"sharpest" poems
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Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
[Official Part-1]
this world can be dangerous
bleak, wild and careless
you're living without knowing
how many days you'll ride
every day you face with
the problems you think
they are bigger than 'you'
but they are smaller than
the whole universe
mini world, bright sky
time is gold; it will fly
no one is getting it
no one is feeling it
what's in your veins
what lead you to the chains
seem every little is in a mess
like every human is in stress
walking on the sharpest bridge
thinking I'm ready to stop
maybe I can lay here and flop
on to the cold concrete ground
am I ready to beat this round,
what's next or what's behind
how hard it is to feel kind
when it's all making you blind
and here's where you can
show your difference
by being kind
noise trauma, unnecessary drama
everyone wants to be an alpha
race of fame and goals to gain
end of nature and crazy bane
after this, I'll never be the same
relationships have a journey
which starts, goes and ends
I found One has no 'end'
GOD IS MY BEST FRIEND.
☾ M. E. Kuşaslan ✩
@lightinthedarknesspoetry
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
#*God draws out
the deepest, sharpest
most tormenting pain in us
brings it straight to the surface
with raw nerves and ugly roots exposed
then meets us right there in that exact place
with the tender, soothing, healing balm of His love*#
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
There is a legend
about a bird
which sings just once in its life. more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth,
From the moment it leaves
the nest it searches for
a thorn tree,and it does not rest
until it has found one.
Then singing, among the savage branches, it pales itself upon the sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony
to outcarol the larkand the nightingale.
One superlative song,existence the price.
But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles.
for the best is only bought at the cost of great pain....Or
so says the legend.This resonates deeply within me
because being an RHO negativeMother every Gyno MD advised
termination of my unborn a malicious prejudice
even called me hybrid race! the medical database is WRONG
I SAVED three of my children they were born
they live the loves of my life
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
When the mind is in conflict
Nothing pleases the heart
Every resonance creates disharmony
Echoed from the sharpest edges
The conflict is amplified in the soul
Not aligned with the universe
Conflict of the mind takes over
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
And suddenly you see it
as you hit rock bottom,
as you break down
into the smallest, sharpest pieces,
and your existence screams
at an empty room
to be saved
to stay
to live.
No echoes in the dark.
You see the incredible life
that is waiting for you;
that was always waiting
for you
past the veil
of your despair
your vices
your masochistic
self centered
suicidal
disposition.
You choose to be greater
than your fear,
and freedom ensues.
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 9:25 AM UTC
"With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow@With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
**Let me forget about
today until tomorrow**"
lyric, Mr Tambourine Man,
Bob Dylan
<>
Rebel troubadour, always resrless, asking the obvious,
with answers readily apparent,
yet no one knows them out loud
Here we are,
two old Jews,
crossing paths at our shared six point star,
we aware, we know, that the
questions will likely be there tomorrow,'for they
have always there come the morn,
so we do not raise our voices anymore,
indeed,
the questions grow up best when asked softly softly,
and the answers,
blowing in the wind,
are clearest, sharpest obvious when
whispered,
So,
~forget about today till tomorrow,
until tomorrow comes no more~
And is this an only love poem?
To be sure,
Be sure.
For only love is the bridge between yesterday,
Today, and Tomorrow,
No matter what!
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 9:31 AM UTC
I am a supreme
Light framed being
Who leaves ferrari's
In the dust
I am sorry for your
Jealousy as I am
Totally terrific
And love wearing
My fabulous coat
Fiercely independent I
Imprint the air with
My personal spots
My proud individuality
Nothing out of reach
I wait for something to inspire
As I hunt lightly
Positioning intelligently
And quickly
Pads on fire
I grab the ground
As I grip the world
With the sharpest claw
As evolving and revolving
Forces compel me with desire
My vibrant cells flicker
Waiting for the right trigger
Spinning and twisting
They collapse into air
As I rush and rush
chasing and chasing
My focus still like stone
Lands lightly like a feather
As I am clear as
Diamond or glass
Empty of thoughts I am a tunnel
The wind blows through
As I run and run
Soft and agile
I can quickly change
Direction or pace
Perfect balance my
Tail acts as a fulcrum
It is as though a
Silver thread was attached
From high up in heaven
Moving on an electric circuit
I am lightning through the air
Stretching like elastic
Expanding into spaces
I become a mile long
Reaching and Reaching
Into proud new places
Slipping through the air
As though someone
Had oiled my hair
I slide weightless
Air born on ice skates
As I catch my hare
With her swiftness
We find she lifts us
With her fire we catch desire
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
He was my most delicate flower
My favorite peony
Who seemed resilient of harsh summer showers
He held my aurora
He was my king, my aliferous deity
A dulcet fragrance is mixed with spring’s breeze
His kalon petals would balter
I whisper “I dream of living near the sea”
He'd grin
Knowing I’ll never turn out as I aspire to be
With more love than the last
Everyday I would greet him
Nurture him, tell him wild stories of my strange past
I thought too highly of him
I took my sharpest scissors
I lacerated his stem carefully
I killed him and pressed him
In an effort
To preserve my love of him
For eternity
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Long days seem so much longer.
Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious.
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.
We’re far past passive flatteries,
Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows.
You mean them now,
But what about a few months?
What if you decide I’m not what you want?
The torment I am slowly approaching,
Consumes my distant soul.
I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing,
From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll.
So tell me.
How can I pay this inevitable toll?
How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny?
His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.
But this arrow, trenchant.
Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen.
Yet colorblind, he is.
He sees not what colors his targets represent.
He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship.
Sometimes, yet not often,
He will hit the intended target.
But the odds are scarce.
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire.
Yet this time…
This time…
Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval.
For thrice he has missed.
This time He and Fate are in sync.
This wound may stretch over time,
But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my *****
***** and immovable.
Until you kick it through my backside.
But until then,
I can only endure.
I can only be woo wounded.
I can only survive,
Another ambush of the militant called Cupid.
But I will do it for you,
For by you,
I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips.
Not by your kiss,
But by the music,
Which your mandibles so express.
I desire not to seal this wound,
But to evade its’ repercussions.
For I have endured a similar wound thrice.
He is winged as if an angel,
Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well?
Cupid is an impostor.
A spy of Agony, himself.
He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak.
He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades.
He is a bloodthirsty heathen.
He makes scoundrels of Saints,
And Harlots of Housewives.
Saint Valentine is no Saint.
He is Satan’s nightmare.
At first, his arrows are ecstasy,
But like a cancer,
His poison-saturated arrows
Seep deep within every crevice of your body.
They consume you as if enriched with ******
And eventually rot within your *****
Until it is nothing but dust and a memory.
One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant,
The one we call Cupid.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
I think she's a diamond,
She thinks she's a stone, pebble in a wide open sea,
I think she's a diamond, I don't know if it's true,
Sharpest thing, she cut my heart in two,
I think she's a diamond,
And I don't know what to do.
They say diamonds are forever,
I sure hope that's true,
You could say i'm the sand,
Walk all over me,
I once looked nice too.
I think she's a diamond, hard to find,
Like a couple looking for the perfect ring, I can't keep this flawless
diamond off my mind.
I think she's a diamond, I don't know if it's true,
Love is my distraction, and it's keeping me from you.
I think she's a diamond and I don't know what to do,
Her eyes tell so much,
Sapphire blue,
So sad, but true,
Magnetic attraction,
Brittle stones,
Pushed together and pulled appart.
I think she's a diamond
The diamond's hard to find,
Been though a lot,
Dinosaur ****
Dirt that's hard leave behind.
She's not polished,
She's not flawless,
She's not perfect,
I think she's a diamond,
I know it's true.
Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 9:37 AM UTC
A boneless,soft,small flesh,
Most beloved to God,
A truthful tongue,
Most hateful to Him,
A lying tongue.
It is the sharpest thing on Earth,
Can be deadly,
Pierces deeper than the spear,
Leaving scars forever.
It is the most difficult thing to control,
Think before you leap.
Like a ferocious lion on the loose,
It will wound someone,
So put it on a leash,
Reap its fruits.
The most powerful and dangerous weapon,
Explodes with expletives,
Lucid and sweet, a lullaby,
Can take you to great heights,
Bitter,vulgar and full of deceits,
A heart is wrung,
From a pedestal you fall to doom,
It is the taste of your kind and tender heart,
Pours speeches full of grace,
A medicine that heals,
A balm that soothes.
An evil heart,
That spits fire and crushes spirits.
Lastly it is the companion of the lips,
Seal and zip the lips so no unthought words escape,
Imprison the tongue with the teeth,
Lest venom pours out,
To break strong bonds, and powerful relationships
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
Brilliant, this day – a young virtuoso of a day.
