"revenants" poems - Hello Poetry

"revenants" poems

transparent seeds nest in winter hollows the future reflected in all-knowing eyes an internal compass buried in each golden heart dappled forest light on the natal stream memories of salt ingrained within the latent lure of open ocean our destinies are silver a return to clear waters transformed revenants glassy-eyed and gasping on the gravel bed that birthed us

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Dec 8, 2016

Dec 8, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC

transparent seeds nest in winter hollows the future reflected in all-knowing eyes an internal compass buried in each golden heart dappled forest light on the natal stream memories of salt ingrained within the latent lure of open ocean our destinies are silver a return to clear waters transformed revenants glassy-eyed and gasping on the gravel bed that birthed us

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In little coffeeshops By the back corner, far from the exits But near the little hall leading to the bathroom At a time set by a large window The poet, his soul filled with words and reasons to say them But unsure how to convey them Can observe the nerves and synapses Converging in this single axis The windowside throne, the great looking glass Provides a view of every soul to pass Through the door to the core of any good café The front register Where they serve the junkies Their first no cream no sugar fix of the day The register girl on this sunrise shift stands tall and wears A pleasant smile Like a suit of armor For the fractures frayed and loosened pieces Of her 65 hours a week between two jobs psyche From his back corner vantage point The poet sees this early morning warrior And watches her adversaries approach The sleep deprived and the caffeine dependent The men in suits with leather briefcases Hustling and bustling through self inflicted exhaustion Work force revenants who begin to shamble through the door Out of the early morning mists at about 5:30 just as the world is shrugging of the shroud of night In his seat of power, the poet, lord of the room Can see, despite the dim lights of the coffeeshop These early birds, gaunt and hungry like vultures Standing shoulder to shoulder with the last of the night owls Shabby old things with ruffled feathers Too tired to sleep or simply without a roost. Their re rimmed eyes provide a window Through which a sovereign of the word May glance upon their tired souls Yes from that lovely back corner The poet is a king, a lord in noble regality Reshaping reality Sitting in the back of any coffee shop In Phoenix Arizona In America In the world In this whole great evergrowing span of universe And turning people into words.

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May 10, 2014

May 10, 2014 at 10:47 AM UTC

johnathan-juliano

The king in the corner

In little coffeeshops By the back corner, far from the exits But near the little hall leading to the bathroom At a time set by a large window The poet, his soul filled with words and reasons to say them But unsure how to convey them Can observe the nerves and synapses Converging in this single axis The windowside throne, the great looking glass Provides a view of every soul to pass Through the door to the core of any good café The front register Where they serve the junkies Their first no cream no sugar fix of the day The register girl on this sunrise shift stands tall and wears A pleasant smile Like a suit of armor For the fractures frayed and loosened pieces Of her 65 hours a week between two jobs psyche From his back corner vantage point The poet sees this early morning warrior And watches her adversaries approach The sleep deprived and the caffeine dependent The men in suits with leather briefcases Hustling and bustling through self inflicted exhaustion Work force revenants who begin to shamble through the door Out of the early morning mists at about 5:30 just as the world is shrugging of the shroud of night In his seat of power, the poet, lord of the room Can see, despite the dim lights of the coffeeshop These early birds, gaunt and hungry like vultures Standing shoulder to shoulder with the last of the night owls Shabby old things with ruffled feathers Too tired to sleep or simply without a roost. Their re rimmed eyes provide a window Through which a sovereign of the word May glance upon their tired souls Yes from that lovely back corner The poet is a king, a lord in noble regality Reshaping reality Sitting in the back of any coffee shop In Phoenix Arizona In America In the world In this whole great evergrowing span of universe And turning people into words.

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Petals in the water flowing silently away broken roses shedding skin abandoned stains of failed decay so numb from all the darkness fluent once in labelled halls nothing changes anymore except the shadows on the walls... No butterflies rewarded by the rigid pupa stage no stained glass wind-chimes left amongst this gilded locked-up cage no longer allowed the privilege to get picked up when we crawl nothing mutates here anymore like the revenants on the walls.... Angels left in snowflakes on the barren winter sand breath we release with pleasure as we touch a lover's hand loneliness that grips you when they forgot about the call we're nothing but the puppets of the shadows on the walls...

