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Alice Wilde Jul 2018
She was born of a forest
And rests her heart  
Shallow in pooled dreams
Dripping further than her tears
Falling to soft earth.

She eats rosed lilies
And pickled cattails
All while
Her footsteps leave no absence known
As her lithe nymph body melts into foliage.

And her arms permanently reach
Into the void of
All unknowable things.
Grasping at gossamer threads,
Like thoughts that can't be spun together.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
pop culture... yeah... that yawn...
borrowed from the t.v....

   belle delphine... makes a comeback:
                                                       ­    i'm back...

       i must be a real riddle...
                                              though...­

      there i was thinking:
sorry... i was on auto-pilot...
i started to think of...

                harley quinn -
ava max - sweet but a ******...

trouble: i know what a tease
of regret looks like...
i also know what...
a make-shift...
nazgul harem of bulgarian
looks like... too...

        a tease of regret:
a former girlfriend...
striptease of a follow-up
narrative...
very nice... oh oh so nice!

but this one is clearly not beyond:
being a push-over...
belle delphine is no harley quinn:
i.e. ******* seriously sober...
**** your entranced: drunk...
******* sober overtly sober twice...

but... for the bathwater...
and... no...
i am the omega man...
on the list... of... allowed...
men... to *****...
into a genocide tissue
of... banking on genes:
without a ****-up
mother and father sort of
narrative...

         for the drunk:
the sobering whirlwind of reality...
because when rich people
like... should... i... inject...
myself... with some... broown show-gar?!

like i once asked an aesthetician:
i guess in reverse...
i was put under the scalpel and:
the selfless dictum of medicine...
he asked me: what books?
i asked him: quo vadis?

                i thereby managed
to burn the bookmark...
who was sane enough to salvage
the book i was reading?

    clued in on the: beside the brothel
antics...
   this clearly aesthetic girl...
this money making
crazy wheel this buttocks of
supra-roulette...
   when man and death...
the trough... the rhine valley
of trenches and brick-making
tactics for the ***** pederasts
on top...
those cherries those readily...
and thereby... easily...
cusps of iced cream...

                prostitutes speaking...
their gimp and limp-sidekick...
hard-on...       "procrastinations"...
to rhyme to rap...
by the way it looks like:
to rhyme is to rap:
to rap is to rhyme:
  
cookie dough oh oh *******...
and crisp-et... cookie ok: dunking...
slippery and swoon... and sweat...
   boy george fickle...
somehow browning... and none of that...
best dead before:
there was ever a best before date...

and then....
                      MA-GI-C!

playing a game of caesar's thumb:
      versed... in pollice verso?
          how do you play a game of
caesar's thumb?

oh... well... you will require a female maine ****
cat... and some... adamant moth...
the game works... like:
you proving to the beast:
you are not... toying with the moth...
the moth is a lesser creature
to both of you...

how does one play a game of caesar's thumb?
when one only has...
an agitated moth to catch once in a while...
and a maine **** cat:
to give attention to...
with a clenched fist:
with the entombed moth trying
to wriggle its way with
a fluttering of the wings...

   there's also that female
mosquito...
clenched onto by a pinch involving
one of her leg-work limbs...
and being a female...
she pulled and tugged and made
a "dialectic" of the verbs associated
with that limb extension...
a male maine **** cat would
have made a feast of her...
like he would of the cobwebs...

she escaped with 5 legs... to her original 6...
but a month...
i can't disfigure...
too quick for the lassy...
i held the moth in my clenched
fist like a rattle of fluttering
wings teasing...
not enough...
top bored from having
the impossible catch of the night...

the moth always remains: intact...
alive...
either cat catches the moth...
or leaves ones bedroom:
with a blooming gloom
of boredome....

but that's how to keep intact
a "sanity"...
a visit to the brothel...
becomes... a typo-
       for a shop only butchers are only
allowed to... inhabit...
    the sentencing of meat...
the clarity of heaving a life
of a moth in one's clenched fist:
and there's a thirst...
of the fist: to draw that lost samble
of: the begrudged familiarity
of language: and given that...
it's all in 21st century crude / rudimentary...
and rhyme...
            
