their value over me
Sorry I'm not specially scented
I'm speaking to a candle, I must be heavily demented
I don't belong in this Italian Restaurant
I might challenge their romanticness
Polish and prestine
Just a toast for Christine
I'm not the biggest spender for tiny appiitizers
K Balachandran Feb 2012
Past,
i saw you crossing  roaring rivers and
climbing snow clad mountains,
taking long walks through prestine landscapes,
or loosing completely in  ecstatic rain dances,

But,
when i sought you,
and after long last,
found you there,
where you were hiding in disguise,
like a refugee, whose passport was lost--

you were,
mostly eliminated,
like a map, eaten by hungry moths ,
vastly altered
by time, the great forger
hiding in my own attic,

drastically cut,
particularly at corners,
like a cake eaten by greedy cats,
totally sanitised,
clumsily cleaned,
shades of dark completely erased,
unknowing it's value, to create contrast
foolishly whitened,
throwing  sense of aesthetics,
on the way side.

I can see frills attached without any rhyme or reason,
specifics, misinerpreted in many unwanted places,
dark lines of interference, criss crossed,
killing the  pleasure of recollection.

And,  what is  the precious left over?
do i see anything significant at all?
your this avatar, i would have gladly
submitted to  Herr Alzeimer's

what i see before mind's eye is delicately positioned,
ambiguity has taken active control, effectively of  all details,
i stand aghast,
close my eyes
and try to answer
the question that arises:
"who exactly is this?
the memories reappearing as a ghost
to bring me  back to senses,
and make me come in  terms,
with what has passed for ever?"
                                       #
Jake Bolton Apr 2012
i gaze at its brilliance
it fills me
lightning flashes across the sky
i feel calm, serene
my feeling comes back to me
the days numbness wears away
every bolt is energizing
bringing me in closer
to what loves me the most
it protects me
intrigues me
and i am lost in its beauty
I love it
and what i feel for it is indescribable
untouchable
prestine
Butch Decatoria Jul 2020
Wallace, my man Wallace, fell
In love with his wife,
For real for real
Fell in love.

If someone should happen upon
To see the two of them
If by chance passed by
Them two together

How odd a couple
They may say
She's such a little thing
Something so prestine to
Wallace, homeless guy howler.
Who is more himself with her than
Without her.

Mr. dumpster-diver-king!

The two individually are
Themselves genuinely
Together lovey-dovey,
Not an act.

Wallace falls in love,
Says that's a fact
Knowing that it also means
You've found someone
to lose.

Still, Wallace knew
love.
It's the god-honest Truth.

Then I ask Wallace
Mindful of the streets,
I ask him poignantly

Do you believe

in-- ?
Dotdotdot
Hastily he barks:
"Of course I did, do--believe in God above."

Didn't let me finish:
"Do you believe in --Love?"
Didn't ask for more
Than that,
Oh my ...

(Word) (goodness) (God)

To Wallace,
A Lonely Man's church is
the memory of wife who’s love
was long and always bright,
he’s just a lonely king
dumpster diving
a shadow of a thing...
To Wallace, she was everything...
(Dedicated to his wife, lost to Covid)
SG Holter Oct 2014
Eyes as blue as the North Sea,
Hair black as the soul of a crow.

Smile like that of a child
Seeing a bicycle finally

Unwrapped and shining, smelling
Factory fresh and prestine.

She'd beat the life out of any fool
Laying fist on my flesh, she says.

I trust she would.
My western Norwegian Shield Maiden,

Born on the coast where seagulls are the
Size of dragons.

She has one foot on top of the world,
The other rested on my lap,

And we're team more than lovers.
Lovers more than people.

Eyes as blue as her hometown skies.
Hair as black as the absence of light

Itself. And I, pilgrim.  
Rest.
brandon nagley May 2015
Thou art now subject to moral decay,
Moral display is factored in thy oddjob list,
Wherein snob-ball Lisp's are sumblime in groupie sets!!!!

Woe to be pondered,
Sky's souly to be wandered through broken holed boat's,
To neat-nice pottery stinking nets!!!

Astute loons maketh their graces high and mighty,
Where tribes stay rewinding their beginning end's of birth,
Art thou a leader from many kingdom's?
Or a lubricant to zealous curse!!!!!

Spoon's replace knive's,
Deadly sin to replace wive's,
Crimes against humanity puppeteer the market's trail,
Crumb's reach the helpless, whilst snarling dog's drag tail!!!!

Embankments to fit the streamed beauties,
Where prestine muting is sound fit to cold coated bones!!!

Infrequency goes higher to the laughing in lover's valley,
Wherein pin's to sportsman's ball goes rallied,
Tallied up zero to zero four score!!!

None makes a difference if thou art the lonely beggar at loves lost door!!!!

A premium stands by for the serpent who make's it's pass,
Crawl through the fiery hole thou stained creature,
Step out betwixt the cities of the now and forever future!!!!
#prisonview, #unspokensoul
Your seas may he prestine
But mine were dumped endlessly
Polluted and disrespected
I hope somebody tries to clean it all up.
SG Holter Nov 2015
Gods, gods, gods.
Let them fight their own battles,
Shed their godblood upon the
Space between the in-betweens
While us mere mortals play
In peace
On Terra Firma.

The crimson linings of the clouds
That shield Heaven from our
Prayers drip drops that leave
Stains in the shape of our children
On battleground surfaces.
The bullets they bite won't fill
Their bellies.

Winter trees in deep sleep under
A thin film of ice; the broken
Water of Winter.
Soon all is white; crystals floating
On the wind between the worlds;
Leaving this one prestine and
Pure, like infant prayer,

Only to arrive at another and be
Stained with war-steel and
The tears of the dying.
Gods with egos:
I fear them more than
A million
Angry men.
Butch Decatoria Jun 2016
Before that Final day
dictates the Sounds & Furies
as All as eye
for you by you
the minutia dress of un-success
dross and bullets
butterfly wings beautiful
garbage
gots to sho-fo...

Before the infinite space eyes
scrutinize
on that final day
beyond spatial searching
for good graces
like light being recognized
love on all faces

on that last day having failed
our Mother's womb
this fine fine fortress of a home
evergreen--sea--sky--blue
if Absolute were upon us
curtains and swan songs
for Georges and Gorgeous dreams
this beautiful jetsam
garbage heap
from Rosetta ashes
with form from crushed cosmic soups

a stone
spinning kaleidoscope
at most, spheres
with tearful fears
bewilderment cheers
heavenly lungs vying
all of us here impatiently dying
everyday with the sun

Wait for the Father's love
to once again save us
before the infinite
upheaval...

Upon piles and piles of off-putting
garbage heaps
a child is picking up things
anything of value
something of sustenance
lessons of happenstance

And Low! It is not good...
All are our children - being denied food & mirth
But what is a song to a diminished bird?
no cage more cruel than loss of life's worth
the tossed away

little tiny
shavings from the noble
mettle from Excalibur's dross
diamonds glittering nightime gowns
picking up trash in prestine dresses?
babies precious lumps of coal
with little value
but our future blessed...

In the heart's sacred berths
Love upholds
Life more than gold...

Because... Day oh!         Mi za Day - oh!
Daylight has come..."


(Home = Priceless)
J J Nov 2019
Luminescent skin, spiralling layers pressed
From inside the curling dagger pollen;
Violin strings draw forth the butterflies
Towards their fate, cerberus lips clasp
Wings of dafodil— spotty mossy green
Outcrosses the budded red drooping dead;
Akashic run, like that of a waterfall
Whence rippling pendulums row,caught infinitely.

Glowing stem— seperating to laughing claws
and mandalas paused along fully harmonious crease;
All falls back to fungal soil underground
For which all life is magnetically supported:
Prestine exoskeleton, flaming bones
that weavith skyward with ancestral ghost
softly chasing, having foundated their creator.

Blonde hair binding split petals via waves
  Of furious vibrations, snapped calm and quiet.