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Jun 21, 2010

Jun 21, 2010 at 3:17 PM UTC

Petals in the water flowing silently away broken roses shedding skin abandoned stains of failed decay so numb from all the darkness fluent once in labelled halls nothing changes anymore except the shadows on the walls... No butterflies rewarded by the rigid pupa stage no stained glass wind-chimes left amongst this gilded locked-up cage no longer allowed the privilege to get picked up when we crawl nothing mutates here anymore like the revenants on the walls.... Angels left in snowflakes on the barren winter sand breath we release with pleasure as we touch a lover's hand loneliness that grips you when they forgot about the call we're nothing but the puppets of the shadows on the walls...

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The white billowing funnels of purely antiquated fluff rolled by like wind in a lazy sail. The syrupy cirrus disasters dripped heaven unto passersby. Everyone watched and waited, but not a wretch took even an instant to notice that a malevolent tempest brewed south. Mortals went on with their days, hell's revenants. Constructing sin and suchwhat. All was lost before it had begun. God's master plan. Flaming meteorites launched spectacular displays of warfare and catastrophe in the firmament. Corpses showered the celestial Terra for years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. Only when hot hate ran through the streets of humanity was it finally forgotten. Over and done with. Then a new day began, a purplish-pinkish day, complete with stiff greens, cool blues, posh reds, and the occasional stygian black. A conclusion before there was even a conception. There was a sky. And suddenly, the sky made love.

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Sep 3, 2018

Sep 3, 2018 at 9:08 PM UTC

And suddenly, the sky made love

The white billowing funnels of purely antiquated fluff rolled by like wind in a lazy sail. The syrupy cirrus disasters dripped heaven unto passersby. Everyone watched and waited, but not a wretch took even an instant to notice that a malevolent tempest brewed south. Mortals went on with their days, hell's revenants. Constructing sin and suchwhat. All was lost before it had begun. God's master plan. Flaming meteorites launched spectacular displays of warfare and catastrophe in the firmament. Corpses showered the celestial Terra for years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. Only when hot hate ran through the streets of humanity was it finally forgotten. Over and done with. Then a new day began, a purplish-pinkish day, complete with stiff greens, cool blues, posh reds, and the occasional stygian black. A conclusion before there was even a conception. There was a sky. And suddenly, the sky made love.

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Mount shifted-like ghouls Risen in the dark sky's eminence Where, there, soaring souls Of a centre crown circumference From out the waning moon And of the warm nights of June -- (When the solace of the days to me Were that of false Destiny), Whereas I, too, worn the ring of Albatross From pass unmitigated loss Of a pulchritudinous lover Whom the saintly cherubs uncover The lacy-lilac flower of yore Which lies, a warrior's life, no more. Oh, quaff thy drugs in never regretting For war as this that's worth forgetting; Whether holy angels in these skies Or daunted demons in disguise As revenants, stern and severe, Silently fume the censer here Where the fallen brave flown to Avalon From the dreaded dirge of Babylon Lies fully somewhere within As a chrysalis, a beautiful kin, Oh somewhere within, Somewhere within Lies fully within The lacy-lilac flower of yore Which lies, a warrior's life, no more.

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Oct 3, 2011

Oct 3, 2011 at 9:03 PM UTC

"Somewhere Within"

Mount shifted-like ghouls Risen in the dark sky's eminence Where, there, soaring souls Of a centre crown circumference From out the waning moon And of the warm nights of June -- (When the solace of the days to me Were that of false Destiny), Whereas I, too, worn the ring of Albatross From pass unmitigated loss Of a pulchritudinous lover Whom the saintly cherubs uncover The lacy-lilac flower of yore Which lies, a warrior's life, no more. Oh, quaff thy drugs in never regretting For war as this that's worth forgetting; Whether holy angels in these skies Or daunted demons in disguise As revenants, stern and severe, Silently fume the censer here Where the fallen brave flown to Avalon From the dreaded dirge of Babylon Lies fully somewhere within As a chrysalis, a beautiful kin, Oh somewhere within, Somewhere within Lies fully within The lacy-lilac flower of yore Which lies, a warrior's life, no more.