       no caged beacon of the heavens...
of a lost circumvent...
caged lottery of the rhyme
of being perpetually caged...
       for the loot of **** and cockrel loitering...
like: morn is the cry to whine!

a game of caesar's thumb...
there was once a clenched fist: and a thirst for
blood...
now... a maine **** she, cat...
and a moth... fluttering...
like... an agitated petal-wing-and-rose...
too many "bored"
marihuana junkies stalking these
english streets come twilight...
one almost bumped into...

agitated by my poker facing
the already agitating grey-ish...
by the number...
by the number:
                   what-what of...
if he be not the king george:
having to give up h'america...
then he's no helen mirren...

          a game of caesar's thumb:
any and if all be owned:
that antithesis of a game of chess...
a game of both
kings and paupers...
3D dynamic: and madmen!

"revision": belle delphine...
cold... hearted... capitalist at... brain-sizzle...
but... gravitating toward
two outlets of fiction....
   belle delphine ≠ harley quinn...
a little ******... oh so hot...
hot tender me oh my ***:
posion the daisy...
poison rose should... a rose be all
the more... already... poisoned...

a visit to the brothel:
a visit to the butcher shop:
for the cho- chop and chopping assurances...
the crooked crown on an already
crooked head...
the statue of charles II
in soho sq....
        
              i most certainly paid for much
less than this ****-tenure-of-a-tease....
but then... to have an argument...
you'd need to mingle with a bunch
of thieves... murdering slob-gatherers
of phlegm...

            poisoned red-bunch of
a wholly rosed-up affairs of loiter...
and time: such a prized dead-end of
eventuality...

            the father the god:
the sacrificial lamb...
because... god forbid she was
ever to somehow burden
a deity with a: one first...
once and a daughter...

                  ****** fun-fair for
the riddled ghosts...
       blank shot shrapnel...
                     better suited...
midnight blue of the alias black...
then at least:
best... towing two gaylords
with everyone's bet on
typo and a bullseye!

   but never... the sensibly...
      hetrosexual normative...
goody twice-tied...
shoe-and-shine:
pwetty: that girl and:
you best forget to whine!
that girl and you'd wish...
            her father was a shtalin....
because...
crude and rude...
and all that's ****...
before Lucifer peeks with
a... siamese cranium...
              
      death to all...
who have made it concise...
in making life:
hardly... a... pardon....

  yes... best equipped it making it:
magic! and all the more difficult...
but never difficult enough...
difficult enough...
when... somehow... never... citing...
an... albert fish...
needle in my pelvis...
to... exfoliate... with any...
and more... addition of...
pain as an... ******...

      i guess the plead of the shawshank
sisters drops...
it always drops...
when there's a "conflation"
of evidence...
surrounding... the lower-base...
extremity: the crab genus...
       crustaceans....
    child- this-and-that...
       ****-fiddler...
             but a cannibal to boot?!
you... talk...
or simply... electrocute said:
individual...
since... your... ******* 'ed...
is already fried by the magic
of norm-frequence...
and the already: herd... estasblished...
Norman?
you with me...
sptunik jimmy...
               you with me... cream-soda joe?
you with me...
finding aliens already bigger
than flies... the widow mantis...
blessed joseph josephine?!
*******-numb-wit?!

oh yes! all conession: avowed
to you!
               because...
who isn't...
      in russia... they vowed
to keep these cain canine brood phlegm
of an *******: freely to roam...
siberia... that was the promise...

when they would **** a birth-firvolity
of a: devil and the "by chance"...
when converting man to
the stature of elevating wolf or bear...
and all the better...
rather than... caging the odd-ball
parody of... lacklustre joke and...
moth-ball-rolling...
****-wits the: future!
supposed! narrative!
******'-h'america...
              celebrated feature of culture
most involving... a horror...
      and... bull-wrapping!
               a ******* for a skinning!
Primrose Clare Jan 2014
melancholy blanketed the whites
scarred voices muffled by
a ****** mind.
an avalanche stuck in my soul
severer than a bee at a forked road
   how confused!

red-cheeked petals and afternoon birds glare
    in confusions at the footsteps :
unbalance, shaded, muted!
the green umbrella's warm, so scorchingly cold!
all embittered, by solemn beams of the soulless sun.
     their eyes widen,
     for they had never seen such lone,
for such lone, rare, is forbid to the sons of nature,
never belong to happy child's arms,
that dreams in a mother's charm.

grieving droughts in the air and grass,
no dews, why!,
   yawned the madden, soporific rabbit
Ah, so wild.

the windless noontime cross, my quivers stopped, mild.
lashes waxed, blacken like a coal,
  mind stuck in a haze, or maybe a threatening maze.

stiffness of the air injected to my nostrils
into my white tongue they will soak, like perfumes to a clothe.
Selene will gaze angrily at this and say,
      why no, it shouldn't be in there!
the midnight orchids waver and frown.

soon the frothing dreams peter,
but the bolded letters in a white board stay,
my chair stays.

creaks of an abominable burden became a din.
The smudges of grey-white dust I smelt
hover gaily in the air of pompous breath.
    spellbound by the stagnant languor,
mazy, in hallucinations of the heat and homesick.
    I sought the fount of hypocrisy and vile,
my hiding nonchalances rosen
(towards a flock of friends)
and loathes to an abominable sun frozen
(I wished it to die!)

Tilted to the windows,
I saw nothing, but fatal secrets of a heart rosed
like window dust to a nose.
writing about my daydreams, the first day of school.
miniyollo Apr 2021
She walked down the aisle,
In a beautiful white gown just like her smile,
Her hair in a bun
with a crown just like Eve,
Her lips without a smudge,
Her cheeks rosed pink
And her eyes in tears.
She made her vows with the one in her eyes,
But her throbbing heart
Knew she lied.
Since childhood, the angel thought
This day was the best.
Only to realize,
It wasn't the day,
But the man she would spend her rest.
The princess did not have her prince charming riding the white horse,
But he sat on the wooden bench like a silenda,
Reliving the moments of their star crossed saga.
Who knew there was an obscure string,
That would never let them apart,
The flowers,
The mass,
The rings,
Thy charm,
Was all just a show,
When the heart wasn't ready to vow.....
Raven Feels Jun 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, this is the reason I write;>


dark rainbow rays mirrored on a ferris wheel
a getaway car in an edged escape to night steal

neon lights shimmering to hit the blind
whisper the whistles for an old memory on kind

like music blasting from ages of dreamt youth
sirens delight a heaven to the soothe

instrumental of the better sometimes wilder
violins haven hearts of lost on minder

crowds beat in one
rockstar of a blast concert as if none

sweat painted down the back
shivering sensations never seem to black

a run for life from the poison killing attach
even when the loneliest matters or not without a match

heard before my days known in my mercury
just uranused with a flaw abroad the mild century

is it for a regret?
to keep this mere on an impossible met

yellow on the head
better hidden not said?

a smoking pulse on a midnight walk to anger
hair torn feet split on a single dancer

hell of a heartbreak on rhymes
driving on blades on knives

upon screams liberate a burning love rosed
rare nostalgia again miracled an incredulous indie overdosed


                                                                                  ------ravenfeels
Mitchell Jul 2011
No your encouragement will not weasel itself
Into my hands which conjure any spell
I wish to carry my bloodied tattered feet
To every crossroad packing my heat

No your soft wishes of cursed glee
Makes me want to grab my gun and flee
Fun for the flower pots and the sun glaring hot
Makes me want to die like Elvis on the ***

No your lily rosed' cheeks which squeal naivety
Doesn't even make me want to donate a penny
The dirt beneath your eyes tells me you lie
I'm sitting back here eyeing that last piece of pie