Morning shadow cut by sharpest scissors,
deft hands. And every prodigy of green –
whether it's ferns or lichens or needles
or impatient points of buds on spindly bushes –
greener than ever before. And the way the conifers
hold new cones to the light for the blessing,
a festive right, and sing the oceanic chant the wind
transcribes for them!
A day that shines in the cold
like a first-prize brass band swinging along
the street
of a coal-dusty village, wholly at odds
with the claims of reasonable gloom.
3.3k
I laid the body wounded from war,
marking the pain of bleeding scar,
they drip no blood but crying word,
scream of whys is all can be heard.
This warrior fought without a gun,
the sword was laid on the ground.
Flew in the war without a shield,
embracing the fires of the field.
The warzone is silent and cold,
daylight is starting to fold,
omitted gore has no trace,
but agony and pain mantled the face.
Alone, the warrior stood with yielding feet,
the armored belligerent took their seat.
They watched this warrior drown with tears,
their laughter bit the bleeding ears.
The archenemies took off their casque,
these are faces of the warrior's past.
Hopelessly he fell on his knee,
looking at the grinning enemies.
Armored with the sharpest sword,
strengthen by their greatest lord.
They rumbled drums with deafening sound,
plotting the line of the warrior's bound.
The warrior faced the strongest foes,
murmur of vicious wind starts to blow.
No armor can block the slashing assaults,
as these are words comes like a lighting bolt.
Words stabs deeper than a pointed knife,
blotching doubt in warrior's life.
Painted the warzone with unwanted shade,
every glimpse of light starts to fade.
The warrior with no hope to win,
carried darkness with tattered skin.
You can't win against yourself,
they will reveal voices left in the shelf.
The warrior dwelled in the cold and dark cell,
fall of the tears in every hit of the bell.
Tired of the biting lullabies marching like a band.
The white flag was raised with trembling hand.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 10:52 AM UTC
THE KNIGHT IN THE PANTHER’S SKIN
***** Rustaveli (c. 1160-1250), often called simply Rustaveli, was a Georgian poet who is generally considered to be the preeminent poet of the Georgian Golden Age. “The Knight in the Panther's Skin” or “The Man in the Panther’s Skin” is considered to be Georgia’s national epic poem and until the 20th century it was part of every Georgian bride’s dowry. It is believed that Rustaveli served Queen Tamar as a treasurer or finance minister and that he may have traveled widely and been involved in military campaigns. Little else is known about his life except through folk tradition and legend.
The Knight in the Panther's Skin
by ***** Rustaveli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
excerpts from the PROLOGUE
I sing of the lion whose image adorns the lances, shields and swords
of our Queen of Queens: Tamar, the ruby-throated and ebon-haired.
How dare I not sing Her Excellency’s manifold praises
when those who attend her must bring her the sweets she craves?
My tears flow profusely like blood as I extol our Queen Tamar,
whose praises I sing in these not ill-chosen words.
For ink I have employed jet-black lakes and for a pen, a flexible reed.
Whoever hears will have his heart pierced by the sharpest spears!
She bade me laud her in stately, sweet-sounding verses,
to praise her eyebrows, her hair, her lips and her teeth:
those rubies and crystals arrayed in bright, even ranks!
A leaden anvil can shatter even the strongest stone.
Kindle my mind and tongue! Fill me with skill and eloquence!
Aid my understanding for this composition!
Thus Tariel will be tenderly remembered,
one of three star-like heroes who always remained faithful.
Come, let us mourn Tariel with undrying tears
because we are men born under similar stars.
I, Rustaveli, whose heart has been pierced through by many sorrows,
have threaded this tale like a necklace of pearls.
Keywords/Tags: ***** Rustaveli, Georgia, Georgian, epic, knight, panther, skin, queen, Tamar, praise, praises, Tariel, Avtandil, Nestan-Darejan
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 1:38 AM UTC
In the twilight of harsh day
The melancholy sinks into silence.
The chill, the grey.
Neither dark nor light.
We cast no shadows,
Leave no marks.
Our secrets are as safe
As our silhouettes that are,
For now, unseen.
The flame we wish to start
Only smolders,
Not yet ready to brighten
Our darkened corners
Our guarded eyes.
We are free, for moments,
To feel our sharpest memories.
To bleed in peace.
In the twilight,
Our pain is safe.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 8:50 PM UTC
At first the air seems too dry;
Then you see the mist --
A small town on the horizon;
You decide to ride on,
And give Father's headstone a last kiss.
You find yourself wondering why
Anyone would stay here.
Some of those who passed before
Left their mark on rotten doors
Memories strangely dear.
Love's a gamble in a ghostly town;
It could move you, swift or slow.
You unholster your heart,
Wonder when the shooting will start,
But you already know.
Dozens to go and only one down,
Riding through a town of slaughter,
You're both alive and dead,
Mute bullets whistle by your head:
Are you a killer or a daughter?
He was here once, before you knew
About the emptiness outside.
Still you followed him.
His face was harsh and grim.
And he told you to leave or hide.
Love that's cold, deadly and true
Is the easiest and hardest kind.
You can **** him or just love him;
You'll never know much else of him,
But he’ll never leave your mind.
Dawn bursts over the sharpest peak
And the town streets fill with gold;
It’s the only kind this place will ever see.
You know that soon, you and he
Will shoot each other or fold.
Yet, love in a ghost town always dies,
Killed before it can start.
Spanish ladies even now wear mourning veils
And the lovesick couples' faces pale
When you shoot each other through the heart.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 12:13 PM UTC
take a course and forget what that course meant
take a job with the code enforcement
make a code and brutally enforce it
lead a horse, don't know where that horse went
sleeping dogs have the sharpest teeth
with a hunger from the heart beneath
who better could ever deserve this land
government visionary missionary businessman
make up a law just to break it
put it to sleep and then you wake it
take away and over-take it
it's my bedroll, let me make it
take a bow your job is done so keep it
make a candlestick and try to leap it
pull the wool down then fleece it
lead the sheep, forget where the sheep went
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:43 AM UTC
*
I'd rather you use bombs and knives,
I'd rather you use guns and swords.
I'd rather that we would have fights;
that you'd leave me with open sores.
I'd rather you find a different weapon,
a different tool to use on me.
I wish you'd make me feel a pain;
I wish you'd leave me weak and ******
Yet the sharpest tool is what you use;
you leave me dead inside.
I wish you'd tear my heart out;
I wish I would have died.
You open your mouth and the weapons spill out,
you're armed with words that you scream and shout.
The pain is unbearable, the torture indescribable.
I know there's no point in putting up a struggle.
You **** me, one by one,
your words an open ****
They slice me up in pieces,
making me feel like trash.
All I can be is silent;
I know that is the best.
I try to block them out,
but they're already in my chest.
Your words are killing me;
a slow, antagonizing death.
Each word you say cuts me,
each wound raw and fresh.
I wish you'd let me be,
I wish you'd leave it unsaid.
I guess you just can't see
you can't bring someone back from the dead.
*
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 8:58 PM UTC
The devil resides on a fence post,
covered in honeysuckle and black berry vines
Across the dirt road in front of my house
He squats there,
atop that post
With his beautiful grin and blue eyes
He has demples when he smiles,
and hair the colour of hay
His voice,
is that of silken sin
Offering up a drunkenness that the finest of whiskys can't give
He drowns me in satin,
posing promises never kept
He bruises peaches,
and feeds on flames
Beckoning my flesh,
with the sharpest of silver blades~A
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
Four years old.
Four years old is the perfect age
To know enough about yourself
And not enough about the world.
To know everything you absolutely need to know
Before the world strips it away
And replaces it with a fake sort of knowing.
Four years old,
Old enough to recognize something that will drive you
For the rest of your life.
Four years old was I,
And four years old was he,
Mattie,
My Mattie,
When we met in the sticker-burr ridden play yard
Of a daycare,
And at four years old,
We became peaceful companions,
Slower,
Quieter,
And just a bit more odd,
Than the rest.
At four years old,
Mattie had a silliness about him,
And a funny way of talking through his missing teeth.
At four years old,
We avoided the violent, flying swings and sprinting, shrieking children,
And we scoured the outskirts of the yard
For four leaf clovers.
Mattie was a four leaf clover.
Incredible,
Unique,
And found by chance.
Because Mattie’s silliness and funny voice and missing teeth
Were not simply because we were four years old,
But because
Mattie came from a mom
Who couldn’t stop.
Mattie’s mom couldn’t stop doing drugs,
Not for a single day.
Not when her belly swelled with Mattie inside,
Not when he came into the world,
Breathing the air she did,
Drinking the milk she made,
Mattie’s mom couldn’t stop.
He was buried beneath clusters of clovers,
And his four, perfect leaves were nearly withered away,
When his parents found him.
His parents,
Two incredible women,
Who had so much love in their hearts,
They couldn’t help but let it overflow
Into the cup of a small child with bright eyes and dwindling breath.
Mattie,
My four leaf clover,
Is happy today.
Today,
Mattie,
No longer four years old,
But a man,
Is about to be a doctor.
My four leaf clover,
Who looked to his mothers like the most beautiful child that was ever born,
With the sharpest wit
And the most brilliant smile,
At the end of the day,
Is simply another clover.
His beauty and his value,
Are what we give him.
His rarity, his singularity,
Is something we create,
Something we fashion for him
Out of love and acceptance.
To this day,
I lean down and examine patches of clover,
The image of Mattie,
Gently counting leaves with chubby, toddler fingers,
Burnt into my memory.
And to this day,
I hold in my heart the hope,
That I will meet a child,
My own Mattie,
My own rarity,
My own treasure,
My own little four leaf clover.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
*I wish I had the courage to talk to pretty girls.
It’s not them; it’s their cold beauty that makes
my fingers shiver, and rejection that makes me
feel like I’m a white lighter that strikes out
nothing more than sparks.
I wish I had the courage to not take **** from
my superiors and remind them that when you
beat the life out of a man, you had better cut a deal
with Death if you plan to let him stand back up.
I wish I had the courage to rise above peer
pressure and see that a bulletproof vest isn’t so
dumb when you realize that the person you take
a bullet, for was actually the one who loaded the gun.
I wish I had the courage to tell you that your ****
looked HUGE in those jeans,
and I wanted to burn every other pair you owned.
I wish I had the courage to get out of bed every
morning, because sometimes I forget that I’m
actually still alive, and my blinds keep hiding the
fact that this world is made of sugar.
I wish I had the courage to be vulnerable again
but trust is a treasure someone stole from my heart,
left a bag of sand in its place, and took off running.
I wish I had the courage to ask for help because I’m
not the sharpest cheddar in the fridge and I was born
with a head that could break down brick walls.
I wish I had the courage to own a snake but I was
brought up Catholic so I am conditioned to fearing
both the Devil and God.
I wish I had the courage to keep my commitments
so when the people I love open my promise box,
they actually find something inside.
I wish I had the courage to let go of the past
and get past the point of letting go.
I wish I had to courage to speak at your funeral . . .
but I’ve never been the fastest to pick up the pieces, and even when I do I always put them in the wrong place, so **** it. I filed down the jigsaw edges so now all I have to do is connect the dots, but every time I do, all I get are silhouettes of you; us. I see your face in a day more than I see faces in a week. It’s the reason I stand at the edge of rooftops, the reason all my mirrors are broken, the reason I wake up with my face floating in a pool. I wrote a paper this morning titled, “To Do Today:” It's crumpled somewhere on the floor because the only thing I’m really going
To Do Today:
-is miss you.*
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Well, not we
But you alone delayed
Those blurry red lines
That poured from
An officers light.
He pulled you from the grave
In the way
You pulled those stones
From the ground,
Pillbugs and all,
To call them boys
And count their fingertips.
Each had ten
While you had twelve
After the crash.
The car wrapped around the sharpest
Pole you could reach
(The car wrapped around,
Twisted like a cobra,
With poisonous barbs ready at will)
and spit you out towards the top.
You slowly slid down
Peg by peg, full with splinters,
Then the officer came
And let down his hair
To weave into yours.
After we went camping
The forest swallowed you whole
And the belly of the world
Was swollen with guilt.
After we went exploring
You swallowed your tongue
And your belly was swollen
With rage and your
******* with milk and metal.
It was the wild
(About which you had forgotten)
Which drove you to madness
And
It was the madness
That drove you to
Crash the car
Once before
And though I hope otherwise
We fear it will drive you
To crash again.
Well, not we
But I still fear for you.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
when you leaned to take my breath
out from under me
i almost say no but
Your eyes are very blue
Your hair very blonde
and I have the feeling
you would call me beautiful
i go to
highlight the sharpest bones
in my face
color my cheeks,
eyelids
ebony eyelids
**** caked kisses
speak volumized volumes
If it were just as simple
to grow a spine
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 11:16 PM UTC