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I have sought You in bits and pieces, because You are scattered across souls; I have possessed the places Your heart leases, for I have not found You as my home. Do I seek You in those whispering trails that silhouette my velvet skin – as prayers and penance, when all else fails to disrobe me of my mortal sin. Do You kiss my fingers as strands of beads, that I touch upon in times of need; in hopes that You will grant me grace, or embrace me with Your graceless greed. Do I find refuge in Your vaulted heart, with idols that idle in your wake; in sermons, in summons, Your will You impart, only Yours to give, only Yours to forsake. And what of in temples that You have built, in Your name, of Your fame that You have distilled — those towering minarets that I cannot breech, resigned only to altars at which You preach. A covenant, I covet with the revenants above it — Your Altar Alters You — my haunting Beloved. I have sought You in the most essential of ways; in touch, in taste, in the most sensual displays. Between covers, Did I discover You in a supine repose? A restive being, at rest in being – fated only to my depthless prose. Find me, You say, I am yours to find. A part, never apart, we are seamlessly entwined. Long for me, for us, and for our Eternal Affair — For, my Beloved, ours is not a caravan of despair.

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May 16, 2016

May 16, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC

Ours is Not a Caravan of Despair

I have sought You in bits and pieces, because You are scattered across souls; I have possessed the places Your heart leases, for I have not found You as my home. Do I seek You in those whispering trails that silhouette my velvet skin – as prayers and penance, when all else fails to disrobe me of my mortal sin. Do You kiss my fingers as strands of beads, that I touch upon in times of need; in hopes that You will grant me grace, or embrace me with Your graceless greed. Do I find refuge in Your vaulted heart, with idols that idle in your wake; in sermons, in summons, Your will You impart, only Yours to give, only Yours to forsake. And what of in temples that You have built, in Your name, of Your fame that You have distilled — those towering minarets that I cannot breech, resigned only to altars at which You preach. A covenant, I covet with the revenants above it — Your Altar Alters You — my haunting Beloved. I have sought You in the most essential of ways; in touch, in taste, in the most sensual displays. Between covers, Did I discover You in a supine repose? A restive being, at rest in being – fated only to my depthless prose. Find me, You say, I am yours to find. A part, never apart, we are seamlessly entwined. Long for me, for us, and for our Eternal Affair — For, my Beloved, ours is not a caravan of despair.

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I stalk you in the shadows, Returning from my grave so shallow, Your precious pride, I'll make you swallow. Your bigotry knew no bounds, And thus unbound my fury like the hounds. In your shadow my eyes doth glow, The plotting of your downfall they surely show. You claim to know not, The crimes unto me for which you will rot, Yet through all your fear and tears, My approach you shall not hear, And that podium upon which you hold all your reverence, Shall become the territory of your Revenants.

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Apr 13, 2016

Apr 13, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC

holden-feldbauer

I stalk you in the shadows, Returning from my grave so shallow, Your precious pride, I'll make you swallow. Your bigotry knew no bounds, And thus unbound my fury like the hounds. In your shadow my eyes doth glow, The plotting of your downfall they surely show. You claim to know not, The crimes unto me for which you will rot, Yet through all your fear and tears, My approach you shall not hear, And that podium upon which you hold all your reverence, Shall become the territory of your Revenants.

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Je n'ai pas pour maîtresse une lionne illustre : La gueuse, de mon âme, emprunte tout son lustre ; Invisible aux regards de l'univers moqueur, Sa beauté ne fleurit que dans mon triste coeur. Pour avoir des souliers elle a vendu son âme. Mais le bon Dieu rirait si, près de cette infâme, Je tranchais du Tartufe et singeais la hauteur, Moi qui vends ma pensée et qui veux être auteur. Vice beaucoup plus grave, elle porte perruque. Tous ses beaux cheveux noirs ont fui sa blanche nuque ; Ce qui n'empêche pas les baisers amoureux. De pleuvoir sur son front plus pelé qu'un lépreux. Elle louche, et l'effet de ce regard étrange Qu'ombragent des cils noirs plus longs que ceux d'un ange, Est tel que tous les yeux pour qui l'on s'est **** Ne valent pas pour moi son oeil juif et cerné. Elle n'a que vingt ans ; - la gorge déjà basse Pend de chaque côté comme une calebasse, Et pourtant, me traînant chaque nuit sur son corps, Ainsi qu'un nouveau-né, je la tette et la mords, Et bien qu'elle n'ait pas souvent même une obole Pour se frotter la chair et pour s'oindre l'épaule, Je la lèche en silence avec plus de ferveur Que Madeleine en feu les deux pieds du Sauveur. La pauvre créature, au plaisir essoufflée, A de rauques hoquets la poitrine gonflée, Et je devine au bruit de son souffle brutal Qu'elle a souvent mordu le pain de l'hôpital. Ses grands yeux inquiets, durant la nuit cruelle, Croient voir deux autres yeux au fond de la ruelle, Car, ayant trop ouvert son coeur à tous venants, Elle a peur sans lumière et croit aux revenants. Ce qui fait que de suif elle use plus de livres Qu'un vieux savant couché jour et nuit sur ses livres, Et redoute bien moins la faim et ses tourments Que l'apparition de ses défunts amants. Si vous la rencontrez, bizarrement parée, Se faufilant, au coin d'une rue égarée, Et la tête et l'oeil bas comme un pigeon blessé, Traînant dans les ruisseaux un talon déchaussé, Messieurs, ne crachez pas de jurons ni d'ordure Au visage fardé de cette pauvre impure Que déesse Famine a par un soir d'hiver, Contrainte à relever ses jupons en plein air. Cette bohème-là, c'est mon tout, ma richesse, Ma perle, mon bijou, ma reine, ma duchesse, Celle qui m'a bercé sur son giron vainqueur, Et qui dans ses deux mains a réchauffé mon coeur.

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1.1k

Charles Baudelaire

Je n'ai pas pour maîtresse une lionne illustre

Je n'ai pas pour maîtresse une lionne illustre : La gueuse, de mon âme, emprunte tout son lustre ; Invisible aux regards de l'univers moqueur, Sa beauté ne fleurit que dans mon triste coeur. Pour avoir des souliers elle a vendu son âme. Mais le bon Dieu rirait si, près de cette infâme, Je tranchais du Tartufe et singeais la hauteur, Moi qui vends ma pensée et qui veux être auteur. Vice beaucoup plus grave, elle porte perruque. Tous ses beaux cheveux noirs ont fui sa blanche nuque ; Ce qui n'empêche pas les baisers amoureux. De pleuvoir sur son front plus pelé qu'un lépreux. Elle louche, et l'effet de ce regard étrange Qu'ombragent des cils noirs plus longs que ceux d'un ange, Est tel que tous les yeux pour qui l'on s'est **** Ne valent pas pour moi son oeil juif et cerné. Elle n'a que vingt ans ; - la gorge déjà basse Pend de chaque côté comme une calebasse, Et pourtant, me traînant chaque nuit sur son corps, Ainsi qu'un nouveau-né, je la tette et la mords, Et bien qu'elle n'ait pas souvent même une obole Pour se frotter la chair et pour s'oindre l'épaule, Je la lèche en silence avec plus de ferveur Que Madeleine en feu les deux pieds du Sauveur. La pauvre créature, au plaisir essoufflée, A de rauques hoquets la poitrine gonflée, Et je devine au bruit de son souffle brutal Qu'elle a souvent mordu le pain de l'hôpital. Ses grands yeux inquiets, durant la nuit cruelle, Croient voir deux autres yeux au fond de la ruelle, Car, ayant trop ouvert son coeur à tous venants, Elle a peur sans lumière et croit aux revenants. Ce qui fait que de suif elle use plus de livres Qu'un vieux savant couché jour et nuit sur ses livres, Et redoute bien moins la faim et ses tourments Que l'apparition de ses défunts amants. Si vous la rencontrez, bizarrement parée, Se faufilant, au coin d'une rue égarée, Et la tête et l'oeil bas comme un pigeon blessé, Traînant dans les ruisseaux un talon déchaussé, Messieurs, ne crachez pas de jurons ni d'ordure Au visage fardé de cette pauvre impure Que déesse Famine a par un soir d'hiver, Contrainte à relever ses jupons en plein air. Cette bohème-là, c'est mon tout, ma richesse, Ma perle, mon bijou, ma reine, ma duchesse, Celle qui m'a bercé sur son giron vainqueur, Et qui dans ses deux mains a réchauffé mon coeur.