No the Earth spins not in beauty but in horrific madness
Not even the almighty could have dared to plan this
Saggy eyed hobos drifting souls that noone dares to know
Will be the next thousand dollar opera you'll praise a fine show

No more of this celebratory talk as ***** maids smocks
Cannot be washed of blood as the midnight bell tock's
No more wishes of nature's fortitude she does not need us
My eyes my dear or eyeing south for a continental bus
Lyn-Purcell Nov 2017
Resting redly in an ocean of shadows
is Scarborough Fair.
With sweet and cardinal scent of the roses clinging to the air.
A woman of cherries, potential untapped.
With a harsh fate upon her as well as a pact.
A child born to parents star-crossed.
A love that was denied and a high cost.
I see her there
Fair-skinned, dark-haired.
Lips of rosed sin
And slinks the world prepared.

And with this woman walks the four,
Weapons of mass destruction that
the Devil would **** for.
The sass of Parsley
The wisdom of Sage
The touch of Rosemary
The passage of Thyme
A rewrite of my poem 'Umbra Witch' dedicated to Bayonetta 1.
Brynn S Nov 2018
Tracerene
Conclude the dream
Dew melt my eyes as a suken scene
Soft spoken words pour from your lips
With bones of greetings how often our slips
Gaze and grasp
Each night to pass
I follow you to heaven
Lift me to the ceilings of above
Paint me unto the walls of love
Grasp the two sides of the bodice
Reach to me closer, call me the goddess
Place unto the petals, leave me your alter
With breaths intertwined movements cease to falter
Eyes melt into one sight
Share with me our night

Loves together in a single moment
Kelidoscopes of rosed colors tint
Small traces to guide the hint
This is my moment to share, racing thoughts bleed into the air
JKirin Nov 2021
They've always been here — the signs—
in your every smile, your sighs,
in the long, gentle touches,
on your cheeks rosed with blushes.

What a fool I've been, didn't see,
didn't save you from ruin, from me.
I have failed you. I'm at fault —
you're in anguish; you hurt.

Stay away! I'm unworthy
of your kindness and mercy.
There is something I'm scared of —
I'm too hollow to bear love.

They've always been here — the signs—
in the way the whole world shines.
about believing to not be able to love nor accept it, and not realizing that you already do love
Sitting in the dark, alone
in this wooden shack no one's own
outside blows northern wind
I trapped myself in, I was blind

In this dark, dark night
my only hope is this candle light
I can sense her close
she's right there ; in the shadows

The walls are holed, my hearth frozed
in perfect silence she rosed
she sat by my side, warming me up

romantic date with the lady of the death
she is so beatifull, I want to join her
I blew my candle in a last breath


La lune haute, le vent de novembre glacial.
Au creux de mon abris sombre, une bougie
Elle m’est une protection triviale
Mais sans elle sur ma porte serait écrit ci-***

Lumière si douce en temps de noirceur
Ma bougie agonisant près de mon noir cœur
Mon âme tu l’avais réduite en haillon
Les murs de ce sombre abri sont ma prison

Mon cœur est givré par le souffle d’un titan
Je la sens. Là! Dans le noir elle m’attend
D’un geste de main ; je l’invite à ma table

Calme, elle me rejoint dans un silence d’or
Tête à tête aux chandelles avec la mort
Avant que par amour je souffle ma bougie
the second part is the same poem its just the original version which sound better in my opinion
This is the first poem I have ever written in english. It used to be filled with grammar errors but Wejdan help me correct some of em.
Oh! the last part is the original. It sound a hell of a lot better in my opinion.
I'd rush to see him, heart thumping in my chest
To Be the first to reach that door
Alone for seconds before...

His face, knowing
Carved brows and stature
Assuring light, of majesty

Out of breath even with at full rest
A rosed complexion
I could not Vex

How would I ever express
An adoration so esteemed
Of purest Nature
*and deepest dream
A fifteen year heartache. I've yet to shake the torture of never getting to verbally express
jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
I kiss your lips.
I bid you farewell.
Knowing in my heart.
I'll never see you any more.

