"purification" poems
I am Sin
In its purest and rawest form.
& for that, I have no shame
as fire in the bible resembles
purification.
I...
repent.
And so
as this fire
burns between my legs
flickering images of your full, yet delicate figure
cross my mind.
I turn into myself
& wish me anew.
my fingers cupping and twirling
so gracefully...
caressing...
as I scream my confessions
I'm born again.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 10:53 PM UTC
Left myself behind for Thy sake
Modify me through soul's remake
O' Lord! can't be more of a betrayer
Still though, I yearn for a divine remake
My heart is in Makkah
My heart is in Makkah!
Eyes can't bear watching, but none bothers
I ask for protection, for me and my brothers
Extreme suffering, such a cruel massacre
I ask for Jannah, for me and my brothers
Over our heads have we turned ******* n waste
I ask for purification, for me and my brothers
None cares for the sufferers as though not human
I ask Thy attention, for me and my brothers
My heart is in Palestine
My heart is in Palestine!
I plea to be bathed in the divine henna
In the home of the Prophet, madina madina
In the land of peace, make me offer a prayer
For me, my fellows, in the heart of madina
Revive once again the brotherhood amongst us
Like them ansaris and muhajirs of madina
Can't wait but for a chance or an opportunity
Offering myself forth, take me to madina
My heart is in Madina
My heart is in Madina!
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 8:45 AM UTC
Sonoran desert
sacred, hot breathed
scorch of footsteps, blood red sands
sun bleached bones and skulls
this wash a hallowed holy ghost
an unnerving place of hiss and fire
molten sun to dry the water
a drowning fever of prickly sweat
last night the Yaqui man you met
undulating in a purification ceremony
lashing energy cords cut
he is laughing like coyote, wild eyed
green the velvet desert peyote
awakened you have come to understand
a universe within a fleck of sand.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Sleep, dearest creature of the night, you who adores the shining moon, I said to myself as the music began to echo through the room
A nyctophile blood ******* devil, gifted black demonic wings alike a bat when it flies, strengh beyond reason and a tongue full of sick lies,
Yet a ray of sun may be lethal to you, burning you away as if you were paper caught in a firestorm, an inferno of heat, vaporized at last,
Life force relies in blood, impurities of constant change I need since I have already passed away theoretically I am most likely already dead
A music box plays for me alone, transient melodies from the recurring memories of a brighter, vivid past, to which I am are unable to return to,
Ahh, phantoms, a nuisance of the mortal life I have escaped alike the shooting stars over a clear, living,traveling, dark blue night sky
Have I toiled well, hard or long to achieve heaven, yet have become stuck as the devils tool in a illusionary world with no end ?
Flowing water seals me away, I cannot cross when it rains, and need a polite, kind invitement to intrude and cause wicked bloodshed
Sleep, so I may can be innocent until the sun has sunken down to rest,
Slumber, the world of dreams is free from weaknesses to purification,
With great magic, comes a devils recitation, engaging in a distant dream far beyond the grasp of my crimson, blood drenched hands,
Unable to advance, shadows of those who have forgotten the fear of darkness spread and creep around, hidden in nights embrace
Empty consciousness I am attracted like a fluttering butterfly to the gentle reflected light by the full moon in its fullest sensation,
Raise this song of love and paint it in a moonlit night for me,
Dance with me, until we aren't part of this world any longer, dear,
Sounds melt into silence, structure forms within chains of destiny,
Even if tomorrow were never to come, I couldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes
~ Umi
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with
songs of my Nubian
mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside
there as they roll
lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned
with cosmos and
planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks
of ships. see these
curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls
were branded and forced
at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog
bites and whites
only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see
these curls dance
wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit
back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see
these curls dare you
to force them to
coerce them to
straighten up
their act. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls will not
******* relax.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
"Dear Rolf Harrer,
I am a person you don't know. A man you've never met...But you are someone who occupies my mind...and my heart...in this distant land where I've gone. If you can imagine a hidden place, tucked safely away from the world...concealed by walls of high, snow-capped mountains...a place rich with all the strange beauty of your night-time dreams...Then you know where I am."
"In the country where I'm travelling - Tibet - people believe if they walk long distances to holy places...it purifies the bad deeds they've committed...They believe the more difficult the journey, the greater the depth of purification."
"...In this place where time stands still, it seems that everything is moving..including me. I can't say I know where I'm going. Nor whether my bad deeds can be purified...there are so many things I've done which I regret. But when I come to a full stop, I hope you will understand that the distance between us is not as great as it seems...
With deep affection,
your father...
Heinrich Harrer."
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my ancestral home,
where generations lived.
Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found not an easy task it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He puzzled me with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.
The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights "for your confused soul"
"To fit in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient throne.
An antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.
I watched Hell's Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.
I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.
And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.
A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.
And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.
Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the *** prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.
But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.
So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
Ever wonder what someone's sadness feels like?
Ever really see that there's a huge difference between theirs and your own?
What you understand as depression, may only be a blue day for another.
I suppose that's why we can't relate to all poetry,
Or truly understand much of it,
To its cold point.
How can we be predispositioned in good,
While surrounded by so much evil?
Call it human nature;
No such thing as corruption,
Instead it's all about purification.
Daily struggles, testing our patience and ability to remain on a steady path.
Each successful decision resulting in a step closer to personal sublimation.
So what if dreams are reality,
And reality is just the dream?
Who's to say life is what it seems,
And that dreams are only mental representations of our inner desires?
Life's a withdrawal and dreams are the drugs that stop it,
Yet equally prolong it.
Then you wake up again.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
circumcised: to purify spiritually
On the eighth day,
from my nativity,
circumcised,
as is the custom of my
wandering tribe.
marked thusly,
perma-identity carded,
thusly begins the path,
a pink-bricked road this one,
not to the Mighty Oz,
no phony curtain pulled aside,
where anyone goes to get
spiritual purification
for a price
Ah, you suspected something else,
something explicit,
not me~style,
give you honey,
road provisions,
come along for the observing his
clickety clackty clock
Ready?
For where we venture there is only
one exit,
And you are so not ready - I am who I am and I am
not ready too...
every line an enunciation,
every stanza an annunciation,
Angel Gabriel, a solo duo, unlike
Beyoncé and Jesus
we be on our way to any kind of purity,
poetry can buy
who knows what awaits us,
could be catholic, universal,
even the uncircumcised
get a chance to enunciate.
let me offer a clarification.
proclamations and sensations,
conditions and exploitations,
brown eyed girls, and surfer boys,
functions and malfunctions too,
abbreviations or adjudications,
conjugations in the congregation,
exhumation, the final excommunication,
I shun none,
I enunciate this:
false starts and junction boxes,
too many so so tired,
when can I lay down my shovel
and cease the decreasing deceasing of the body
this day nears complete,
and soon to eat
the last meal,
and still I ask
when can I lay down my shovel,
when will purity be mine,
my spirit's circumstances
repeat the commercial,
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
forgive my abstrusion,
my metaphors always offer perfect laxity,
choose the interpretation that pleases most
and my drift is toward the end of days,
when will my brow be a motif of
anointment and crowning head birth?
This is my Enunciation.
I cannot yet lay down the shovel,
and this writ is as of yet, still uncircumcised -
completely incomplete, it will be finished
when the spirit says
you are the purity,
the trinity of two hands holding two others holding two others holding two others and the chain is perfect because
it is broken perfectly, a forever repetitive respective handle with care
process
Forgive my visionary words that
give little clarity,
so summary due you,
This is my
Pronoun citation
I am
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate
on my way to the purity of spirit.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
*Throw up,
now strip your fear from your illness
speak of dogs chasing dolls
but don't know the difference between
one's inner-self and a mirage.
Feel the sweat trickle down
yeah that putrid aroma
take you away from humanity.
Fear stricken eyes
sense of belonging
it makes you want to choke
run along and find your missing link
it's just that easy.
Turn your head and break my back
blue, yellow and green
it all makes sense now
brake your bones on a tightrope
and seek ye who snorts ecstasy.
follow the purge into an army of rebellion
Tick Tick Boom !
there goes your imagination.
taint my vocabulary
who soars within the bars of psyche.
I lost my self in the meadow
find Bambi and Pinocchio gambling on steroids
get lost in your creativity
find a haven in the flames
listen for her soul
I hear she has the best intent.
Seek purification in
the arms of a sinner
no use looking for redemption in wasteful youth
now darling fade into the night
for the dark will comfort you of all your despair
Brandy + Whisky...*
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
I've limped through another
day
weeK
birth
I got scars to feel especially when they're burned
limited in imagination
sparking only when I
**********
die
start my car
I get high now, again
it makes little to no sense
television
cold spells
online video games
my lighter works
I believe in purification
Ill try to achieve the heights of my imagination
again I try
sometimes twice a day
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Preponderant enchantments written
With dawns bereft tears
Of a hircine mendicant
Upon a necromantic acorn
Thirsting times wild-wize monition
During a week of sundays
Atide sins wake awash
Clarities purification.
Natures immure debt drawing
Maledictions masterpiece,
Leys bane web mercifully mirroring
Obsidian sibilant eyes
Peccably prenouncing the portent
Languid whisper inquisitorially;
Heavens augumented vestments
Distinguishable amid eternities
Pensive shade as thuriferous
Hallowed tombs loom black
As ink, somewhere that was
Thought to be void far between
The dark hour anchoring the
Fractured talisman of loves memoirs.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
You hear those saint fainted swines? Slopping around ****** in muck. For hogs seeking bogs, bespatter the pink with thick mire. Dull sluggish foul smelled trolls, basking a bridges under cove, feasting on distant mare. But old boar’s belly’s’ under grown, he has not self meat to spare. Go elsewhere wise butcher. Go elsewhere. Grieve not thy ******* of purification, instead satisfactory of sales. He has not the soul to touch rare blood of a bessy hung by hook. Sars covered hands, sars drenched the feet. Not here butcher, elsewhere lay menial meat.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 6:16 PM UTC
Is there a way to eliminate all Fear?
Can we be Happy and live with Cheer?
Can we stop Worrying and living with Stress?
Can we eliminate Anxiety that makes our life, a Mess?
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
Is your life filled with Depression?
Do you want to make your life a Celebration?
The culprit, the enemy, is your own Mind
It’s robbing your Peace and Bliss, you will Find!
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
All our miseries are rooted in Thought
When in toxic Thought, We are Caught
Then, we are filled with Rotten Thoughts that are Junk
We lose our Peace, can’t live like a Monk
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
We all suffer this Triple Suffering on Earth!
These miseries are for all those who take Birth
But there is a way out of this Mess
We can eliminate Fear, Anxiety and Stress
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
To find Peace, Let’s get to the bottom of the Root
To be Blissful, we must Realize the Truth
The Mind is a crook, it acts like the King
But in fact, it causes all Suffering
Let’s discover the secret of Peace and Happiness!
Not one or two, it’s fifty thoughts, a Minute
The Mind bombards us and we are Lost in it
Then it becomes our boss, rides our Life Horse
We are controlled by it, this is a big Loss
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
The first secret is simple, move from NEP to PEP!
From Negative to Positive, Take this First Step
Then, we must move from Mind to Consciousness
And live a Life of Peace and Happiness
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
How do you do it? Try to find the Mind
Where is the Mind, You cannot Find!
Still, this Rascal makes us Blind
Let us discover the Truth, leave the Mind
Behind Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
What is the way to **** the Mind?
It is simple, we must still the Mind
The Mind with the Ego, becomes the ME
Then from Misery, we are not Free
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
The ME creates Anger, Revenge and Hate
There is Jealousy and Anguish at our Life’s Gate
Together, the Mind and Ego, ME, make us Cry
We then look at the sky and ask, ‘Why?’
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
Those who Realize that Life is just a Drama
That everything is Karma, for them, there is no Trauma
They realize that Suffering is nothing but a Choice
They choose to be Happy, they choose to be Wise
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
The fact is, we are not the Body, Ego or Mind
We are the Soul, this Truth we must Find
The Soul never suffers, it radiates Peace
In Consciousness, there is no Sorrow, Miseries Cease
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
Those who think that Success is Happiness
They run behind Pleasure, live with Anxiety and Stress
They don’t realize that the Foundation is Peace
Where there is no Peace, our Sorrow will Increase
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
The Secret teaches us to go beyond Entertainment
It gives us Ultimate Bliss with Enlightenment
When we Realize, we are the Divine Soul
In Eternal Bliss, we achieve our Goal
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
The journey starts with Illumination
Then there is Purification and Realization
From Misery, there is Liberation
In Bliss, there is Divine Unification
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
There is a way to be Happy, all day
We can eliminate Misery, take Sorrow away
Though the skies are Cloudy and Grey
We can be Happy, whatever comes our way
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
So, let’s start and remove all the Junk
Tame the Monkey Mind, make it a Monk!
Let’s make the resolve to Suffer No More
Push the Mind out and Lock the Door
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
What is the way to Eternal Bliss?
It is living in Truth Consciousness
When we overcome the myth and Realize the Truth
Then Peace and Bliss will fill our Root
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
There is no need to live with Fear and Stress
Remove Anxiety and Worry that is causing the Mess
Live in Consciousness, live in Peace
When there is no Mind, Miseries Cease
Let’s discover the secret to Peace and Happiness!