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offense may be caused so look away now -- -- -- -- -- still here? OK then I am both **** and philanderer, in word and deed I once found Jesus just so that I might **** a girl lucky that my hypocrisy was perishable I still smell of that earlier me than you might remember when I was filthy in my wishfulness the sharp torture of a tissued sceptre left me embarrassed in a honey dipped daydream where factional contributions turned wine into water and revenants convened before the solvent sunset of my eccentric heartbeat

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Mar 30, 2015

Mar 30, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC

offense may be caused so look away now -- -- -- -- -- still here? OK then I am both **** and philanderer, in word and deed I once found Jesus just so that I might **** a girl lucky that my hypocrisy was perishable I still smell of that earlier me than you might remember when I was filthy in my wishfulness the sharp torture of a tissued sceptre left me embarrassed in a honey dipped daydream where factional contributions turned wine into water and revenants convened before the solvent sunset of my eccentric heartbeat

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I am young blood, I am weak too You never knew that did you? I guess it got away, All of the things, You know... The flood gates have opened, Releasing all of the things, You know... The things that fill me I can't see myself in anyone I can't find you in me Let me be honest I think I could find more in stone Why am I here? Surrounded by people, I've never felt more alone Why did you leave? Contagious lies they never leave, I think they love me You know... The revenants of hope you buried, The memories that I can't forget You know... The ones you still sleep with I am young blood, I am weak too But you never knew that, Did you?

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May 26, 2015

May 26, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC

finley-pietersen

Where is my love young blood?

I am young blood, I am weak too You never knew that did you? I guess it got away, All of the things, You know... The flood gates have opened, Releasing all of the things, You know... The things that fill me I can't see myself in anyone I can't find you in me Let me be honest I think I could find more in stone Why am I here? Surrounded by people, I've never felt more alone Why did you leave? Contagious lies they never leave, I think they love me You know... The revenants of hope you buried, The memories that I can't forget You know... The ones you still sleep with I am young blood, I am weak too But you never knew that, Did you?

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I put the bad in a box seal the top against the thoughts that seek to crowd out the good in pursuit of the dark desires sanity is my wistful want release from shadows that persist with no source that others see silhouettes with gloom’s intent if only I could step beyond destruction found in sentiment wrecking all that I perceive with influence few can deny tendrils born of the past snaking deep into my brain ghosts believing life exists beyond their time to pass away they haunt my life when released not fully buried in quiet graves these revenants I thought dead spill to days with no relief now the box overflows worms with malice for my soul the top no longer holding tight the darkness spills over life. © 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180729.

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Jul 29, 2018

Jul 29, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC

I put the bad in a box seal the top against the thoughts that seek to crowd out the good in pursuit of the dark desires sanity is my wistful want release from shadows that persist with no source that others see silhouettes with gloom’s intent if only I could step beyond destruction found in sentiment wrecking all that I perceive with influence few can deny tendrils born of the past snaking deep into my brain ghosts believing life exists beyond their time to pass away they haunt my life when released not fully buried in quiet graves these revenants I thought dead spill to days with no relief now the box overflows worms with malice for my soul the top no longer holding tight the darkness spills over life. © 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180729.

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They are the revenants Flung from the pits of her soul To perish on her withered lips! As her hopes descended Through the stony hallways of his heart Into a world of wrath and scorns!

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Jun 19, 2016

Jun 19, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC

They are the revenants Flung from the pits of her soul To perish on her withered lips! As her hopes descended Through the stony hallways of his heart Into a world of wrath and scorns!

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Drifting through the lonely darkness night Searching ancient halls, candelabra high Seems forever she waits, longing to unite Dreary sorrow grips her fragile heart to die Untold years roll by, only her love in mind Many witnessed, oh the specters lament Crying echoes, wails in morning, no sign Remains now, a misting ocean breeze scent One fateful day, through countless yore Comes a gentle soul, with great empathy Hidden in diary, tragic tale and what's more Heroic captain's doomed ship by raging sea Wait he, for her woeful soul amidst paintings Candescence aflame the ancestral mortality Eyes flicker and shifting ominous engravings Lingering among shadows of ancient gallery Elevated trembling light in hand to behold A captain of the vessel dressed in uniform It cannot be, it looks like he, truth now told In gloom emerging, she hails human form Gathers him now into her ghostly embrace At last they meet again, it's been too long Laying head against her gown of chantilly lace Final beating, his heart stills, soul withdrawn Mislaid at sea no more, arrives him at last Pair drifting in afterlife's realm unknown No more tears, worrisome fears, they laugh Wasted years, rekindles love she does atone .