I remember all the time we shared.
And the things together we went through.
While knowing in my heart.
I'm bidding you farewell.

All the friends we knew was there.
And tears rosed to some of their eyes.
And strong as I tried to pretend.
They even rised higher in mine.

I never bought into , a man isn't suppose to cry.
Cause here I am standing at the casket.
Bidding someone I love goodbye.

Sure, I'll see you again.
Someone in the future.
That's the way life seems to go.

It's just this feeling.
I won't be seeing you come through the door anymore.

This is my last kiss.
Upon your lovely face.
But one thing I know.
Your memory will never fade.
As I bid you farewell.
Jay 1988 Sep 2017
Remember how you held my hand tight
On the very first day of school
They told you not to sit with me
Together we broke all the rules
I could feel your eyes upon me
Like you'd stare at me for hours
I'd pretend i didn't notice
draw you lovehearts laced with flowers
And when the bell went
you dashed across to me
This thig between us
this school could never teach us
Plan our wedding, name out children put the world to rights for hours
Walk home through back fields, bend right down and pick you flowers

I pulled the hair back, that covered your blue eyes
Smelt your breath upon me as you leaned in and sighed


What about when they told us you were to go away
Don't worry they told us, she'll be home on saturdays
Catholic school across the city
You beg my parents "can he please come with me"
Without you seconds seem like hours
In your room a library of pressed flowers
When the bell went every friday
You stare from the window
i'm waiting at the gate
In my hand a single flower, a bright red rose just for you
Place a kiss upon your cheek
Walk you home from school

Then the priest saw us, marching hand in hand
Kisses and red rosed, those unholy things are banned
But together we still planned our wedding day
Storm clouds fist, then came the rain
Age caught us up way too soon
Before we knew, again you were on the move
Here and there, everywhere
Straight from school, a different city, university .... and then there was me
Am i such a fool ?

I found myself a job selling flowers on a stall
Tuesdsy evenings put by just to take your call
Laughter in the background distance
"Will you still marry me?" I whisper
"I met this guy and then i kissed him"
Those were the final words you said
Now i sell flowers to young lovers who pass by
Now i sell flowers from a husband to give to his wife
I sit at my stall forever
Your forever on my mind
Open up the local paper, a photo of a brand new man and wife
Recognise your face, bowed my head and cried
Pulled some roses from the bucket
Made the most beautiful boquet and i took it
Laid it at your doorstep
Left a note with it that said

You gave your heart to me, i never gave it back
You've nothing to give this man, that is just a fact
Your passion is my comfort that just keeps me going
If you need me, i sit around for hours
Selling lovers pretty flowers
Still calve our initials inside the wood during all of my spare hours
Draw you love hearts every day wrapped in kisses and pretty flowers
Latroy Robinson Mar 2014
Me

You find me, your eyes knockout-black.
I am heavy, swerving through the door.
You do not speak. You lift me by the slop
of my neck, drop me in front of the toilet.
You flip the lights, hook me to the bowl. Wait.
I can't feel the porcelain fangs.
The toilet taunts me, smiles
like it has been waiting.
I know you must be swirling red,
you raised me to not fall like this.
Your down-stare and strict chin bites
more than any hangover, rocks me like a ritual.  
I see no up from here. I cannot face you. I know
I have failed. I have not yet earned the dark mark of man.

Him**

Boy, you used to be rainbow-young,
rosed cheek,  yellow life, too eager
to grow up. Baby, now you are whisking
in the husk of a bottle, slosh and off-tilt.
I am grateful you made your way
home. I was like this once. My father
turned a blind body to me. Left me
swollen and ripe for the bathroom.
I will be there for your initiation.
Silent as I hunch you off the toilet bowl,
watch you atone for your regrets.
The toilet beckons you. It wants to lick
you with the same crystallize bite
it gave me. This is how it's always been.
You have passed the test I've raised you to fail.
I know you will not face me, curl to the waist
of the toilet. This is the dark way to manhood.
KE Apr 2016
nightlight kisses flicker
under covers, while
gun-like fingers wind
around gasping lungs.
tangled lies become
obscene truths, as our
rosary lashes pray for the
yearning boxes, we call hearts.

here, we align our bodies–
ears to mouth, secrets spoken.
‘are you alive, darling?’
red rosed-lips blooming against
the needy and hollowed ribs
soft confessions, quiet heartbeats.