Mature flesh and bone, whom let the pencil
Move over pale canvas—
'I picture a clock that's arms spin fire
Outward. '
Poor woman, legless two years
Prior to her deathday— wonderous harbinger
Who once, overwhelmed by the menial day to day,
let pencil fall,skim and form
   and reform

Beautifying the world -- lonely, bold and brave
Her mind image caught, fished through the haze

And etched for the rest of time to forget.
Tribute to an amazing Czech artist
Kimmy-Nichole Apr 2011
The sky is so lit with silver diamonds shimmering in the night sky
so pretty so prestine
why oh why cant this just be one big bad dream
alone in isolation
forced to learn
how to grow up
and not to be the ***** from so cal
who loves me
but doesnt respect me
yet is so protective of me from other guys
but no from his choice violent choice of words
from the little boy with one big ego
Leila Whitney Jul 2017
Cracks form aside eyes of-
tweakers.
Heads down-
shuffling.
Stop. Smile. Beg.
Might as well fetch too.
Dark alleyway stops.
Shoot up.
Shooting down the block.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Heart racing.
Stand-
shuffle more.
Place to place,
Block to block,
Light after light,
Searing your pride.
Downcast eyes.
Prestine scowls.
Plastic smiles.
Stop. Smile. Beg.
Furrowed brows.
Echoed no's.
Fold in half,
"God bless."
Yelled, **** no's.
Who do you think you are?
Get a job.
Don't beg.
Shuffle back.
Empty parking lot.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop. Smile. Breathe.
Shoot up.
Stop.
Smile.
Break.

Body no more.
Soul gone long before.
Be kind to those less fortunate than you. There lives are also important.
Death-throws Aug 2015
I
airport walls
universty halls
hospital toilet stalls
for when nature calls
places to cold and clean
to sheen
places so white and clean
so fake and prestine
so healthy and safe


II

and all are for waste
the germs in hospital  stalls **** more
then the university walls see students
steering suicidely out windows and doors
looking for the quickest route to the floor
which might be four stories out of a window...
and into the paved covers of my concrete queen size
sleep for infinity what a way to rest my eyes
what a way to be alive
no stories to be told from dead eyes
Gregory Mark Nov 2014
The first coat of snow
Waking up to a white canvas

Pure and prestine
Sterile and clean
Covering the last hints of green

A soft mask
Over gravel and grass

What does winter truly bring?
A reason to look forward to spring
K Balachandran Jun 2018
I won’t bother much, my friend
Whether it’s a secret treasure hunt,
Pilgrimage to the mountain shrine
Or just a jaunt along the scenic trrrain
There certainly would be surprises
Experiences to lighten one’s steps
Meet many otherwise I won’t see
Unless I chose this one journey through
Prestine roads that kept their character intact.
Rubbing shoulders with folks
Keeping abreast of their stories,
Shaking  hands with people with heart!
Each face is deeply etched in my memory!
After parakeets I ran,wondered  at
The  rainbow  colors on butterfly wings!
Orchids had a blend of fragrance and magical colors.
Once at a stop a girl sat with me,
And credling my heart told stories  of ethereal experiences,
I still trudge,pollen from flowers
make me look like
A bee in search of honey of a rare blend!
Elena Sep 2018
The night was dark. Pitch black as ebony. Thick, putrid clouds, swirling yet stagnant, a confused cloud of shadows, chaotic and ugly. The repulsive, murky mist of lies and darkness seemed to smother the filthy ghost of a once-white mansion
The seemingly sinister gas brewed like a storm, disturbing and convoluted as a filthy pond - the waters stirred darkly as pungent, coal-black mud was upset by unseen forces, the clarity and sweetness of prestine water now a distant memory. Echoing cries for restoration long since drowned out by the low, droning roar of the turmoltuos, all consuming cloud of despair.
But then -
But then, through the tarr black haze, where all hope was lost
But then, through the tarr black haze, a clear, pure note.
The sound of a distant trumpet, a battle cry, a chorus of distant, thundering feet pounding against the dusty roads, angry.
Angry, angry people, but angry was not all these people were.
Angry, angry, but these people who would become our saviors were hopeful.
Clear, blue passion, streaked crimson with fury.
They radiated from these people, protests.
These people cared. And with this care the people began to clear the stagnant water of lies and immorality, closer and closer to the crystal, sparkling pool of idealism.
And though the water never sparkled as much as the eyes of these people did when they spoke of their hopes and dreams, these people were satisfied, having made the lives of the people around them just that much better. And how? Oh, just a dash of passionate action.
.
Heavens celebrate
With
Silver gates,
Silver flowers,
Silver crowns,
Silver tiaras,
everywhere.

Silver curtains,
Silver gowns,
Silver capes,
Silver drapes,
everywhere.

Shining blossoms,
Fragrance filled,
Echoing smiles,
Pearly clouds,
everywhere.

Angels clad in
brightest silver,
Fairies dancing around,
Harp with it's
silver strands,
Playing it's tune and sound.
Flute echoing from
far behind,
The ambience full
of cheer.

Stars assembled to bedazzle each and
every turn,
Moon brightens the nook and corner of the big heaven,
You are running around in the pristine silver attire.
Today's your 16th birthday,
And
Celebrations are planned in heaven, my dear!

All the Gods and Goddesses are invited,
Cakes are bigger than the tallest tree,
Trees are laden with chocolates and truffles,
Eateries bright and silvery too.
Making the atmosphere prestine and pure.

It's your birthday
dear son,
And
Celebrations are planned in Heavens!
Mom & Dad sends you love, hugs and kisses,
They wish you the
best of today
And
Lots of love travels  your way down here from,
The Earth.
As,
Celebrations are planned for your birthday in Heavens.


Sparkle In Wisdom
19/11/2020
My son Aayush had his birthday today.
He left for heaven 5 years ago.
Javier Garza Jul 2017
He struggles to drag the pencil
Can't find the strength to pick up the brush
Falls into the pure canvas

How can he depict the colors that haunt him
The vivid oils that torment him

With shaking hands,
The pen floats above the untainted
To smear the dark ink would be to sin

Tears are all the empty canvas take
No polluted graphite to smear it
Paint won't wound the prestine white

Preserve the innocent
Protect the untainted
Even if it's a lie,
Even if under the surface colors reign in chaos
Zoe Sue Mar 2018
If I collected our memories and put them in a jar
There'd be withered petals
And prestine fake flowers
There'd be im sorry notes
And I love yous
There'd be a finnickey watch
And sandy bottle caps
I'd see crumpled concert tickets
And chipped nail polish
There'd be flamin hot peanuts
And pictures slightly burned round the edges
There'd be tears
And ***
And magic mushrooms
There'd be dirt
And eye crust
And sandman dream dust
There'd be eyebrow hairs
And recipes for laughter
There'd be more than I can see
Then much more beneath
And if I close this lid
I wont know what comes after
Eriko Mar 2017
the still, still girl
who fought for her battles
ramming standstill
as the dunes washed beneath
the weight of her heavy, heavy feet
tire and sore-some
from all the miles she had to overcome,
and a wealth of blisters
here, her shadow stretched far and prestine
even under the deep blanket of night,
step after step, without a knight she moves
swiftly through the sandy dunes
knowing, bristling in her heart
only a comet as true to its course
will lay a stop
to the journey which
she wills
Butch Decatoria Dec 2020
Wallace, my man Wallace, fell
In love with his wife,
For real for real
Fell in love.

If someone should happen upon
To see the two of them
If by chance passed by
Them two together

How odd a couple
They may say
She's such a little thing
Something so prestine to
Wallace, homeless guy howler.
Who is more himself with her than
Without her.

Mr. dumpster-diver-king!

The two individually are
Themselves genuinely
Together lovey-dovey,
Not an act.

Wallace falls in love,
Says that's a fact
Knowing that it also means
He’s found someone
to lose.

Still, Wallace knew
love.
It's the god-honest Truth.
A lonely man’s church.
Dedicated to his wife lost to COVID-19

— The End —