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Feb 19, 2025

Feb 19, 2025 at 9:06 AM UTC

Bygone Revenants

Drifting through the lonely darkness night Searching ancient halls, candelabra high Seems forever she waits, longing to unite Dreary sorrow grips her fragile heart to die Untold years roll by, only her love in mind Many witnessed, oh the specters lament Crying echoes, wails in morning, no sign Remains now, a misting ocean breeze scent One fateful day, through countless yore Comes a gentle soul, with great empathy Hidden in diary, tragic tale and what's more Heroic captain's doomed ship by raging sea Wait he, for her woeful soul amidst paintings Candescence aflame the ancestral mortality Eyes flicker and shifting ominous engravings Lingering among shadows of ancient gallery Elevated trembling light in hand to behold A captain of the vessel dressed in uniform It cannot be, it looks like he, truth now told In gloom emerging, she hails human form Gathers him now into her ghostly embrace At last they meet again, it's been too long Laying head against her gown of chantilly lace Final beating, his heart stills, soul withdrawn Mislaid at sea no more, arrives him at last Pair drifting in afterlife's realm unknown No more tears, worrisome fears, they laugh Wasted years, rekindles love she does atone .

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bound to live forbidden to die lost within an illusion caught within a coil living in a tormented hell waiting to rebel chasing unseen wraith revenants of the past haunt me how did i come to this fate tortures i can not take lost within my own mind a phantasm without a door can my past dues be paid how have i come upon hells gate will i escape this maze in my mind a labyrinth tormented hallucination death's voice a tribulation will i live and be forbidden to die by scarlet rose date: 7-17-2015

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Jul 17, 2015

Jul 17, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC

tormented personality

bound to live forbidden to die lost within an illusion caught within a coil living in a tormented hell waiting to rebel chasing unseen wraith revenants of the past haunt me how did i come to this fate tortures i can not take lost within my own mind a phantasm without a door can my past dues be paid how have i come upon hells gate will i escape this maze in my mind a labyrinth tormented hallucination death's voice a tribulation will i live and be forbidden to die by scarlet rose date: 7-17-2015

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This town is dead I am the ghost A shadow of these spooky streets From riverbed to battlefield I stir with solemn specters As hills besieged with screams Of fallen Yankee renegades And restless rebel revenants Still haunt my union dreams

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Apr 25, 2017

Apr 25, 2017 at 12:08 AM UTC

michael-marchese

This town is dead I am the ghost A shadow of these spooky streets From riverbed to battlefield I stir with solemn specters As hills besieged with screams Of fallen Yankee renegades And restless rebel revenants Still haunt my union dreams

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Sobriety is overrated Bottle recess for your mind Pain and time are complicated Pain and mind are lubricated Time and mind in competition Time and pain aligned Little drops of consolation Shiny sparkly pools of bliss Softly viewed through condensation Revenants by invitation Bottle-born in resurrection Noone else to miss There exists the true addiction Passing time with those you lost Pain is not the real affliction Loss of love holds little friction Time can pass in all directions Overlook the cost Bottles as chrono-transporter Meaningless in time and pain Chosen over bricks and mortar Home inside the pain exporter Caught inside the time remover Genie trapped again Traps are not a solo prison Bottle is no picky thief Locked outside your final mission Circumscribed to watch and listen Grasping as the brown glass darkens Wading into grief

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Aug 12, 2024

Aug 12, 2024 at 10:50 PM UTC

Sobriety is overrated Bottle recess for your mind Pain and time are complicated Pain and mind are lubricated Time and mind in competition Time and pain aligned Little drops of consolation Shiny sparkly pools of bliss Softly viewed through condensation Revenants by invitation Bottle-born in resurrection Noone else to miss There exists the true addiction Passing time with those you lost Pain is not the real affliction Loss of love holds little friction Time can pass in all directions Overlook the cost Bottles as chrono-transporter Meaningless in time and pain Chosen over bricks and mortar Home inside the pain exporter Caught inside the time remover Genie trapped again Traps are not a solo prison Bottle is no picky thief Locked outside your final mission Circumscribed to watch and listen Grasping as the brown glass darkens Wading into grief

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I like the word reminiscent. Like an echo of a quondam. Events that very likely happened But are inevitably vanishing. Passions still light the night And northern lights wave in a psychedelic sky. Is it reality or just a faint dream? Once we lived on that bluish dot, Covered with trees, down the Galaxy Where the breeze danced with the sea And just music could lull thoughts. Perhaps after a Big Crunch and a new Big Bang, With a little patience; We might all be Revenants. “So this is a good bye.”

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Jun 29, 2021

Jun 29, 2021 at 7:55 PM UTC

I like the word reminiscent. Like an echo of a quondam. Events that very likely happened But are inevitably vanishing. Passions still light the night And northern lights wave in a psychedelic sky. Is it reality or just a faint dream? Once we lived on that bluish dot, Covered with trees, down the Galaxy Where the breeze danced with the sea And just music could lull thoughts. Perhaps after a Big Crunch and a new Big Bang, With a little patience; We might all be Revenants. “So this is a good bye.”

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Our scars show the wars Past tears & growth Birth, trauma the healing over The telltale signs of living for better or worse Reminders of pain, loss Gain What has been here & now gone Choices we made Toxic spills cleaning up The calcification stone rub of our sentence & prison years , Falling down Falling up the ****** **** gauzed over Second skins Words harming me and mine bleeding on the inside cuts tear scars sear the burning of rhyme chaos in mind Faded welts from forgotten paths but not forgotten for etched in flesh Rivlets bumps holes puckered scars aberrations in our universe The pink red welts The wriggle worms mind slashes time our years our fears Our scars & battles Survive these days our ways past memories ripping apart the darkness Letting in the light Green glow of heart Glow of hope The truest carefree smile Full breath of life No holding back relax Our scars only signs Our miracles of flesh and light Revenants left behind Momentos Memories Souveniers from the roads we traveled I wish to store my scars Away in jars I don’t mind the reminders but please no remembering today.

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Nov 7, 2017

Nov 7, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC

Our scars show the wars Past tears & growth Birth, trauma the healing over The telltale signs of living for better or worse Reminders of pain, loss Gain What has been here & now gone Choices we made Toxic spills cleaning up The calcification stone rub of our sentence & prison years , Falling down Falling up the ****** **** gauzed over Second skins Words harming me and mine bleeding on the inside cuts tear scars sear the burning of rhyme chaos in mind Faded welts from forgotten paths but not forgotten for etched in flesh Rivlets bumps holes puckered scars aberrations in our universe The pink red welts The wriggle worms mind slashes time our years our fears Our scars & battles Survive these days our ways past memories ripping apart the darkness Letting in the light Green glow of heart Glow of hope The truest carefree smile Full breath of life No holding back relax Our scars only signs Our miracles of flesh and light Revenants left behind Momentos Memories Souveniers from the roads we traveled I wish to store my scars Away in jars I don’t mind the reminders but please no remembering today.

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In an eerie silence As the clock strikes 3 And the roaring black clouds Pile atop each other The coffin lids of unmarked graves Slowly open with a Lamenting refrain From its shadowy soggy depths Rises skeletal hands and legs With ***** cobwebs Tangled between their Piercing bony fingers And as the wind begins To wail and howl And the drooping willows Begin to weep and sob These restless tormented spirits Commence their march To find those who Sliced their life in half Before they could ever hear Their roll call from above // If ever you find yourself Awake at this witching hour And hear the distressing disembodied cries Of these wounded souls From somewhere outside Your doors While everyone else In your house is warm under the blanket of a sound repose And your eyes become Red with terror and dread While your heart Races at a perilous pace Leaving trails of a fetid sweat All over the skin of your strained muscles Then you should be Thoroughly aware of the Spine-tingling truth That those bellowing revenants Are hunting for Someone just like you Would you now like to finally confess That you committed An unforgiving offence Cause they will come again Every night they wont rest Until they find you Somehow How long can you Hope to hide inside Its time for you To say goodbye to life

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Sep 24, 2018

Sep 24, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC

In an eerie silence As the clock strikes 3 And the roaring black clouds Pile atop each other The coffin lids of unmarked graves Slowly open with a Lamenting refrain From its shadowy soggy depths Rises skeletal hands and legs With ***** cobwebs Tangled between their Piercing bony fingers And as the wind begins To wail and howl And the drooping willows Begin to weep and sob These restless tormented spirits Commence their march To find those who Sliced their life in half Before they could ever hear Their roll call from above // If ever you find yourself Awake at this witching hour And hear the distressing disembodied cries Of these wounded souls From somewhere outside Your doors While everyone else In your house is warm under the blanket of a sound repose And your eyes become Red with terror and dread While your heart Races at a perilous pace Leaving trails of a fetid sweat All over the skin of your strained muscles Then you should be Thoroughly aware of the Spine-tingling truth That those bellowing revenants Are hunting for Someone just like you Would you now like to finally confess That you committed An unforgiving offence Cause they will come again Every night they wont rest Until they find you Somehow How long can you Hope to hide inside Its time for you To say goodbye to life

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We press on forward, there is no going back, with the menacing presence in our track cut off we had just no other clear route... In a desperate act we made our way through the putrid stench, rot and decay that embraced and hid us from the pursuit. And though the Ring Wraiths roam the sky the marsh did not betray us to scrying eyes and our quest goes on though hanging by a thread. We tread with caution among many plights of this realm governed by entrancing lights - as if revenants of the warriors long dead, who haunt and taunt us with piercing stares from every and all of the murky meres like wet open graves scattered around. The submission comes at a harrowing cost. A moment of weakness and we'd be lost to the enchanting spell of the drowned. Their pale faces beyond the turbid shroud either evil and grim, or fair and proud all harbor a foul and twisted spark. Long gone are the souls of both elves and men Only these hungering husks now remain On guard for a new prey in the dark. Countless paths and yet just one leads out. I'm being riddled with despair and doubt as we're passing through the lasting haze; in between the burden I barely abide. and the uncertain whim of our guide, will we ever emerge from this shifting maze?

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Sep 29, 2024

Sep 29, 2024 at 6:33 AM UTC

The passage of the Marshes

We press on forward, there is no going back, with the menacing presence in our track cut off we had just no other clear route... In a desperate act we made our way through the putrid stench, rot and decay that embraced and hid us from the pursuit. And though the Ring Wraiths roam the sky the marsh did not betray us to scrying eyes and our quest goes on though hanging by a thread. We tread with caution among many plights of this realm governed by entrancing lights - as if revenants of the warriors long dead, who haunt and taunt us with piercing stares from every and all of the murky meres like wet open graves scattered around. The submission comes at a harrowing cost. A moment of weakness and we'd be lost to the enchanting spell of the drowned. Their pale faces beyond the turbid shroud either evil and grim, or fair and proud all harbor a foul and twisted spark. Long gone are the souls of both elves and men Only these hungering husks now remain On guard for a new prey in the dark. Countless paths and yet just one leads out. I'm being riddled with despair and doubt as we're passing through the lasting haze; in between the burden I barely abide. and the uncertain whim of our guide, will we ever emerge from this shifting maze?

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Monochrome strings, fizzled out currents, Dull thumps, dead thumps, redrum me, The theatre of my undoing and my banes, The graveyard of unburied, broken dreams; The heart was made to feel and Lord, I felt, The vacuity of a thousand dead suns, The gravity of a tempered yellow star, What grows the more you take away? The grief of the fireflies, burned without the fade, The oddity of a moonflower for one glorious dusk, None of this makes sense and neither do I, Lost in the plot, lost a lot, take out the glock; The revenants of my wounds have resurfaced, I slip across it's horizon, overcome by it's strength, Just me and Lana tonight, let the wildflower burn, Tomorrow's dusk, I'll still be here.

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May 21, 2024

May 21, 2024 at 4:21 PM UTC

Monochrome strings, fizzled out currents, Dull thumps, dead thumps, redrum me, The theatre of my undoing and my banes, The graveyard of unburied, broken dreams; The heart was made to feel and Lord, I felt, The vacuity of a thousand dead suns, The gravity of a tempered yellow star, What grows the more you take away? The grief of the fireflies, burned without the fade, The oddity of a moonflower for one glorious dusk, None of this makes sense and neither do I, Lost in the plot, lost a lot, take out the glock; The revenants of my wounds have resurfaced, I slip across it's horizon, overcome by it's strength, Just me and Lana tonight, let the wildflower burn, Tomorrow's dusk, I'll still be here.

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The blooms shroud what’s hid beneath only shapes hint the concealed as bright flowers distract the eye from a crypt absent a hearth last dwelling place for my heart only the ghosts still dwell within revenants that life will not cleave disturbing memories long deceased these echoes shroud by petal’s blades blossoms placed upon the grave. © 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181018.

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Oct 18, 2018

Oct 18, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC

The blooms shroud what’s hid beneath only shapes hint the concealed as bright flowers distract the eye from a crypt absent a hearth last dwelling place for my heart only the ghosts still dwell within revenants that life will not cleave disturbing memories long deceased these echoes shroud by petal’s blades blossoms placed upon the grave. © 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181018.

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