‘if this is what it feels to be
alive, love–let your midnight
hips bury us both.  and in the
morn, let the sun coax our hidden
love–sprouting like baby’s
breath from our rotting chests.’
5/52
Their summer reminds me,
Of the eternal one that was yours,
And hair dark like summer storms
That smelled of spring flowers,
Eyes like the streams
We would watch at midday,
The eyes that taught me,
To open mine and see day,
A smile that would play
On the corner of rosed lips,
Withholding the laughter
That built into fits,
Fingers that danced over skin,
Beaded with the drops,
You caused down my spine,
With every game that I "lost"
A collarbone I knew by heart,
As my lips blindly traced,
Every dip of your skin,
Felt how your heart raced,
You tasted like first rain,
As your tongue asked for entrance,
As gentle as lightening,
With our fingers finally laced,
My hands found home
At your hips,
And my mouth found life
At your lips,
Scars laced your arms,
Like vines filled with each flower,
And I knew every curve,
I knew everything you'd allow her,
The blush of your cheeks
That rose from your neck,
With every stolen glance,
And every stolen peck.

The thunder storms dried,
And spring flowers turned to dust,
Leaving nothing but chill,
Where there was once lust,
The rains turned to dry puddles,
Your collarbone to stone,
No longer beating,
Completely alone,
Beads of sweat turned to tears,
As your fingers lay still,
No heart beat resonated,
I didn't see you where ill,
The blush of your cheeks,
Became the red of your vines,
The roses where blooming,
As my flower died,
And so came on winter,
Frost fell over the ground,
Of Sleeping Beauty's own grave,
Death nor love, neither be proud...
I'm sorry it took me so long.
I'm sorry its too late
jeffrey conyers Feb 2013
She cried.
She must have.
She hurted.
She must have.
A mother's weep because of things people done.
All because they feared the power of her son.
Who was the begotten one?

Pure as the driven snow.
She once was.
Which centers around the birth of her son.
Who God selected to be the anointed?

A mother's weeped then.
And even in the end.
Proud enough to say in death.
Job well done.

A tear failed.
But that son rosed to be powerful then ever before.
Kaumal Borah Jul 2020
She set off
In the dawn
Grappling the whole day long
Encountering the ecstasy and melancholy
Of  life
Intermittently
She rosed to a newborn
The period between dusk till dawn
Became a mystery for
Lifelong.
We dont know why are we doing the things that we are continously doing from the time we were born.. till the day we die .its just a procedure to follow that continues throughout he lifetime ....
Its just a mytery that we are yet to understand ...
lover Feb 2019
"should" be loving someone
"could" be loving myself
"might" have known you were the flame that burned my soul if I'd have listened beyond my rosed eye view
rose gold walls and light blue bedding
can I drown in my sorrows?
one cup of water is not enough
not for this lonely soul
sold my heart on a page and retained my body throughout yellow lines on a marked pavement
chalked the purest morning form of myself that I wish I could erase
"you'll get better"
better off dead
the 1975 inspired
Kaumal Borah Aug 2020
The tears
Rolled
Down her cheeks
Touching
every bit of it
slowly
Reached her lips
And was about to
Fall
Down
Just then
She
Wiped away
the
Little
Drops
Of pain, burden and guilt
And rosed
Out as
A strong human
Believing
Tears cannot
Break her
All it can do is
Make  her a
Strong human.
Crying helps us what nothing cannot sometimes
kelly jane May 2019
I see you only in my dreams
Smiling back at me
helding me tied within your arms
Whispering in my ear to move on
But i closed my eyes so tied
hoping to never wake up from this dream
But as the sun rosed up
My beautiful dream fades away with my love

I wish you never left along with the wind
I count every single star in the night
hoping to fing you amongt
The night breeze frozed my tears
But your love kept my heart warm
But the truth remains the same
I will never see you again
Nothing hurts more than losing the one you love mostm
Who am I to speak with confidence;

When none I have to give in verbal nonsense?

Who am I to think;

When ignorance drowns me in a sink?

Who am I to see with rosed glasses;

When I am overcome with blindness?

Who am I to hear;

When I listen only to mine own fear?

Who am I to feel;

When I decimate our heartfelt seal?

Who am I to be;

If I act as what is portrayed of me?

Who am I to take a stance;

If I stand on nothing of balance?

Who am I, to be who I am?
LeRoy Williams Jun 2019
Licks drip drip from this ***** nuggut head. Shoking **** to smutherines till the finger nails stain and stink stinky stank.Google your mother and say *******. Game the **** out on snickering dolls. Dolls ******* sound like something I'd stay away from. Watch your self washing wealthy washers washing winky face senders. Why is this the cost for gross goon gone going guilt got goalies getting jiggy. Golly wolly blame Blair Walsh for freddie fender licks getting gayer than aids. *******! You'll pay for that restitution fling that held horns haunting holy sanctions. Did I say something. Oops. I can't believe your living here amonst me. Red red rosed cotton swabs bucause the dude don't *** wipe. It's funny to hear my ***** backwash.
Satsih Verma Apr 2019
I wanted nothing
from you, O prophet
of the holy tomb.
Lie in rest.

The living memory
fails, I look inside the
sepulcher. There were
only dry rosed petals.

At peace in temple of
flagellation. I am catching
blue butterflies.

I go for metaphysics.
Try to deceive myself
and forget the real.

In defining the being,
an angel wants a
pound of flesh.

Nothingness wins.
Moses Michael N Dec 2019
Like a faded dream,
Fleeting away from a little child,
So swiftly like when the eagle soars so high in the air,
That soothing feelings of living free,
Was long gone, like a labour pain,
When the child is born.

He was hurt, not of physical pain,
His days were restless,
And his night calm,
Until morning when the darkness disappeared,
And the present day reality unfolds,
Like when the groom unveils his bride.

The time of the future is nigh,
Weather they believe it or not,
The words are true,
The legend is faithful,
The present reality, so unpleasant,
Many have wished a better place,
The now is so ugly,
Her dreams far fetched.

Who can live free on a ruined world?
Full of miseries, pains and sorrow,
The good, the bad,
The rich, the poor,
Who hasn't cry?
The end is nigh,
In the mid air he shall appear.

He, the cure of all evil,
Perhaps the end of all that's sin,
Liberation of the weak,
From the mighty one of the earth,
His mind is certain,
In the name of all that is True,
He came, he lived, he died,
He rosed, he ascended,
He will come again,
That alone is a perfect dream.
Eyen F Dec 2019
I'll elaborate, short by minuscule and small,
by tiny features'll done be with them all.

Dry, deserted, thirst-inducing abovefrom wasteland.
No more green roads and paths flourish from yer any ***.

Frail and begotten;
O' lad, yer sighing's as worthless and gross as a mother's kiss,
ye'r 'airles, ye worth time of mine is not,
for yer being's every trace's bayn relentlessly torne!
Won't comb nor feel a dread of pulling a single strand off;
not one twirl and loop make a cringe,
nor does one two-finger pull draw any curve at all.

Girlbornlack.

Heartdriven dame, longed for mayl's lifelung...
...long not it was nor took
for the heartnearing to be deemed devolved:
Rosed, delicate, brutally impetuous thrusts
of lips went on, hard as stone,
hit her lovely brown face
and finished her with a kick;
a crashing kiss, that's what it was.
T'was cute; long and warm, tongue involved.
T'was thick and drooling, her bright-red lipstick.

— The End —