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Lady Ravenhill Feb 2017
There is a place, deeply buried,
         that you magically healed
So lightly, your mindful touch
         caressed the pained places

Gingerly and one by one, my scars,
         sweetly you cleansed them
Broke the seals of time and
         slid open the panes
To let your purifying light pour in

That magic of yours, was love
         and being in your presence
Is the Sun on my pale marked skin
         after years hiding in darkness
©LadyofRavenhill 02/24/17
Umi May 2018
Bidding farewell to the warmth,
The bells of a spring path ring, to the sound of the wind,
Which has once again, crossed the stream of time, as it usually does,
The transience of the day, already lost due time, the sun remains as a traveler, whom appears to have crossed the Zenith again,
It's scorching heat is to be felt, exposed to it almost as if it was to be to set the skin ablaze, truly these sunrays, are unforgiving at this time,
Sorrow and misery, are to burn into ash by this heat, a purifying flame of affectionate happiness, embracing those who have found themselves to be in love with the natural, decending, light,
Beyond the boundaries, the mystery of our living power remains unknown, all what is left is a spark in the dark, beyond the sunshine,
The evening welcoming this world is soon to be radiating in joyful light, wandering aimlessly the time for the sunset draws near,
Beyond the Zenith, lies the transience of the passing time.

~ Umi
Umi Feb 2018
The glory of the heavens which reflect such delicate blue,
Are alike a protective ceiling, keeping us safe from harm,
Where might this harm come from if above is empty space ?
Well, firstly it manages to brighten up the day more
Secondly it takes care of the sun's deadly rays, filtering,
purifying it in the most noble sense, a breathing sky.
The heavens far above are not without danger, but worry not,
for they are too far out of our reach, thus our eyes are the only,
fragile, valuable sense which is able to grap it's visibility,
Beyond this ceiling is where the stars inhabit, all of the planets too!
But the heaven is which gifts us the wonderful, stunning, warm,
bright colours of sunrise and sunset, thus alone is a reason to
love them furthermore.
In this wretched, corrupt and unrighteous world it is of great
importance to keep track of little things which cheer our way.
It could be a simple word, heaven or just the light of day.

~ Umi
I tried a new style once I hope it is somewhat enjoyable
Umi Feb 2018
By the soul and it's order and porportion given to it
Inspired by it's wickness and righteousness each spirit strives
for it's own clear goal, wether that be nihilistic in some eyes,
or of great worth to others, each soul has been brought with
the greatest of purity at its time of birth.
Corrupting it is as simple as purifying it, but the evil, shades,
seduces tempts and leads astray to which a soul poorly responds.
Desires, wishes, hopes and dreams of them differ in many unique,
fantastic or irritational, preculiar and dark.
However, each spirit of a living being shares one similarity,
It is, as simple as it may appear, just the wish and dream to live
a life in carefree attitudes and a happy manner.
Of course, wealth too is amongst those shared desires, but this
world is cruel, brutal and shows no mercy as others have too much
and others have almost none at all.
Oh you of humble birth, patience, tollerance, compassion, love are
making this world a better place.
So give from your wealth and purify your soul by such,
in the remembrance of the poor, oppressed, depressed, abused,
starving human beings, whom could at least have it a little better.
And each soul runs on a clear course, determined to meet it's fate
when the sunset of its life has arrived and death becomes a cover.

~ Umi
wolflet Dec 2018
If I had a friend with an earnest heart,
They would only desire for redemption;
Redemption from sins they hath never committed.
They would dream of touching heaven.
I would never wish on them the tears and pains
from the world of sighs in which we have grown.

Yet year to year they would face most disastrous chances,
The innocent will still be challenged by another insolent foe,
riddled with the dangers of a double edged tongue.
Tis the world we hath created.
Where the pure of heart are still question’d,
After the greedy invades their lives and corrupts.
Leaving their heart as if it were charcoal.

They will say ‘Twas strange’, ‘T’was pitiful’,
Their prayers will be said but not understood,
For they are said to often.
This deadly breach of sincerity,
Will let forth a purifying flood.
and I don’t expect many survivors.
Deb Jones Sep 2017
You dwell in the moments between wake and sleep. Your edges indistinct. Walking towards me with the softest of smiles

You dwell in every book I read. The pages smelling sweet. Like pine and mist. And gingersnaps. Your voice, in my mind, echoing the words I read.

You dwell in the ocean breeze. The salt in the cool air. Pushed by the waves. To me. Only to me.

You dwell in the sun I smell on your clothes. Full of love and hope. My face against your chest. Inhaling the scent of you.

You are like sheets that have dried in the sun. I want to lay down with you and be surrounded by the smell of the you. The sun, the breeze, purifying me.

You dwell in me. Your strength and courage bolsters me. Holding me up when even my legs betray me.

You dwell in me.
I've known heartbreak too,
Though few who know me know it,
Longed for it to end.

I've heard the sweet call,
Whispered in my ear at times,
For self-oblivion.

But it always passed,
Too many unfulfilled dreams,
I could not let die.

Though not a young girl,
I still can relate to pain,
That's too hard to bear.

They bring tears of blood,
Young colleagues' words with the pain,
They struggle to bear.

Doing themselves harm,
To escape the greater pain,
Of their precious lives.

I beg you each, please,
Put down the knife, syringe, pipe,
No answers in them.

The answer's in you,
In that hidden spark buried,
Beneath all the pain.

Incredible YOU!
Unique, in the multiverse,
No other like you.

No one with your skills,
No other voice quite like yours,
To sing us your truth.

Boundless potential,
Still a tiny, precious seed,
Waiting to take root.

Life's fetid manure,
With tears of joy and sorrow,
Will help you to bloom.

The spark in your heart,
Will burst into flame in time,
Through your poetry.

Purifying all,
The specters and dark shadows,
That now haunt your nights.

Look in the mirror,
Beyond the scars and tear tracks,
To that ember's glow.

And know you will bloom,
And your mighty bows will bear,
The sweetest of fruit.
As is usual for me this piece was written in one sitting and is largely stream of consciousness focused on poems I've read recently by young poets, I believe mostly young women, about cutting and other forms of hurting oneself in response to pain one cannot deal with. Some are beautiful, powerful pieces. All break my heart and make me feel completely powerless--other than to make an encouraging comment I know will mean very little. I've always dealt with my own pain through music and poetry. I don't know how else to reach out. Unseen tears mean nothing to those in pain. If only they could see themselves through the eyes of those in their lives who can see deeper than the reflection in the mirror. If only. . .
ConnectHook Apr 12
Exiles from a dysfunctional global pipe-dream
of borderless corporate matriarchies,
multi-kulti nonsense and data-driven diversity
where virtue-signaling despots ruled
and those so confused
they didn't know their own gender
competed for victim-status
as they shrieked,
where rainbow torches on the filthy walls
smoldered with toxic smoke
barely illuminating the fragments
of computer carcasses we had to step over,
we fled the oppression
of passive-aggressive elitists
suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome
to found a pure republic, based on poetry, goodwill and faith in God.
We emerged from the labyrinthine caverns and malodorous tunnels
into the light right outside the cave:
Clear, strong patriarchal light
purifying the fresh air.

We breathe deeply.

Once I saw some Vikings
sail the sea looking for Diet Coke
only to find angry gulls and mothers
squawking in parking lots
as the dust of the gentle hills disappeared
down the unpaved road
of rolling Scandinavian seas.

I was emotionally engaged once . . .
but she was a neurotic feminist poet, so I broke it off
and moved to Kekistan where
(thanks be to Kek)
I married my TWO Kekistani brides.
Where are you from? Not just geographically, but emotionally, physically, spiritually?
Maybe you are from Vikings and the sea
and diet coke and angry gulls in parking lots.
Maybe you are from gentle hills and angry mothers
and dust disappearing down an unpaved road.
And having come from there, where are you now?
A morning, unveiling the light,
The light promising a bright day,
Who knew that the reins were already set from heaven
Ever-ready to eclipse the promising light!

The choked breath paused the minutes,
Even the seconds wailed to go on.
There it was-the body on the chariot,
to be set on the journey of being immortal!

The tears rolled down her eyes,
Millions of beads falling one on one
Like it was meant to be threaded,
To be worn as the garland of victory!

The garland beads before the ending mortality,
Flowed and dried as the fire consumed
The flame purifying the soul,
Know that the light shall always bless you!

Don't dare you cry!
And why shall ever you?
For the body that disappeared,
But the soul shall always guard you!

The countless moments of shouts,
The bucket and mug on its sunday routine,
Like the freshness draping the dried body,
And her blessings shall always be yours!

It feels like it happened yesterday,
as if it happened in a moment's flash,
She waits and stares at the door,
at her hands with memories painting her eyes!

Her hands feel the emptiness,
The mug and bucket stares at her,
The nightly-awakened loud cries,
Yes, her heart thumps and thumps!

Minutes resumed on a slow note,
Seconds swiftly slid,
But the heart that contained it all,
Lost the battle to time!

Adorned in a beautiful attire,
The jewellery adding twinkles to that star,
She gave her hand to her grand-daughter,
Yes, the hands were no more lonely!

She says-it was blissful
To meet her again, to defeat the time.
Grandma says-"it has just been five days and I feel tired",
Soon someone spilled water on those colorful images!

