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Kate 7d
Where are my guardians?
Have they all discussed amongst themselves
to leave me in this dark room
To find my own way out
Are you watching me?
Who's there?

There is a fly on your yellow roses
It won't move
The truth
sharpens me like a knife
gliding through glass rain
in a deep breath

you kept a wave
under wraps
and away from shore

Behind the shroud
I wait
And watch with untold tolerance
My heart is under strain
Rohan Press May 2018
the morning was threadbare,
loosed on a string.

we watched
the rising sinew; watched
the morning as it knotted and
coiled. the forest
trembled slightly.
The uniVerse Jun 2018
Let me caress your every sinew
I do not care if you've been used
for many men know the temple of God
but few on holy ground have trod
her birthplace that is creation
yet they treat you with predation
a child that sleeps within your womb
soon your bed will be their tomb
the years of men will surely pass
upon your head I count the grass
they outnumber thee ten fold to one
and yet their bud is still but young
our age is like a moth at night
that travels towards the sacred light
and is extinguished by the flame
Will you remember my name?
your favoured son
Will you forgive the things I've done?
or another knot in the tree become
I walk a pace in tall covers, a distance set from other brothers, waiting for a herd to feed; I crush and blow away some seed.

The grasses burnt on prior prairie, warm yet cool for day is airy, far can see I from top hill; I stand in patience very still.

Copper ochre is my skin, the brothers and I are family men, on the native hills we live and finding those called kin, we hunt today the land we’re in.

Off in distant rumbled cloud, dark foreboding getting loud, the sound we seek from running crowd, ahead of storm front watching grasses plowed.

Stoic, I, my umber eyes as mist now falling from the skies, I stand here patient chest held high, shoulders square with chin to sky, my flowing hair in breeze divides.

Land it shakes I take to knee and feel the earth, the vibrating, the rumble sound is thundering, is louder still than weather’s thunder, light she fades from skies I’m under.

  Yansa nearing, wind has told me, I wait here at clearing with spear to console me but something awful lurks around for along with rumble comes alarming sound, a growling type from a hungry hound.

Bear my brother, hawk my guide, no tree for shelter or horse to ride, my hunt now over after solemn wait for Mother Earth has sealed my fate.

Two wounded wolves approaching wily, one it limps or seems to sway as smaller animals run away, their eyes beguiling on stormy day, I prepare for fight, no time to pray.

I seat my spear, it is useless, take out knife and axe I loosen, the pair they circle long and wide, and carefully I match their stride.

  Quiet now, prairie peaceful, time seems slower, I cannot see my people; the wolves at bay they snarl near, I stone my heart against all fear. Were they hunting Yansa, like me too, I just easier prey to pursue? My younger days would see wolf for dinner as I’ve grown older so too am thinner.

  What difference makes it slow or fast but when they pounced did run in tandem? In last second my actions random, I lose my hatchet in one’s side and dive while stabbing until he’s died. Face is ******, arm got chewed, and they tricked me with a method skewed, for what seemed wounded never was true, my back turned towards her, neck in view, she took aim and rent sinew.

  A ****** mess became a horror, I swung my blade and thought I caught her; she tore my hand off and mauled my face then left me dying in a grassy place. The warmth of day is leaving body, a hunt now do I thus embody, the rumbling ground again is moving and cool of night is somewhat soothing, my killer stalks the area-round but soon she’ll eat me where I’m found.

  The rain it cooled me seeing Sister Moon, Brother Sun was dipping with Great Father Sky as Mother Night came to watch me die, my life fulfilled so now I die, Great Wolf’s passion can’t deny; to all that knew me I say goodbye.

  He who fights wolves says,  -goodbye.
Rhyming narrative about a Neolithic Native American.
Euphie Jan 27
With poets' sinew, the dream I have will be
played like a harp until I wake.

Until the time comes
I hope one day...
the elixir that remains
in my mouth will last
until death comes.
'Oderint dum metuant. Atreus, Books III–V "De Ira", I, 20, 4.'

They unwrap me like candy
Peeling, stripping flesh and sinew carelessly

Rice paper thin boldness dissolving
Melamine tinged shifting unsettled smiles

I grin back at them sweetly,
Teeth and jaw, bare bone beaming white

They have made me no more but the refreshing whispers of wrappers
Now, I am the nothingness that they cannot destroy
White Rabbit taffy and Polo mints are popular childhood candies in my native Malaysia (and my personal favorites as well). White Rabbits are milk flavored candies wrapped with an edible rice paper layer, the dairy used to make the taffy was contaminated by Melamine during the 2008 Chinese milk scandal; many governments deeming it unsafe for children to consume. The Latin above reads 'Let them hate, so long as they fear'
Bryce Feb 6
Zara, love of life,
Spake in curtled call
Allfather, lover of light,
To bestow those "ants of the earth"

And arch-bound as the sinew of bowstrings
Howling as the volley hertz roped
Along the celestial violin
Pluck souls from their bodies
In symphonic prediction

Ascende! On the wings of love's Valkyrie-- in her shining eyes will you greet the stars of the Otherworld!


Cleaning hide chunks from Buffalo tusks
There is a stranger, who knocks upon my door
The fire is wide and welcoming,
Borea chides the earthenwork
Outside, the stranger calls
distant through the door.


A last heartsong,
The cup overflown with honey
A facsimile of symmetry
And not distinctly human
There was something to love in that,
Just the simple inclusion
Of all the other animus
Being formed in their conclusions

And following the arrowpoint
Floating by the bolt
What losses there to seek
Beyond a veiled humanity

We strike the fire one last time,
She to travel the mountain passes
Ashen eyes, holding viscous memories solidified

I to gather my quills
My thoughts and brush quickly the embers of love.
Into flame, carried deep into the hearts of the world and explored in violent disassociate
Particles red and hot

Then would Zara Spake again,

"with his eyes on the earth, will he never see but the stars."
Arke Sep 2018
my heart is wire and sinew
processing speeds and generated power
a motherboard that beats, beats, beats
you're a human, but baby,
I'm a machine

I'll keep powered until the day
my software is outdated
my ram slows down
the blue screen of death flickers
where I never reboot again

trade me in for a newer model
my feelings are connected to electricity
I've already processed my own abandonment
and have already grieved your absence
in a million different codes of binary

I remember your hands on my keys
you pushed all of my buttons
knew every function inside and out
you turned me on and kept me going
you are the spark that ran my code

but now, despite my own wishes
I'm made to keep running
I'll whirl and click and buzz and work
and for a moment, I nearly believed
that a machine could feel love
Cordelia Copson Nov 2017
Do you think I’m trying to be ******* pretty, mum?
Do you think I’m trying to be everything you never could be?
Well I am.
I’m not gonna find a better man than you though
I’m not even gonna find a better girl
I’m gonna be alone mum,
I’m gonna learn how to breathe my own air
I’m gonna find purpose in plants in rocks in the sea in a thousand souls that love me back
Not just one ******* and that one ******* child
**** I know that your reason for living
Is me but you can’t be mine
I can’t make you happy and destroy myself in the process
Do you think I’m tryna be pretty?
Do you think I’m tryna like myself?
No mum, I’m stripping myself down to my bones,
I’m tearing off hair and flesh and fat and sinew and cartilage
I’m not trying to be pretty mum
I’m trying to ******* love myself
Arke Aug 2018
pull my skin back and mark incision lines
cut my flesh open in jagged streaks
the smell of iron and steel delights
wait for the knife to hit muscle and sinew
slice through viscera and veins alike
it's always been this disgusting
messy, trickling blood and intestines
horrific and gruesome to behold
this is what it means to see inside a person
the sticky stains of good and bad
fat globules and disease and infection
dead cells and organs, tissue and bone
I am disgusting
but you cut through me
and saw light and darkness
the core of my very being
and its surprising anyone
could still love me after

but you did
Glory Feb 26
The prism I hide within is not for you to see. You may give me white pearls and pink bouquets but the sunset reds and raging, raining blues I hide, are not gifts to you. You cannot buy my veins, just as I cannot barter for yours. When I lay down beside you or not you but someone else who also said that he loved me, my prism soul will remain a one-sided mirror.

Inside are the colours of me.

Soft blues bleeding,

Into deep reds.

Swirling girly pinks,

Dancing through glowing sun ray yellows

These colours are not silent. They howl and twist to the music of my organs. They clash and fuse their shades. They fashion the most chaotic yet exceptional watercolour upon the canvas of my flesh. Singing art and dancing ombre upon the sinew of my muscles. But the queen of all my colours is green. Not a green of jealousy or green of sickness. This green is bright like Oak trees in Spring. This green is the light Ginkgo tree before it slips into a golden slumber. This green is dark like silver ferns after fresh rainfall. This is the green of my birthplace. It tints my heart. Vines stretching emerald fingers down my trachea, sprouting scarlet blossoms in every spare space. My blood smells of flowers.

So, you see,

The prism hid within me,

Is not for any eyes to see.
Rayven Rae Jul 2018
she comes to me,
open, wanting.


she sighs.
these two words,
more than the sum
of their syllables, distanced from strokes and lines;
beyond mere utterances; desire.

words whispered
in sacred prayer.
this offering up
of all that she is.

and i go to her

heed her calling,
for she is home to me.
every beat of my heart
echoes her name.

she is a promise, kept time and again.
whispers of salvation; this sacredness,
begging to be worshiped.

what have i done to deserve this grace?

there are no gods greater; her skin,
silk beneath my fingertips,
burns away my sins.

i bend my head at this alter.

her curves are highways
leading me forward.

i close my eyes in worship.

raise up thanks,
soul deep in her temple;

she opens to me; sighs.
breath balanced on bread,
her holy sacrament
tastes on my tongue.

i inhale her incense,
the scent penetrating my hands,
as time stands still.

she is all i ever want to know,
nothing before, no one after.
i have found my deliverance within the contours of her mouth.

and i trace, in reverance,
line to form; memorizing
every inch offered to me.
she becomes imprinted
within my core.

i tremble at her trembling.

i shatter.

i want to offer up to her
something akin
to the gifts
she has bestowed on me.

i open my mouth but words have fled.

i lay upon her
calla lilies,
tumbled from my tongue.

ribcage opened;
in my most vulnerable state.
i lay exposed,
stripped naked of this skin i inhabit.
i am but muscle and sinew; tendons,
taut cover bone.

these four syllables; expelled breath
strip away the excess,
leaving only noisy bones.

to her, i give all that i am.
hang hands high
in ancient trees,
the frame of my being,
surrounded by elysian fields.
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