Jan 28, 2024
Jan 28, 2024 at 3:11 AM 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
XXIII
Methought I saw my late espousèd saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint.
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the Old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heav’n without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O, as to embrace me she inclined,
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.
2.1k
I am a pure devotee of God
And I go to the temple every day
I am a very strict vegetarian
And keep my body very clean
Yesterday I went to the temple
While I was about to enter it
A ***** beggar touched my feet
And begged for alms
My body was polluted
And I went home
To have a purification bath
And got back and was taken aback
I was surrounded by
A host of beggars
Who touched my feet
One by one shamelessly
I was totally polluted
My sanctity is unfortunately lost
I will never get God’s innumerable blessings
I will never excuse the ***** beggars for their misgivings
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 4:36 AM UTC
She plunges into the hot water
and begins to scrub. Brush and
soap on skin. She wants him off
and out of her. Undo him from her.
Unkiss his kisses, untouch his touches.
She breathes in. She reeks, stinks
of him. He seems to have penetrated
every orifice on her body. She pushes
herself under the water, holds herself
there, opens her eyes even the sting
brings no purification. She sits up and
holds the sides of the bath. Calm down
she tells her shaking hands and legs
but they disobey and carry on like
disobedient children in play. She tries
to think of other things. Think of
somewhere nice, some time once
enjoyed, some pleasure once had,
sipping of the best wine, greedy
eating of caviar or grape. But no.
Everything is focused on him and
the **** She rubs and scrubs until
she’s red and raw. Stop stop her
inner voice screams. Nothing is
what it seems. He pushes his way
even into her every thought now.
He seeps into every pore. The water
fails to clean. She sits there naked,
undone, brush in hand, hair in a mess.
This is not real she says, but knows
it is, she in the bath, wet, raw, sore
and sullied. Yes that’s a word mother
would have used: sullied. Tainted,
tarnished, degraded or as Mother
would have said: dishonoured. She
focuses on each aspect of her flesh
as if seen for the first time. What
you focus on is your reality. Who said
that? Does it matter now? Dostoevsky?
The Idiot, that book. Who cares who
said what. The water is no longer hot.
He is still on skin and in orifice in spite
of the rubs and scrubs and tears and curses.
No longer the innocent, no more the
sipping of wine or eating of grape.
Just him and memory of the ****
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 1:52 AM UTC
Come to me, my dearest one.
Let me get inside you more;
naivety is your nature,
thus eager to please
and to be pleased
—time flies like a fleeting bluebird,
a fairy in its blue bright spirit,
and still you’re nearing my presence.
Almost there, so be afraid of me,
and yet fond of me,
for I'll never let you stray off anymore
—stop your wandering, no more—
and ‘tis the proof that I hold you so dear.
I long to relish that imminent moment
where you’ll give me the enjoyable tickles
while struggling in my arms tightly locked,
kept held in my blooming *****
in ominous anticipation.
Alas, I'm much eager to please you so
—and I do expect, you would feel the same;
that is what I know from your eyes
trying to shun my eagerness,
still neglecting my attentive gesture
beckoning you to join me,
but you will hide it no longer,
for all of your struggles, big or small no matter,
fans my fanatic yearning for your soul.
So accept me, my foolish child
(so carefree, but still shuddering)
as the dim evening clouds
would shroud the skies above,
sealing off the passage of light
that was once so brilliant,
but now without a reason to exist.
And you, the courted,
don't just stand there
when I come to embrace you heartily,
so induce me—do ****** me,
and betray your fear
to be accepted by me, and only.
Do me a favor, and this shall work
as a token of passion for me;
the perfection is all yours:
the purification of our intents,
the petrifaction of our conscience,
the completion of our unison,
ceasing the compliance
with the rigid standards
of the unworthy.
Wings of the butterfly collapse
altogether, and you will be
awaken, knowing that, my love,
you are truly a butterfly.
Like a pair of moths,
we fly into the torchlight burning incandescent.
Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 5:54 AM UTC
She walks fast and breaths slow,
A fiddle player missing her index
She runs now, she was always running..
A side of a truth—her only ally
Her ***** were burnt blue
with the Greek fire that tingles further with saliva.
But not hers they said, for she was stained
****** to purification through pain.
Her pain was sheer existence.
Every breath hurting more and hurting less
Continual life leading to death.
She is the morality of lust,
the end of a beginning..
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC