"reconciled" poems
In a loud corridor
Full of young people
I move slowly, reconciled.
I have lived a little longer than they have.
And yet I do not know how
They recognize my face,
They smile at me so calmly.
On the walls
Reproductions of masters.
One calls me,
Face distorted,
Naked in his suffering.
I stop my thoughts.
I look.
I see his bitten soul.
Too many sunsets
in blood-red color.
He and she,
They lost everything
And yet they still see
so much love.
I am already with them,
on their portrait.
I am part of these colors.
I search in a corridor of eclipses,
Flashing hopes.
To soothe their dignity,
To save the bond between them.
I take this story in my hands, so gently.
Together, we look into earthly wounds.
We allow them to scar over,
Day after day,
Year after year.
Until they grow over with life.
Until they grow over with green grass.
I will be happy.
Observing how they grow in true strength
Of human fragile beings,
Of impatient humanity, longing to be reborn.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 9:46 PM UTC
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word
The world is ruled by darkness.
What appears as harmless is theater,
what pretends neutral is already bent.
The macrocosm corrodes;
and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams..
even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth.
A poetry site,
born as refuge for broken voices,
becomes another stage of control.
Here too the phrase resounds:
neutralize the threat.
But neutralization is not annihilation.
It is paralysis.
It is psy-ops.
It is the removal of anxiety..
not a side-effect, but the aim itself.
Darkness builds its stage for this alone:
that the "angel of light"
may drown his own reckoning
beneath a world of deception-built self comfort,
so he need never feel
the truth he already knows.
Comfort is his curtain,
numbness his crown..
*the removal of his own anxiety;
his game.*
This is why the world is his theater--
*Darkness does not destroy at first..
it sedates, comforts, smothers.*
Hence..
The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,
..for now.
Fade back into the moment--
The young poet arrives,
bringing her unspoken pain,
her hope for words to heal.
Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds.
Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation.
Not to strengthen her voice,
but to redirect it.
She is seduced into belonging,
and her trauma becomes currency.
Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust--
a sacrifice prepared for false altars.
The angel of light has done his work:
offering inclusion without transformation,
belonging without responsibility,
“light” without source.
The poet is neutralized.
Her searching silenced,
her voice absorbed into fog.
Those who carry this fog
cling to cowardice.
Unable to face the judgment within,
they align themselves to the herd;
envy-filled, they only know to mock.
Yet they replicate themselves,
so their refusal of Light
is never revealed--
*Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example"
the most envy-based mocker of all.*
The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm.
What nations suffer,
individuals now endure--
Comfort without clarity.
Belonging without truth.
Safety without healing.
Yet the living Word endures.
Every attempt to humiliate it
only makes its fire burn clearer.
Carriers of darkness can swarm,
****** and smother..
but they cannot create.
The true word cannot be erased.
Unfiltered, unedited,
spoken from a reconciled temple,
it pierces fog.
It reveals.
It heals.
And so we speak..
not for ourselves alone,
but for those who come searching,
hoping that poetry
might still be a place
where pain can meet truth,
where silence breaks,
where Light is not withheld
but revealed.
#
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
I think Poetry found me very early,
From somewhere in mama's womb.
Hooked to her umbilical cord firmly.
I heard something like a tiny bomb.
It was the sound of the talking drum,
Heralding the arrival of another grio.
So with gratitude, I said thanks mom,
And to the world, I said a very big hello.
Of course, I used the language of babies,
I cried and breathed in my very first air.
This was my first sight of the ladies
They smiled as they washed my hair.
My very first poem was a sad prayer.
It was written when I was very hungry
I was hopeless, I had only one dollar,
And no real prospect of ever making it.
So I took out my old used notepad,
UnfortunateIy, I had no pen to write with.
I wrote with a charcoal found in the yard,
And I wrote many long lines on my wall.
I wrote everything I had to tell God
Sadly, I couldn't write them all.
I cried in anguish to the Lord,
Asking If He had forgotten me.
Of Course, I got no immediate answer,
But years later my answer came.
It came in the form of a letter.
Addressed to me, ten years later
It came later but it felt better,
Instantly my struggle was all over!
The first love letter I wrote was poetry,
It was childish, unstructured and ugly.
It was written to a girl, she was pretty,
She read it and smiled, I wasn't so lucky.
Crushed, yet I pretended to be strong
I walked away but ran all the way home.
I cried in anguish and wrote a love song.
The lines were very sad, I felt all alone.
But I knew it was my first real rejection.
So I tried writing again, this time to me.
I was very focused, I was on a mission.
Finally, it finished and I wrote my name.
Unfortunately, the answer was the same,
There and then I knew I had no game,
So I reconciled and just took the blame.
Fast forward,and many years later,
I found the subject of my love letter.
I wrote a note to her on messenger.
I was optimistic because I wrote better.
I was emboldened by my poetic power.
Once again,the reply came to me later,
This time it was a resounding yes!
It felt so wonderful, thanks to poetry
And the universe I didn't make a mess.
#IvanBrooksPoetry©
7/22/2018
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 9:11 PM UTC
XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven’s undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God—call God!—So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name,—and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
6k
Dew Diligence
to reap the rewards of a world of magic
and appreciation of earning
the clouds of doubt and pain
must be experienced
the piper must be payed
the fear of life reconciled
with the acceptance of death
leaving no stone unturned
no path untraveled
the mind set free in observation
the binds loosened in anticipation
maintaining your resilience
the tears must fall
your dew diligence
Gomer LePoet..
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
The Gospel. Not an easy message to state or hear. Who wants to repent? Hardly anyone these days. Who wants to believe in a God who many believe irrelevant to modern life? Hmmm?
A God who preordained a Messiah who tells people they must DIE TO LIVE. Well. That's the message. Luke 14. Look it up. Jesus has attracted thousands of followers. He turns to them and says YOU must hate your mom, dad, sis, bro... everyone! YOU MUST DIE TO THIS WORLD TO LIVE!
They must pick up their cross and follow him. Thousands left. All who remained were twelve men. Jesus asked if THEY also wanted to go. They said, NO. You alone hold eternal life.
Folks, I LOVE YOU. So i am simply going to say this...
REPENT. BELIEVE. TRUST.
That's all God asks. He wants to reconcile you, A SINNER, to Himself. YOU ALL ARE NOT RIGHTEOUS. Only Jesus, who was born of a ****** NEVER SINNED IN HIS LIFE, preached the Good News of the Kingdom so boldly he infuriated a lot of self- righteous people, was brutally beaten, then crucified, DEAD. BURIED. ROSE AGAIN ON THE THIRD DAY TO A NEW LIFE. He CAN take your place as sinful flesh, so YOU can GAIN HIS RIGHTEOUSNESS. Only then can you be reconciled to a Righteous God.
I'm saying all this because
I LOVE YOU.
I just died today. Care to join me?
♡ Catherine
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
There are moments I remember
Places I have been, people I have met
And then there is the one
Who captured my heart and never let it go
So long ago, yet still so near to me today
Love as the enigma that forever stays
As life goes on, time stands still
Our fates entwined in a
Lost yet lasting love, consigned
To forever remembering and
Embracing the past
Forever together
Forever apart
Never to be reconciled
The hurting heart
Moving on
Still looking back
Caught between yesterday and tomorrow
With today in the way
Yes, I wonder what would have happened
But I know I'll never know
And if I did, I would not say
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Mother! whose ****** ***** was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature’s solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast;
Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
Of mother’s love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!
2.8k
When we prefer the narrow gate
And tire of busy highways
We see the Kingdom come
When the master is the servant
And kneels to wash our feet
We see the Kingdom come
When the straggler is given preference
And the first steps to the back
We see the Kingdom come
When we serve the poor, the hungry
And take the stranger in
We see the Kingdom come.
When children are given pride of place
And followed as an example
We see the Kingdom come
When brother and sister are reconciled
While our offering is left to wait
We see the Kingdom come
When the temples are cleared of commerce
And prayer takes it rightful place
We see the Kingdom come
When the Sabbath serves the worshipper
Not the worshipper the Sabbath
We see the Kingdom come
When fragrant extravagance is applauded
And noses put out if joint
We see the Kingdom come
When the Creator's light is lifted up
And the Son is no longer hidden
We see the Kingdom come
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Your kindness will light up the dark caverns of my heart
bring to mind my warring thoughts
and I will buckle under the weight of myself
until mercy once again is in the ascendant, and love welcomes me home,
the prodigal and faithful personalities torments, reconciled once again.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
healing:
*verb (used with object)
1. to make healthy, whole, or sound; restore to health; free from ailment.
2. to bring to an end or conclusion, as conflicts between people or groups, usually with the strong implication of restoring former amity; settle; reconcile: They tried to heal the rift between them but were unsuccessful.
3. to free from evil; cleanse; purify: to heal the soul.
verb (used without object)
4. to effect a cure.
5. (of a wound, broken bone, etc.) to become whole or sound; mend; get well (often followed by up or over ).*
reconciliation:
*verb (used with object), rec·on·ciled, rec·on·cil·ing.
1. to cause (a person) to accept or be resigned to something not desired: He was reconciled to his fate.
2. to win over to friendliness; cause to become amicable: to reconcile hostile persons.
3. to compose or settle (a quarrel, dispute, etc.).
4. to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent: to reconcile differing statements; to reconcile accounts.
5. to reconsecrate (a desecrated church, cemetery, etc.).*
The task
painful and cumbersome
is to decide
if both can be.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
As a teenage boy I used to fall asleep at night
listening to the graveled voice of Ernie Harwell
fashion for me word-images of the exploits
by a band of superheroes called the Detroit Tigers.
In those semi-lucid moments before slumber,
I could see the shimmering outline of my destiny:
you see all American boys are meant to be Tigers.
So imagine my confusion, when I fractured
the right talus bone my Junior year of high school,
even putting on weight around the middle,
where no athlete worth his pin stripes would gain.
My karma had begun to take on mass.
I began to acquire knowledge, as the only perceived defense
against some parallel universe impinging upon reality.
Oh, I had everyone convinced, even my keenest teachers
believed I was destined to make my mark in scholarly pursuits.
But no one saw the crying ego of one meant to be a Tiger,
nor how that bottled up the emergence of the Man.
Never reconciled, the Man curled up in fetal dormancy.
Lifespan became synonymous with interstellar drift.
And every encountered star of knowlege was dwarfed,
having long ago collapsed of its own gravity.
Still the heavens of knowledge are auspicious,
so I looked outward, when all the answers lay concealed within.
Only as my life left the outskirts of occluded reality
did I then begin to inherit from my instinctual id,
begin to listen to disconsolate internal voices,
who had known me all along, perhaps better than myself.
The thing is ... the stage has long been set on middle-age,
what props lie about are encrusted with patina,
laden with a dust impossible to gauge or preempt,
made worse by the lack of cast, save one.
Neither Beckett, nor Pinter, could have absurded this.
So, when my acts strike you as quixotic,
when I cut with a penknife through propriety,
it's because I finally remember what it meant to be a Tiger.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
I explained.
You understood.
We reconciled.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
A confinement to the street,
I likened it to a bliss of pain.
Not extended like an overrun episode,
But the anxiety is sleepless,
When yesterday approaches,
I wrap myself in the ignorance,
Homeless, timeless,
It grows and defines,
Coarses through my fundamental
Lapses,
A boy becomes an atitude,
I wish i had these experiences in youthful insurgencies.
Its someday in the week,
I lose the raptured schedules,
To hunger is life.
To thirst is life.
The misled winter wraps itself
On my frozen life.
A faint emergence of time
Resumes,
There in the shadows
I once knew a man,
The visions of him asking to feed
My souless self.
Stretched by insistent graces,
In a road of certain contrasts,
Gentle into the street,
I laugh; the revolving doors,
I cry; what or who i never was,
A certain kind of grace to be
Within the containment,
the poor, the restless,
bleeding my facades,
Shredding the faces I once knew
Destroying my world.
Once I sat upon a throne
Lost in the decimations,
I dont know who I am.
Keep walking.
Telling myself as the night freezes
I will be just fine.
Keep walking
Telling myself in minced
Thoughts as hope flutters against
Nowhere to go.
Keep walking,
The sun rises
And blisters on my feet
Calm the night as the safety
Of day lets me rest.
I will bounce back tomorrow,
And the streets become a ripened spring fruit,
Losing myself
And the art of loss
Is no disaster,
Not unlike losing my keys,
Not unlike losing places,
Not unlike losing names,
Until i reconciled myself
At the fork of the river,
Losing myself is not an art:
The beauty was in finding who I was meant to be.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
Finding peace in this life
Takes effort and strain
Feelings of hopelessness
Lead to the place
That it is kept
In a clearing, beneath the sky
Far away from the city
The gravestones
The gravel’s edge
Left behind
And the sun warms your skin
As the rain clouds gather
Dust swirling in anticipation
Plugging your nose
Despite the lovely smell
Your lungs deflate
Reconciled
That is peace
Apr 18, 2010
Apr 18, 2010 at 1:57 PM UTC
Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch
Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...
What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to
fall?
Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you stall
spread-eagled as the canvas snaps
and ***** its white rebellious wings,
and all
the houses watch with baffled eyes.
Originally published by Poetry Porch. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, flight, flying, hang-gliding, kite, glider, wind, canvas, South, southern, truck, unspooled
Note: The following poem unites Icarus with Tom O'Bedlam in a final, magical quest ...
Finally to Burn
(the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus)
by Michael R. Burch
I.
Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand
and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands
where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting
and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting
and all I remember
—upon awaking—
is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking
one’s Being—to glide
heroically beyond thought,
forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.
II.
O, finally to Burn,
gravity beyond escaping!
To plummet is Bliss
when the blisters breaking
rain down red scabs
on the earth’s mudpuddle...
Feathers and wax
and the watchers huddle...
Flocculent sheep,
O, and innocent lambs!
I will rock me to sleep
on the waves’ iambs.
III.
To Sleep, that is Bliss
in Love’s recursive Dream,
for the Night has Wings
pallid as moonbeams—
they will flit me to Life,
like a huge-eyed Phoenix
fluttering off
to quarry the Sphinx.
IV.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Quixotic, I seek Love
amid the tarnished
rusted-out steel
when to live is varnish.
To Dream—that’s the thing!
Aye, that Genie I’ll rub,
soak by the candle,
aflame in the tub.
V.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,
Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.
Somewhither, somewhither
aglitter and strange,
we must moult off all knowledge
or perish caged.
VI.
I am reconciled to Life
somewhere beyond thought—
I’ll Live in the There,
I’ll Dream of the Naught.
Methinks it no journey;
to tarry’s a waste,
so fatten the oxen;
make a nice baste.
I’m coming, Fool Tom,
we have Somewhere to Go,
though we injure noone,
ourselves wildaglow.
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 3:57 AM UTC
Transnational capitalism is a gluttonous preoccupation of the aristocrat. Although Simone De Beauvoir nailed her colors to the metaphorical mast of equality, it is reasonable to acknowledge that our perimeter lies beyond intra-personal vistas of gender identity and ****** preference.
The Lord of the Manor will grant entry to your greasy soul, if you embrace the common denominator of anthropological affiliation.
So, weary pilgrim, on this treacherous journey of presumed arrival: I urge you to identify that spiritual lobotomy of the majority where ontological convenience jeopardises the rich tapestry of our planet’s pulse.
Collectivism has a cosmological duality which will never be reconciled as long as parliamentary ridicule insults the intelligence of equilibrium.
Whatever happened to democracy? And, why do you simply conform to dictatorial messages which sink their teeth into the very flesh of community existence? We may not be able to alter the direction of the wind, but we can truly adjust our sails.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in
Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay
While it's still displaying on the eastern tray
Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling
Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn--
Though tough--to him that seek thy burn.
Gladly go not one but twain miles with
Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully
To widows cream bread and wine; the needy
And orphans--whether you're rolling in it--
Never neglect, and make no open show
Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow.
Make mammon thy master nay. Believe
The Bible though you cannot It fathom
Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom
Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave.
Both parents and priests honour, and men
In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen.
Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery.
In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where
Robbers and rust have no access nor share.
For worldly wants, soul, never you worry--
Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need,
Who gives in season due to the sower seed.
Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness
The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences
Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence
By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness
Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy
***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie.
The log in thine own eyes first remove
Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge
Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge.
Such measure from others expect to them give--
Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow
Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
"What's wrong with you?" he asked through a chuckle, and then it hit me. I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I was passionate about things, and never about people. I had loved people, but always platonically, or platonic and gilded with a crush or wrapped in lust that I always brushed off with innuendos and flippancy. I had never loved another person the way I loved twisting my brain around a calculus problem or constructing a flame chart. I had thought of people in a romantic sense more than I had evaluated people for science bowl, but lust and love had never consumed me as the issue of organizing practice and evaluation and cuts within the handspan of a month. I always fell in love with things, and never with people, and that's why already, not even 16 yet, I've reconciled myself to die alone.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
Robins scurry, heads askew
listening to an underground frequency
smooth rasp of worm skin slipping
through subterranean mazes.
The ever-changing pond
mirrors varied green and clouds
mythical beasts reflect and rest
weary from endless migration.
Eagles ride the wind
fingered wings minutely adjusting
as the current rockets them aloft
on a thermal through the blue.
The heron balanced on a spine of rock
cares only if the tiny fish
silver under the surface skin
will soon belong to him.
Each in tune effortlessly
on earth, in air
never regretting being here
or there.
While earthbound creature, I
am reconciled to a grounded fate
as winter rain lashes the edges
of my ragged, useless wings.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
I got to the point where I didn’t have enough self-respect to get out of it for myself.
But I did it for my daughter.
Let me explain.
I loved a guy. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m not sure if it’s one of those loves that can be replicated.
But like most crazy loves we were toxic and our highs were in the clouds and our lows were in hell.
We did things.
We both did things.
That were not ok.
After we ended it.
He slut-shamed me.
He called me easy.
Worthless.
A notch on a belt.
It was awful.
It was cruel.
It was All said in anger.
After time went on we reconciled. He apologized for what he said. He tried to make amends. He’d call me and say things to **** me back into this chaos of us.
I wanted to go back.
I still want to go back sometimes so ******* bad that it eats at my soul.
But I don’t.
And I don’t do it because of my fierce self-love. I wish I could say I do.
I wish I dig my heels in and look into the mirror and give myself a fierce talk and I’m good.
But sometimes that’s not enough.
When it’s not.
I do it for my daughter.
Because I will not allow her to have a father who has slut-shamed her mom.
I will not allow her to have a sexist father, who thought less of a woman because of the number of people she chose to have *** with.
I will not sit on her bedside when she’s crying over a boy and tell her she deserves to be treated better when I know I chose I did not.
I will not be the coward that tells her to be strong while gritting my teeth to suppress the memories of abuse I have endured.
I will sit on her bedside.
Look her dead in the eye and tell her, honestly.
I have been there before.
I left.
I’m better for it.
I decided to raise the bar for all women when I took a stand for what was unacceptable and she can and should continue to raise that bar.
In that moment. It will be worth it.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
Kick me
Eat me
Laugh me
Impale me
I am dust
And smoke
I am mere fragments of who
She used to be
I have assumed to be
This body which
I am using
And abusing
With my purges
And my urges
Because nothing is perfect
But regret, ah regret
Now that I can feast upon
And Lost faith?
Now that is just a buffet of emotion
That was once good but is now discarded
Thrown away like your empty stomach and your yellowing fingers
AH and the remembrance of HIS fingers.
The way no matter how hard you try,
His touch still lingers
All the way up your thighs.
You can’t escape it; for you didn’t escape it then now did you?
You didn’t even scream!
You LET him make a home in your mind
And pulverize your childhood
With one hand! You LET him give you years of disgrace
And an unrelenting NEED for cleanliness
For purity that can never be found!
So you scrub and you rub
Your hands till their red,
Why not give up and leave your mind
To me instead?
You are not strong
You are not bold
Always doing whatever you’re told!
You think I’m ruining you?
I’m helping you, helping you go exactly
Where you should’ve gone the minute you betrayed yourself
By not helping yourself.
So you see
I’m here because
You can’t face a mirror
You can’t face your own TOUCH
There’s just so much
I can watch without recoiling in disgust
You make me sick!
So ill make you sick.
And now you see,
I am everywhere inside you
Let me invade you
It shouldn’t be so hard
You’ve been stepped on before,
On that day,
And it seems only fair
You should leave this world
In the very same way.
Because your gravestone is marked all
That’s needed is your final date
Don’t try and deny it
You know it’s too late.
You can’t hide your despise
For all you see
Behind the redness of your eyes
IS ME!
Does that scare you?
It should
I’ve done everything
All that I could
To lead you here.
For you hold TOO MUCH fear.
And that’s not acceptable.
That’s what makes you so forgettable.
So you see,
Everyone knows
They know you’re a coward
And they see right through you.
So ill smoke this body
And pop it
And blister it
And cut it
And mutilate
And supply it
Yet never satisfy it
But I will always comply
To my will
And I will purge every ounce of you that is left
Until there’s nothing left.
Ill throw you into the gutter,
Where you will splatter
And eventually...
Yes eventually the whole of you will be reconciled
Flushed down the same way your life went,
Because this is where you belong
It shouldn’t be very long
Your time is up
All hail Mia!
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
Content, with a tinge of love,
I repent
All I've given up.
Realize what I've surmised
Is a traversed trial of fire.
Higher, higher;
The atmosphere you admire:
Lighter breathing,
Muscles beating,
Entreating my desire.
A pyre,
The phoenix feeling renaissance:
The lover's having ---
Once the want to be satisfied ---
Which was, while shattered, reconciled ---
Compiled a mile-long list
To mist the ever-flowering tree
Of prospect,
Respecting past
Opinion.
Your dominion over my
Ever-subjugating heart
(Pulsating a Morse message)
Belittles meaning in
Stockholm Syndrome,
For I am no
Shackled drone;
And, forever,
This you've known.
We are symbiotic.
We are psychotic.
Celeritous symbols
Sampling this:
Extended metaphor.
Extempore, we entertain and
Adore each other,
The world we are to each.
So: teach me how you look
With beseeching reach
Into deep territory in sleep;
Incept directly
And affect me
Romantically.
Augment what is meant and true.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
I couldn't be silent as the train I was on sped all the way to a station I didn't recognize, I had no control over the engines screaming to be replaced, I couldn't catch up any longer, and the more I ran, the less I knew the speed to stop at.
How could I just stand there as the hands of time continued to swing, hurling me from one strange and unpleasant page to another? I'm not sure when everything will be finished, on which page this story will end in a long epilogue, or in whose hands this turmoil will be reconciled.
How could I be fine when my head was hit by blunt objects, my limbs were entangled by the weak and helpless, my heart was pumping nonstop, the heart was drained and empty space was left, my mouth was locked, and as much as I tried to free myself, I only increased the grip on my body, and the wound was getting worse? the situation will deteriorate
How can I just stand there and stare?
While stomachs demand that they be filled, notes demand that they be cleared, and people want that they be scheduled. The days torment me relentlessly; during the day, I am dark and color blind; at night, I stutter, and all colors beg to be painted tomorrow.
How can I be like this when the sky is endless, the rain falls on any cheek, other flowers grow and new buds form, the chess horse continues to gallop, or the pen and paper have reached the abyss of the book?
How am I supposed to...
Oh **** it!
I'm sick of sentences; I'm no longer strong.
This story has concluded.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 2:54 PM UTC