She walked again-back as a mortal,
With their hands merging as one!
Like the dream was itself a reality,
She did win it- the race with time!

I planned to meet the Nivecian butterfly,
Her kingdom attacked and shattered,
Still she murmured, still she smiled,
Being the anomaly to all!

The wounds of the deadly sword,
Still fresh with no blood in sight,
She was afraid if the fate was more cruel,
And if the same happened to her mom and dad!

A new morning casted another eclipse,
She was unknown to forthcoming but scared,
of the cruelty of that never-losing time,
The chariot again arrived at her castle.

Numbed with the pain,
She looked at her mother's body,
Her memories trapped in the wildfire,
She remembers her journey from the diapers to the hands that wiped her tears!

She shouted one day at her mummy-
Why are you not even letting me rest in holidays?
Her Mom was low in haemoglobin,
She utterly regretted her words!

Like a child she is as we all are,
The shouts and our childish threats once become our memory.
Mummy, she says she is numb to even cry,
But she calls to you-time and again!

She cannot cry anymore,
Millions of beads already woven into garlands,
She gave all she had,
To those two beloved-loved and alone!

Her wizard drowning into loneliness,
With the vidoes of his wife stuffing life in her running all twenty four hours,
As if she will return-the mighty she wizard
to her beloved , he wizard!!

The Nivecian butterfly now flutters,
Her wings beautiful,young and wet,
She seeks to rebuild her kingdom,
With the magic of her Dad!

She now has loaded responsibilities,
Of herself and her wizard,
Both of them make a wonderful team,
Their smiles-the oxygen to each other!

He sits without his potion,
But the beautiful butterfly seeks to brew for him,
The potion filled,the happiness instilled,
Their laughter consuming the space!

The cuelest of all happened to her,
On the 18th of May and the 8th of JUNE!
Shall ever be on the pages of our history,
The memories being our lifeline!

I call out to her-
Let your wings paint the world-
The world of your Dad, the very world of yours, the world of all!
Flutter ,rise and soar higher,
For that ending sky is your beginning!

I wish your words reach beyond spheres,
To that ever-expanding dimensionless universe,
the timeline failing before you!
You are a strong, beautiful mystery for all!

Yes, you are the most-powerful heroine in my page,
The pages of my life shall always breathe in your story,
It will forever be inspired by the tales of your glory,
You are the best Nivecian- even the two souls from heaven will bid for you!
Seema Sep 2018
I wished for rain
And soothing words of sweet
But you struck me with pain
In this intolerable heat

On the ground, I lay
In shock of what you just did
I hoped you came to stay
With me and our kid

Something was not right
I sensed the presence of an evil force
A drawn column of fright
And sudden objects began to toss

Darkness started to approach
As you became someone unknown
A lust to ****, a soul roach
To which, I wish, I had known

A language full of filth and foul
You spitted on few standing around
You snorted and then came in the growl
And like a fierce beast, you sat on the ground

My lips trembled but my heart prayed
For help from anyone anyplace
Planks were soon being laid
Around it, to gape and gaze

The unknown tried to escape
But the planks were blessed with holy essence
Verses were read by a person in cape
Darkness eluded by its presence

The unknown seem to struggle in a purifying body
Stubborn, causing it physical harm
Witnessed by everybody
Soon everything became calm

He lay on the ground, with scratches and blood
Breathing heavily as the prayer ended
Rain poured in suddenly, washing away the blood
The evil seem to have descended

He was carried back to my place
For nourishment and care
The man in cape, blessed and left the thin air

Spilling imagination.
md-writer Apr 10
every moment I sit
on the edge
twiddling my thumbs
right next to insanity

tender lies, spoken
in whisper,
root themselves within
and spread moments of weakness
all dolled up as

I know the thrill
of falling


into the heart of
headfirst, the warm
and gentle darkness
keeping my eyes in place,
fixed upon it:

my broken and perverted

many hands stretched out to wound him,
reaching for the God of Souls.

so mine reach out to claim her,
for the sweet ungodly savor of my
and the beggarly delighting
of her tender gaze on me.

perverse pageantry,
the ritual of very God above
imitated in the wasting
of this ******'s

stretched out for all to see,
just like he.
pierced through and bleeding
from head, heart, hands, and feet -
so she is pierced
for me.

not to save, but to delight.

bringing low

blasphemy, you say?
of the deepest and the darkest
conceived in hell, the devil's spawn of this idea
swam upward to life through
layers of molten lies.

they burn, unceasing.

If you could tear one part of you and cast it far away, what ***** would you...

...fool! think not
escape to find without a light
trust not
the fickle heart to leave any part of you to lie severed
in the cold for long.
you'd search for it, and find in reunion cause
for celebration of the
darkest kind.

lay flat instead
upon the sun-pocked surface of this lightless planet
that you call a soul.
lay bare your helplessness
to the falling stars
and take the fatal blow that falls down
from on high.

no life without death,
no freedom without a brand
new set of chains.
do you actually believe it possible to change,
without such bitter pangs?

undo your only hold on life
and in the process gain
a claim to thrones eternal
and the everlasting

shadows of the devil's crucifix are haunting me.
desire, love, and beauty lick their lips
and wait for me.
but shifting like the broken
veil within, the pageantry I see
mist falls away; reality breaks free.

the shattered, broken
body of a god,
hangs limply on a tree.
lightning flashes, and a flood of unrefracted clarity
destroys the feathered patchwork
of my soul.

held aloft before him,
I scream.
forced to watch the devil's prodding,
dancing in their glee

I can never, never be free.
compelled by love more fierce than fire,
inflamed with all the agony of
purifying blood,
I lay a hand upon him,
and I weep like God above.

all this for me;                    
         all this,
                                            for heaven's enemy.
April 9
Jude kyrie Oct 2018
at the edge of the ocean,
evening breezes.
cool the  memory of your love
I still see it
burning in its early passions.

The night breeze
softly sings love song's
As the wavelets
break over my bare feet
In the distance in the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute.

I can feel their fingers on my heart
The salty air purifying my senses
breaking into old lost memories
of lovers past..

In the distance in the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute.
Note by note touching my soul
I feel my passions
Smoldering red and on fire.

I need the sultry air
to drown my needs.
to bring solace to my heart
Reflections of moon and starlight
dance upon on the waves.
In the distance
Someone is playing bolero on a flute.
And tears are forming in my eyes.

Now uneasy at this intrusion
but spellbound
It is so beautiful deep and passionate.
In the distance on this summer night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching
Music and passionate
Travis Green Aug 2018
I listened to the soft sounding consonants
rise above my foster home, swirling against
exuberant trees and iridescent leaves falling
in twisting rhythms on the scratchy gray pavement,
an indication of distant metaphors flickering with
no sound, a slow spiraling square root evaporating
into thin dust, as I gazed at the overlooking sun, how
its shining depiction cried for validation, scorching
light, harsh vowels twirling around galloping clouds
trying to discover perfection.  There was the crumbling
landscape lost in the background, shifting in smaller
silences and flaming depths, filled with complex thoughts
and stumbling languages.  As I sat on the silent steps
watching the various figures fade into each other, streetlights
and skyscrapers, scurrying pedestrians and corner stores,
my stained blue eyes crammed and slammed, drowned
and pounding, dying every second when I realize the essence
of reality, the way it burns bright throughout the night sunken
its own intensifying flames, endless shapes disguised in anger
and pain, like a raging moon vanishing away never to be seen
again, like a vicious galaxy burning everything in its past to
a satisfying defeat.  My heart is cracking and splitting in
expressionless puzzles, a puddle of solo soapsuds, a scraped
brick building resembling shattered walls, scrawny hands hung
in smeared surfaces, stuck in a blob of yellow paint scrubbing
away its flawless scenery, leaking subjects and predicates scattered
in misaligned pages, wet alleyways branching into quivering caves,
while I reminisce on memories of my mother, the way she used to
hold me in her arms, every touch of her thin fingers pressed
against my waist, its magical rhythm traveling around
my beautiful body, rushing down my angled spine.  I could
feel her smooth skin sinking into my ochre-tanned flesh,
how she embodied every glorious kingdom, a crowned queen
draped in extravagance, how the bright hues in her frame
made me feel all the serenity within the world, so magnificent,
igniting every imagination inside my being.  She was my hero,
a glorious gem that gleamed like an array of galaxies surrounding
earth and Saturn, a melanin masterpiece purifying the atmosphere,
a wheeling instrument strumming its enchanting melody across the horizon.  She worked hard all the time, trying to make my dreams come true.  Most nights she would grab a second job to make sure the bills were paid.  She never complained or grew tired.  She was determined that I would be somebody and make a difference in the world.  She was the inspiring teacher sitting on the floor beside the living room chair, demonstrating how to solve an equation, how to disentangle the numbers and simplify it into its equalizing state., the way she would educate my mind and unwind the questions in my brain, the way she showed me the value of an honest living, letting it seep inside my soul until I could breathe in the definition of a true man.  Now I can see how the warm days drift away into restless nights, how the hummingbirds that soar past my sight remind me that she is never coming back, the way the sinking flowers stand in confusion, crying rosebuds, trembling petals, stripped stems roaming in loneliness.

— The End —