"proded" poems
Where will this take us now?
Is it us who outruly guiding us as we march dramaticly to the next room?
Will it be us who slams the door shut, or will we be boxed in with some automatic door opening and closing as more and more people come right in? Will we move along romanticing every little acomplishment we do, or will we morbidly and silently stubble on as we are poked and proded to keep moving? Will we finally rest as we see fit, or will we be told we have done enough? We all can easily anwser this in a way most people would generaly. We could stubernly and pridefuly declare that nothing shakles and moves us from one feeding trough to the next. We could so easily be just another rebel with a hollow cause that eagerly awaits to rip open the binds of all those around him, and finally take his spot in the limelight of respect and admirition. We can continue to dream and strive to be the philisophical moses of our generation, and lead our fellow brothers and sisters into a time where we all walk at our own pase, we all slam the doors we ourselves opened, and take any path we wish to travel in a way we feel best suits us. We could all be the one to hold on to the chains, or let the cattle go, but all of us are simply black sheep. So again I ask, who? I do not know, but I non the less seek an anwser.
Where will this take us now?
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
The sky rips through itself with ease.
Self-destruction is an art form when
you are nothing but constellations and wonder.
Black holes tear
through the fabric of the universe
and celestial hands reach through them,
scratching at God's flesh.
Stellar voices echo
through these pits of imbibe
asking it's creator
one question:
"why?"
Fistfuls of stars thrown into
the jarring teeth of inferno;
a flame that feuls more fire.
Planets are crushed
under gravity's legs,
and, like a child unsatisfied with a drawing,
the space between galaxies
crumples like paper.
Tired of being a feast for human eyes,
and being
Poked, Proded, and Penetrated by People
God's first and best creation
consumes itself whole
to satisfy
the hunger.
Sep 5, 2022
Sep 5, 2022 at 9:55 AM UTC
she said she couldn't believe i was real
but really, i was made in a lab
where they proded and poked
till this thing came out!
want me to do a little dance for you!?
balance on my dome?
swallow a sword?
find an exit off the interstate
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 8:31 AM UTC
This fine Sunday morn ,
a pigeon flapped into a tree ,
then straight into my window thud ,
I know this because it now lies in front of me ,
It’s lifeless face ,
It’s wings so still ,
and I’am wondering if it’s really Ill ?
I proded it ,
It did not move an inch ,
so I sat it on my dinner plate ,
and still before me in rigamortis lay ,
It did not move it's tiny head come what may ,
nor flapped it’s wings upon my dish .
Now my rat pie really should be flying high ,
i think not I should end its life with the faltering sky ,
I know not why ,
it had to die ,
but that bird never moved an inch ?
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 3:01 AM UTC
Little kitty poked and proded
Wanting to know everything
that the world had to offer her
Not caring about the consequences
her actions might have.
She wiggles her way into things
sometimes in way over her head.
Seeking the truth
Ferreting out the lies.
No matter the price.
Then one day her curiosity got to her
You know what they say
Curiosity killed the cat.
Her heart smashed
into a million shattered hopes
A million shattered promises.
Revenge formed in her deadened brain
Making the gears work again.
She pulled together her scattered heart
She plotted to right the wrong.
And laughed as it took place
Because
Curiosity killed the Cat
But what everyone doesnt know is,
Satisfaction Brought It Back.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
Before I met her I was a pathetic man
only sixteen and already hooked on *******
Doing terrible things for a living,
letting the past surround me like a shadow.
Always keeping others a bay
But then this whisp of a girl
a new teenager of thirteen,
she came plundering in
all left feet and no grace.
Talking to much, spoke her mind.
Stood tall where others hid.
She Smashed down the walls
I had so proudly Built.
She dared to speak of things
that the others shy'd away from.
She didnt put up with my ****
Refused to believe I wasnt better then this.
She poked and she proded,
until I finally opened up.
She took this loner,
this cold hearted soul
she brought back the child within me
that I thought was forever lost.
Pandora has her hold on me.
She may be my sister,
But she is so much more.
She is my savior
She is my strength
My Hero
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:41 PM UTC
shamefully hidden in skin
my bones are pins and needles
heart of television static
discomfort ****** upon me from first breath
take back my cage of flesh
it rusts around my soul
twists my fears into reality
trapped with my self doubt
i seek validation in your being
pray for our old infatuation
instead of this sick rivalry
who can suffer the most
wounds barley scabbed over
picked and proded until detrimental
intestines piled on cold concrete
stomach safety pinned together
rip open my world again
glide your blade peacfully through me
your weapons are welcomed
it's easier to be hurt by you
than to learn and leave
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC