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The Noise, it drills through me as if I have become the subject of the vicious hammer.
Its piercing din never fades.

As silence looms, and the stillness of nothing hums
It soon begins again.
The sharpness suffocates me, smothers me, chokes me.

And then it’s too late. You chose her and your words destroy me.
Renee Dec 2014
A beautiful word
but yet such an empty meaning
Usually it means you're alone
which is an empty feeling
I drown myself in silence
it's so heavy and thick.
It smothers you,
and you can't breathe.
Cné Jun 2017
There's a key
      that unlocks rainbows
             that I keep within my heart.
It's a little "catch"
      within my chest
             where melancholy begins to start.
It unlocks walls,
      emotions hide behind
              (for my protection).
And it cracks the shell
      surrounding me,
              to give my soul direction.
Without this key,
      I'll always be
              a fire detachment smothers...
An empty vessel,
              bereft of love for others.
But with it...
      ah...then life becomes
              a carousel of feelings.
A roller coaster
      ride of love
             with ups and downs revealing....
all the colors of the rainbow
       all the tastes,
                the sounds, the rhythms..
all the warmth of sacred lovers
       and the heartbeat
               that's within them.
And the key is dual
        in purpose
               with it's compass so unerring;
Guiding to my soul-mates
       with a lifetime
               that's worth sharing.
So, when I've found my heart's desire
               I'll set the rainbow free.
Unlock the words
      within my heart
               and throw away the key.
I'm not staying,
it's my blame.
I'll leave the innocent;
I'm not the same.
I've got blood on my hands.
Pressure to understand.
You're right.
You've always been.
I tend to forget.
I won't bother you,
still my existence bothers me.
My mind smothers me.
The nights scare me;
comfort is scarce.
The dark makes things worse,
and this silence hurts.
It can be so loud,
the noise of nothing.
The sounds of your thoughts,
utterly isolated.
I love y'all;
but I don't love myself
I can't live up to what you all think of me-
all feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Tiffany Norman Jun 2014
You kiss me the way
you set the sun:
Deliberately sinking me further
down, then leaving me
suspended just beneath you.

Your mouth smothers mine,
cushioning the sound of explosions.
Nails etch a language onto our skin
leaving raised lines of calligraphy
that we'll read in the morning with a smile.
Templar of Steel Jan 2016
Painting the lily black
Tainted by the mist of my heart
It cripples and dies
Surrender to hatred
Compassion I lack
An urge to tear something apart
Resting in human cries
It smothers my hatred
As a wolf running with the pack
Acceleration burns my heart
Upset by your twisted lies
They are fueling my hatred
Rebecca Lynn Feb 2015
My heart explodes
My soul it bleeds
Tears of blood
Streaming endlessly

The numbness spreads
The world so cold
The walls they close
Around this hell
Trapping me in
Its cruel embrace

The sun won't shine
The flowers won't bloom
The life that was
Now cold and bleak

The path behind
A chasm so vast
No turning back
Those dreams now lost

The path before
No escape I see
From this fate I chose
That smothers me

I fight, I scream
I fall, I cry
No words can heal
No compassion just

I fight to live
I refuse to die
But come what may
Come what might
My soul still bleeds
My soul still wilts
Killing me slowly
From deep within

Until some day
My hopes fulfilled
To see the sun return
and my soul revived
The tears will cease
And my soul will shine
If only that day
Would Be here now
Duke Thompson Sep 2014
what if i never make it
what if forever squirrel chasing
adhd society incompatibility
smothers me worse than disbelief
'o he's just lazy'
when really am crying
head buried deep in pillow
the **** of yr jokes
ol spacecase duke

screaming cursing hitting self
cutting arms
scars of failure
failing falling

never good enough
fall behind others
sooner give up
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
Many people worry about their weight
In case it stops them ever getting a date
But gaining a few odd pounds is nothing
Just the result of a few days' greedy scoffing.

It's when you gain a couple of stones+,
And oozing fat smothers all your aching bones,
When your butts squelch against each other
Then you know you are a big fat mother.

But the cure for this is but a simple job:
You wire a padlock o'er your greedy gob.
Take daily laxatives and have no fear:
All will be relieved by constant diarrhoea.
+ Note for my American readers: a stone is fourteen pounds. Duh.
Jade Nov 2018
If you’ve ever experienced it, you’d know that the
Most terrifying thing is Silence.
You would know that our very bones fear the never-ending
Blanket that smothers our songs and stars.
And the scary thing is not that the world has gone
It’s that your world has.
It’s that you can’t seem to see anything within yourself
That is bright and worth
Fighting for.

Silence isn’t a sound,
It’s not the high-pitched scream of the very
Ground pushing Silence
No, it’s a feeling.
It’s the feeling of sleeping when you’re
Like some part of you is lost within yourself just trying to
Get back to the controls.
Like even after you sleep you can’t seem to get rid of the never-ending
Tiredness that seeps into your very bones
Like the cold on a winter morning.
The Silence isn’t evil though,
It’s frightening.
It’s frightening for the people who care about the shattered heart of the
Person who fell into that Silence.
It scares them deeply because it seems
Impossible to catch someone once they’ve fallen.
Everything in our world sings songs to one another and everything around us
Because we were born to sound.
We were born to the glorious breath of laughs and
Voices and promises that
Tickle your ears if you listen hard enough.
Our world is built around the noise and clatter of emotions,
So when you can’t hear them it’s

Silence does not come from nothing.
Silence is not something that comes in
And takes you away because you are
It’s plaything.
No, Silence is something ancient.
It is something that was once eternal in it’s
Darkness before something
Somehow decided to turn on a light.
It is a heavy weight that we fight against
Because our hearts and souls yearn
For light.
We yearn for the searing brightness of
Love and Hate and Anger and Pride
To burn in our stomachs and throats.
We live to see the stars, so it’s
When we can’t.

When all we see is a broken heart
That shattered because some part of it fell

Our tears are our heart’s way of mourning
Our broken pieces and the
Parts that have lost their voice.
We see this Silence and tremble,
But until we see the sun again we don’t realize that it’s
Not eternal within us.

So if you’ve ever experienced it you’d know that
It’s the darkness of sleep.
When you have no light to go to and
You fall into Silence’s arms because you can’t see
Any stars to hold your broken pieces.
You’d know that
It’s not an enemy.
It’s the place where you can heal
Where you can finally find
A poem about the numbness that comes after great sorrow.
EdVance Apr 2015
Nightmares haunt
My waking hours
Evil voices sing

Raindrops cloud
Unearthly visions
Darkness hides unseen

Moonlight seeking
Hallowed places
Darkness smothers light

Madness laughing
Prayers unanswered
Lost within the night

Empty feelings
Broken soul
Abandonment of hope

Children crying
Fear consuming
Fog revealing smoke

Evil chants
Bring heavy silence
Revealing the unseen

Deep dark secrets
Mystic places
Everything unclean
Inday Mar 2019
She wakes up with a shock, instantly feels the blood boil from her head down to her toes. Its the sound of that door.

The repetitive sound of that door slamming is a reminder of the poison in her life who seamlessly seeps into her heart continuing to infuse her mind with hate.

That door is used for a swinging entrance into her soul leaving it with touches of darkness until she simply can't understand how to love another person; how to empathize with another's time of distress. She loses touch, suffering to understand what love is.

The life who uses that door brought her into this world and smothers their existence with cold truths, lies, neglect, and stories of their past; inflicting damaging images and thoughts that cannot be unheard.

She's trying to persevere, but they persist to acknowledge their unreceptive response to her cry's for help, it destroys her light; leading her down the path where the poison starts to consume all her thoughts and distorts her rights to express herself with the constant feeling of never being heard.

You built darkness in her and every layer affects even the smallest of challenges in life but you left her with a flame of curiosity to understand what others could not even care to comprehend; she sustains her curiosity for life.
soft tendrils of light,
dashed blue and white,
flash their glory in my sight,
across the dark sky of night,

a wolf howl stops me in my track,
force me swiftly to turn back,
and find ye fleeing pretty beast,
ive not given up chase, not in the least.

the maze's twisted path eludes me,
the darkness, shadows do include me,
hides that which i do wish to see,
a maze this is, what a night this will be.

a fox's call carries me away,
i cant tell, to go or stay,
a ****** awful game to play,
a flaming lunar keep-away.

the moon doth shine upon the wolf,
its white blue light it does engulf.
to the fox it casts a ray,
what a painful game to play.

the winding path's taunt my heart,
keeps me, the wolf, and fox apart,
at the final edge of my last desire,
hope attempts to raise me higher.

there is another, right by my side,
he has no reason which to hide,
a spirit wolf, runs next to me,
with brothers' blood and loyalty.

he howls for his own lost one,
hopes the bad can come undone,

Taking his steps, one by one,
he will not stop until its done.

a time a go i thought i might,
have seen the moon's shining light,
but this maze keeps me from its sight.
the spirit wolf, "itll be all right."

there was a time when i was young,
when a different song was sung,
a song of passion, joy and love,
but now i howl to moon's above.

Dark wolf woken, back in the maze,
dreams of the path, though all were a haze,
stands to his feet, been walking for days,
he keeps hunting, searching for ways.

round a bend he sees her, hears her howl,
he runs but is stopped by another's growl.
out steps a purple wolf, devious eyes,
steps in his path and smothers his cries.

as he falls he sees her waiting,
for him? knows not, he's still debating.
the spirit wolf comes to his side,
and the wolf knows he can confide.

the wolf lies there, head in the grass,
lying and waiting, for this night to pass.
the spirit wolf sits and hears,
of the wolf's wonders and all of his fears.

russian water, **** with spice,
ah how that would make things nice,
if only just a little, just to forget.
the wolf lies there waiting, suffering yet.

the wolf yet awakens, hearing a call,
its again the howling, echoing all,
of past and longing, of things done wrong
she sings a tune to a still different song.

He hears a warning from his friend,
theres more than these two in the end.
they stood and kept walking,
never stopping, ever stalking.

they walked a bit, til faint blue whisp,
flitted toward them, feeling crisp.
it was a distraction, a strong desire,
lifting more than their hearts a bit higher.

each of them on different trails,
thoughts of their flames carved details,
the passion drove them to their minds,
a white escape, the release unwinds.

once the wolves had ceased their panting,
imaginations tipped to slanting,
they shook the wet drops from their fur,
it wouldnt be long for this again to occur.

they turned their heads, both aware,
of soft dead felines, lying there.
they walked on past, aware of the ****,
but love and passion, do what they will.

they kept on wandring twisted trails,
blue whisps fast behind their tails.
they kept on searching hearing howls,
stopped not once by anothers growls.

The wolves still hunted elusive catch,
but insanity threatened be their match.
The blue whisps whisper that they stay,
but they couldnt bear another day.

there was a howl, but different here,
and the wolf knew who as she drew near,
a fiery she-wolf with bushy tail,
supple curves in lush detail.

the wolf then turned his head away,
his heart shattered by her one day.
the spirit wolf sought escape,
from the blue whisps, insanity's cape.

she foxily welcomed his inner burning,
cast her affections to his heart yearning.
they howled together, to regions yon,
but the wolf in black had long since gone.

the spirit wolf sought to find him,
found him panting at blue whisps whim.
"i long for my heart, wish it entrance,
by another heart, so we may dance."

the spirit wolf knew the pain inside his brother,
longing pain, want of aching burn of another.
the dark wolf sighed and began to go,
dragging tail and head held low.
The spirit wolf wished that he could ease,
the dull throbbing pain, not caused by fleas.
he listened to the dark wolf's cry,
mourning howl, shouted to the sky.
Wolves wandering a maze... searching for that which they long for most.
Anon C Nov 2012
Everyone knows that she's not like others
She's an outcast in this cold broken place
Suppressing her true self til' it smothers
As she walks around here and hides her face

She wants to fit in, be able to gleam
And be a part of every single crowd
But she can't, she holds it in til' she screams
And above her head there's always a shroud

Sadly, she walks through the halls, her head down
Others watching her with a sinful sneer
She turns away and wishes she could drown
All that stops her from coming out is fear

What would they do if she held her head high
She'll never know, she just lets them pass by
Dedicated to all those who feel so alone due to the cruelty of others.  Especially in high school.
daniel f Sep 2013
All manner of people can be found in train stations, there character betrayed by attire to the more observational at least. The hard pressed city worker, walking ever walking, phone at hand, ever scanning emails and ensuring accessibility always, to control is too maintain is too succeed. Those who's steps seemingly shorter and more though out, are either here on some grand tour or some exotic soire as if silently noting surroundings, as the pass beneath the ornate decorations of their location. There care free folly the main indicator of intentions.From time to time a transport police officer shall pass, stern faced, seemingly compelled by some unknown mission others stand stationary a deterrent to would be criminals. From time to time the most beautiful facet of humanity is likely to appear, in the adoring stares of young lovers. It's this or the hold and don't let go grip, young lovers and train stations have long associated (In my mind at least) the point of departure is a grey area. Where displays of public affection normally reserved for movies and poems, reach the realm of social acceptability. Long deep kisses and well thought out speeches describing the grievances of an ever bleeding heart. There is one group I have failed to mention, who in there own way are entirely distinct from any of groups fore mentioned. They are the watchers, found normally at some quite looking coffee shop across the street, however this is not to imply they can not be any of the above. All of the above mix intermittently with interesting results, I shall for as long as I live never forget the passionate embrace of an on duty police officer and his wife. His eyes bright with surprise, at ease staring upon the one he so adores. I leave the station and head toward the embankment,
All manner of people pass me on their way to unknown offices, some holding hands and staring deeply. The rumble of unseen locomotive reassures me now of course I'm drawing closer, the winter winds once faint now felt as the once green leaves now all manner of colour are pulled by unseen gusts. This city must surely be the greatest in the world, from the industrial chimneys distant to the rolling ocean. Dockers smoke cigarettes and exchange raucous  tales whilst foreign sailors stare intently. I always try my hardest to listen to as much as I could manage of these half spoken speeches.  Im rewarded instantly with an image far more detailed and planned than anything the most creative minds could conceive. The wild waves create orators, there thoughts distilled be evenings spent alone. I've always found myself drawn to transient people, I feel like I've spend forever dreaming of someplace else Greenland Egypt Canada, you name the place and I've seen it in my dreams at least. It took me a while longer than I care to admit to truly get a feel for the place, at first like some timid child I avoided it. From the age of thirteen I've been locked in a battle with wanderlust, my urge to leave it all is simply overwhelming. In all my darkest fantasies, I leave this place at some point on some old ocean liner to arrive at unknown port. Too share a meal with mountain air as my ashtray overflows. I warm myself with images of ancient explorers sailing distant oceans, guided by starlight. Some people just elude me. I'd call myself stubborn but certain people melt me, I the eternal romantic a victim of my own high hopes. I'd often find myself alone, staring across the river and wondering. I always sit upon the same old bench carved with all manner of messages declarations of undying love, names, dates all carved into immortality. The steady movement of approaching footsteps is eternal, beyond the customs house  solitary North Star shines, as if admiring its provincial estate. An unknown entity now serving as a subtle voice of reason in the darkness, occasionally couples pass, as if to cement my my longing. The starlight illuminates breaking waves, as boats sway easy ******* to subtle quayside. Ever reminded of my obligations I should really leave and go to sleep. However the pull of the darkness is tangible, that was something! oh something! Suddenly a gentle calm smothers all thought, as lights glimmer distant. Light! Oh  brother light, I the eternal castaway home bound at last. My expectations were entwined with food and wine, and the comfort of my own bed.
Eryri Dec 2018
A tragedy miles of time away,
The anguish almost forgotten:
But pain is a stubborn stain;
Counselling never washes it away,
New love never smothers it.

Like a stubborn ****
It is always there,
Rooted in composted memories,
Finding nourishment in the briefest recollections.
The slightest trigger allowing it to briefly blossom.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Darkness peaks beneath your mask,

Eternal lying smothers your task,

To be accepted by commercial greed,

It stimulates your mindful need,

Of personal gain and broken dreams,

Place your brain inside a guillotine,

To feed your craving for nicotine,

Among the thoughts in your caved-in mind,

The wind tickles your troubles in and out of time,

Your plastic-eyed dolls and cruel songs,

Is a portrait of your desire to walk along,

All the beauties in the magazines,

Drench your face in gasoline,

Ignite a match to force humility,

Upon your flesh and your stupidity,

You used to poke fun at the lifeless on the streets,

Now, take a bite of that forbidden bittersweet,

Juices of past one nightstands and lost lovers,

Enjoy what is less taken to be discovered.

There is an insatiable claim to your brain,

Alongside your coffee, pills, and bags of *******,

Wicked ****, sour *****, and dedicated fake,

It is your bones against stones karma will break.

Liar, cheater, deceptive soul eater,

Tis’ the future in the light of tomorrow’s eyes,

Where in Hell your soul shall eternal lie.
Raymond Walker Apr 2012
From the alleys and streets, from the door steps and heaths, from the meadows and farmlands,
A mist rises, and forms, from the rivers and rills, valleys and hills, from the fields and fissures
It swirls and turns in the night air, forming and fragmenting, failing and fermenting, till it yields.
A figure, blessed and bare, in the late night air, steps into the moonlight, baleful and brazen in its
Nakedness and knowledge, the pall of the shining moon, drips, Grey and silver from his eyes
Youth drips from his thighs, vigour from his lips and fingertips, crimson is his mouth  and *****.
Lions race across his skin as clouds scud across the moon, feral and wild this child of the moon.
Wild and *****, his face shadowed with growth, excited with his youth and desire. On fire.
Panicked by distaste, his own waste and needs, brewed in a mighty beer of disgust, a sire
Of demons, with packaged might, swooping and rearing, devilish and dervish, spiralled, a pyre.
For the noonday sun, wishing hope on everyone yet giving them night and darkness and doom.
Holds my hand and holds it tightly, grapples with me daily and nightly, even in my own room
Where hope takes hold as quick as fear or death or charity, spilling, humors, ethers, exhume
Nothing but a buried evil that has come to see the light. A paltry being, exhumed, of the night

Whilst over all the night comes creeping
Then I go out a’ stealing,
O’er tombstones and moss, where the dead lie sleeping,
Passing the fungi , sarcophagi, and the smell of weeping
Be it from crypt or hall or farmhouse steading.
collecting the shades of the bodies they’re shedding

Through sunlight’s bright blast
Or twilight’s last gleaming
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping
Through the strongest gale
Or mornings glittering hail
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping.

Whilst the morn sunlight, over hills comes creeping,
There in the shadows, I’ll be steeling,
Darkening daffodils, turning bluebells black and foxglove steeping
Poison filled and passing the narcissi, and the tears of the leaving.
It may be birth or anniversary or wedding.
I’ll be collecting the souls they are shedding.

Through all the breaths that you will still be breathing
And all those breaths that have passed
And all those breaths still to come you are dreaming
One day you shall take your last.
And that’s where I’ll be stealing

Through sunlight’s bright blast
Or twilight’s last gleaming
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping
Through the strongest gale
Or mornings glittering hail
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping.

A ****** of crows blackens the noonday sky,
Called from their nests and eyries
And so many ships have gone by, black masted and steering
Into the wind, Sails tattered and the keel close to shearing
I stand on the nest and watch you weeping
Till the bodies fall into the deepening sea and there lie sleeping
And that’s where I’ll be stealing.

I smiled and laughed
Till the black mast
Fell below the sea
I whimpered and moaned
With those overthrown
Till they lay with me

And I took my place once more at the forefront of man’s destiny.

I crept and waddled and watched and bustled my way to the front of the crew.
I stood behind some and fell behind few; I had come here to see.
I pushed and shoved and elbowed my way to the front, shuffled over and tried to find my pew
I sat with my heart in my mouth, beating doubly in my chest and wondered were the culprit I?

It seemed I had sat in the stalls or in the balcony, way out in front
But it seems I had not sat at all just fell into the orchestras’ well.
But I remembered that I had sat, adjusted my clothes, my underwear, my hat.
As a man should do, are we not gentlemen and so I took tea and sat.

Paying court; To the girl with the blue eyes and the thin lipped smile, the girl that knew.
As most girls do, the thoughts of men, or think that they do. And I so I tried to find her,  
But it seems I had known a Girl with no thought of love, no turtle dove, cuddled
Close, no heavenly host, called to her, but she loved as love must befuddled
Drew her breath deeply but not freely, Took air, perspiring, muddled
Thoughts spinning in her head, amazed, this pale eyed temptress, The girl that knew.
As most girls do, emotions that drift, or think they do. And so found herself alone,
And weeping, a girl that did not know that they could love found that they could.
She murmured words of love and shook sand from her pelt, howled to the moon.
She stood tall on her haunches, praying , baying, to the moon goddess, one of hers.
Baleful eyes pale and moonstruck, seemed star struck with love  a mother with her curs.

Not the focus of her attention, her pale imitation, a pale shape creeps from the crepuscular woods
He slinks into the shadows of the night paying court to this matron, with his smell warmth and lust
She stalls and smells the night air
Little of care, for all stalks the night air
She sidles and smells the night air
Nothing there, In the dark and silent dream that is the night air.
She bridles and hush’s as the night drips onto her
She has cares; for children that whisper in their sleep on the night air.
Bovine, equine, feline and canine and warm fur
A sleep comes upon them all, a pale imitation of life, and a pale shadow creeps into the light.
And smothers the light of day languishing in his power and majesty sending chills unto the living
He waits in the darkness and shadows.

A child mutters unknown words and the time has come to die
Utters words of fortune and Questions your reasons why.

My dear, my love, child, why do you cry?

I shook myself awake
From my bed of dreams
And warmth
I pulled the duvet over
Took to my feet and felt
The chill

And so I stood, took my bow,  and then knew everything, everything about what I was witnessing,
She looked at him and he looked at she, both knew nothing of how its going to be.
I walked downwards, right down the stairs And I saw everything even the killing thing
He slapped her face and she bloodied drew the knife for all of us to see.
A joyous muse, my heart sang,  witnessing the killing, witnessing the killing and I knew everything.
He looked up at her, she down at him, she was so lucky that she had set him free.
I watched with glee for all I could see, to jail the police said as I sat, as I sat listening.

I heard your excuse I hear your plea, please madam judge don’t let that happen to me
She stood in the dock and sat on the chair,  and told everything, the things I’d been witnessing,
Told how she had murdered he, in a fit of rage it was not her fault she should be set free.
Not the judge, not the jury, but I knew everything and shed knowledge of my fury.

I remember the blade, I remember the fury. I now have to thank the jury.
A just verdict, a wrong righted,  a sacred trust bighted.  And just penury.

These children are mine sayeth the lady
Though the money I earn is a little shady
I look after them through the day
And at night none can say.
Little darlings,
Wont come to no harm, I keep them apart,
Little darlings, are always in my heart.
Sleeping and dreaming and held apart,
They’re just kids and held in my heart.  

Through sunlight’s bright blast
Or twilights last gleaming
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping
Through the strongest gale
Or mornings glittering hail
They will be a sowing
And I’ll be a reaping.

I have heard your thoughts ideas and whims
I have heard your excuses , you hacked off a limb,
Because he was bad, she was a devil, and I have never heard so much drivel.
She was a monster, he was a slave, you never thought of the love that they gave.
I saw you had it hard and it must have been so bad
It was trouble, never ever had you been so sad
She was a *****, with an eternal itch, a witch that was not worth forgiving.
She was a dragon, he was a monster,  it was no longer a life worth living
She pulled me down, he dragged me down into a cesspit of hope.
And off they loped into the night.

Publicly he seemed alright, not the ***** that he really was. She was so cool en vogue, en vie,
She pulled the love from this heart like a harvester, reaping all that he could sow, all that she was due.
She meditates on her  betrayal and justifies it to herself and thinks so few, so very soulless few
Would not, and she is more, so very much more and then lifts the knife and delivers his due.
In the early hue of evenings last breath, he drew his and she smiled, just his due.

Sorry tales; I know
Tales no one should know
Tales that diffidently show
The differences, the shocks
All the stops and blocks
That love mocks
In its immortal way
Tarnished and bloodied
It soldiers on, unhurried.

I looked for the heartbroken, the tarnished, the burned; and found them all
For there were so many. Loves that went good and bad; those that hurt  and those that fall
I looked for the unforgiving and hopeless and found them all, some happy in their own way,
The traitors of love I looked also for and found hopeless and alone, shriven but hearty in their own way.
I looked to the martyrs of love, those that have loved deeply and have lost,  for many do

And I was one that did. I knew love as pure as a mountain stream,
Unsullied, clean and precious, but no love is as true as the perfect love
No thing is just as wondrous and perfect as it may  perfectly seem,
Chaste, virginal, and all just yours, lest it be a gift from angels above.

And I loped off into the night
Full of sweat and blood,
Flushed with heaven above
And hell below
Both knew my hollow soul

And through sunlight’s bright blast trampling daemons I came, shamed and hollow
Risen from this earth, cursed to death, in twilights last gleaming, brazen but sullied
The seeds of doom are sown  by such as I  and they were sown deep and fertilised with blood
And reaped by those that know,  reaped by hands that touch, lips that kiss and know,
hunger and want, lust and lie, eyes that darken and hooded, draw lust from liars,
Build from truth funeral pyres,  and fires for the ****** and yet I remain and sullied
Smirk with each passing glance or circumstance at the great and good, the unwashed
The hooded and deep, the shallow and callow, the wanton and unwanted, the sane
And simple, the masterful and master less, musical and malleable, the strange and straight.

These I trampled under heel with little feeling or thought
The form I took was human, the place I came from; dread
I looked and watched and took note, I spoke and listened
Pay’ed heed,  Culpable and crazed, yet my form remained,
this spectre.
Dying now.
Paid heed.
A rather long poem and the first I have added being a new member. I hope you like it.
Hands Feb 2010
I cower in your shadow,
shivering despite any acuity of my own.

(your words are like loaded icicles,
beretta rounds fired through my false logic
and fake religion;
it scares me.)

The truth is I'm not fearless,
I'm pale and lily-livered and only so heathen as the other stars.

(maybe it's good you're in college,
it's closer than you were growing up.
when we were young,
you were short yet rough.
I was the younger,
and, my shepherd, you were faithful;
I only got lost 8 times.)

I don't think I ever really knew you
in any possible perception.

(I know I knew the talk of you,
the hustle and bustle at home and abroad
of your mighty intellect,
your crushing wit,
your driving polities
a war machine and
your gleaming smile
its patron god.)

How could I ever compare, though,
to the goddess of mind and body, brains and war?

(the truth is I am but a defiant priest,
crooked nose and
ashy eyes.
I think the reason,
even today,
for all my insecurities was due to you.)

Appeasement was a method used by the vain and weak
to protect against the humble yet brilliant.

(I feel your ******* take me over,
I feel it acid-wash into my skin,
de-porous my bones
and my imagination structure.
I feel it sink me up to the top,
drowning me in your air,
in your sky and your perfect chemistry.
your burning gold catches me,
smothers me in hands too big
for such a small person.)

How is it you are so tall
when you come up to my chin?
Why is it that I shiver and shake at your light foot falls?
Answer to the shadows
and my cowering will not respond.
de-capitalized the first letters of the lines in the parentheses, de-capitalized outside parentheses as well.

this seems so long ago.
Evan Ponter Sep 2014
Their lies are prompted
from teleprompters
and executed flaw-fully
from taxpayer's helicopters.

They say we're protecting
foreign daughters
while filtering profits
to desert clad marauders.

Blank faced public
fear conversing religion and politics
while passively electing
lunatics with trigger switches.

Arm the rebels
they bite the hand that feeds
the middle east burns
while America ******* bleeds.

The white, blue and red
camo helmets on their heads
farm fed frat boys
equipped with jackets of lead.

We watched Saddam crumble
his statue beaten with shoes
but the same war we already fought
the puppets now will choose.

Fight the good fight
support the troops.

Drone strikes by twilight
**** the troops.

An Army of one
Sempter Fi
Do or Die
I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket
covered in a flag you valued more than your life.

Our heroes are our welfare
stop blaming single mothers
plastic bags tied around throats
water boarding dissent, it smothers.

**** the Medal of Honor
I'm tearing up your portrait Obama.
How many can benefit from free tuition?
But we give it to those trained to slaughter.

Our priority is the police state
Nazis pretending to tote freedom.
We sip our Americanos
And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading.

**By Evan Ponter
Today, the US government voted on arming rebels in Syria to fight the threat of ISIS. We made this mistake before. The Taliban was originally an American puppet that we used as a tool to fight in Afghanistan. Now we're going down the same dangerous route. The war on terror is never ending. **** the troops and stand up against the fascist foreign policy of this country.
Katie Sep 2014
it's been a circus blur
a whirlwind of uncertainty
smothers me with unfamiliarity
vintage friends have become foreign territory
been burning incense for some clarity
just hoping to find a little prosperity
Laura Rogers Aug 2014
Tightness invades
Ghoulish Blackness smothers joy
Strings of dark energies crawl
Hopelessness Penetrates down, down, down
Mind marathons madness music
Pain ripens like a withered rose
Physical Plane Arduous
Psychic Pain Perpetuated
In this hallowed Hell
A Slow Heyoka May 2019
crazy days
crazy places
crazy nights
crazy faces
turn around
crazy ways
crazy haze

colour smothers
colours fading
careful don't stomp
on my crazy paving

crazy dudes
crazy girls
crazy fates
crazy pearls
make it crazy make it good
I wouldn't want anything else
in this crazy neighbourhood
Written on July 07, 2006
Joseph Valle Aug 2012
A fine mixture of smoke and breath escapes my lungs
as this letter flows from my pen this evening.
"This evening:" What does that even mean?
A moment in darkness, shadowed is the life-giver
high above us,
Strawberry tobacco smothers my face from hookah pipe,
eyes fixed on the lines before me,
and I have nothing to say.
We have nothing to speak, I assume.
I am wordless but maybe in the moment,
this evening, you have a tongue of prose
and no pen to mouth emotion back,
no way of knowing that your time is time is now,
and it's my turn to listen.
Wait, no no, not emotion.
Just "being,"
ways of being, strewn out like a fortune teller's
knucklebones. A lie, the truth, the way that
your eyes wander to the door as you lie
on the pinstriped couch across living room
from me.
I see you glancing, I feel your yearning
for skies where wings can spread against
a star-sun-lit moon and clouds of pink and red,
a longing to dive toward god-given green earth,
near to here, but so so far.
Needing clouds to dream-slumber in, as beads of water
mask your body in my mind, mixed with
thoughts of pure love and pining for your growth,
as dew drops form around my long blond-brown-blue eyelashes.

It's all I see, I've seen,
that's all I write to you this evening.
Hear the story of our oil –
Hail to oil!
From the glory days of Drake well we recoil,
To see seabirds flap and shudder,
Dolphins, turtles flop and sputter
With collective dying groan.
Hear our population moan
When the gasoline price geysers to the sky.
Still we drive, drive, drive,
To keep consumer binge alive,
Amid a maritime disaster fast evolving from the spoil
Of the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the gushing and the oozing of the oil.

Smell the ancient dark crude oil
Stinking oil!
Engulf the products made refining from a boil:
Guzzle gasoline flambé,
Drive-through fast food every day,
Raise our carbonated toast to Arctic roast…
Then drill more oil!
GM corn and corn-fed beef --
Both born of oil,
The shaving cream I slather on my face is made from oil,
Toothpaste, vitamins and lipstick,
Tires, everlasting plastic,
Come from oil;
All American affliction
Petrolopium addiction –
Truth is stranger now than fiction
And it does not set us free;
We are prisoners of oil,
And as slaves to OPEC pricing we all toil,
For the tapping and the lapping
Of the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the drilling and the swilling of the oil.

Soak in news of spilling oil –
Offshore oil!
In grim images of damage that the television splays;
First blow-out slimed in sixty-nine at Santa Barbara Bay
Then ten years next blew Ixtoc
In the Gulf of Mexico,
Two-ninety day gush tick tock
Slick slopped thousand miles away
To Texas shores!
In Alaska’s Prince William Sound
Exxon Valdez ran aground in eighty-nine;
Full tanker load erupted,
Left the rocky coast corrupted –
Prudhoe crude!
Seals and otters stuck in goo
Seabirds suffered coatings too,
Cruising tourists supped in view
Of the oil, oil, oil,
Thickened slick encrusted oil
On the shore!
How it clings and clogs and covers;
All aquatic life it smothers
Marsh and beach are left in cataclysmic mire!
Still we “drill baby drill,”
All our gas tanks gotta fill,
We must shop, shop, shop,
Lest our wasteful lifestyle stop,
So we run, run, run,
Take our car vacation fun --
At the beach…
See the sheen -- how it shines!
Pretty rainbow-colored lines
From the oil!
We love our oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For economy cachinging in the oil!

Hear the praise of offshore oil,
Miles deep oil!
For the goal of independence on our oceans now we toil,
Till ungraceful conflagration
Twenty April rocked the nation
On the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig.
Eleven lives were lost in blast
As the deep crude spewed out fast,
Gushing Hell!
Couldn’t stop it with top ****,
Junk shot, golf *****, caps wouldn’t still
Gushing well,
And the spreading, spreading, spreading
In a steady surging crawl,
Gulf coast residents all dreading
That their livelihoods might stall,
Now the fish and shrimp are ill,
Tourist business will be nil,
And still oil spews…
We must thank God that there’s *****,
For there’s nothing but bad news
And the ooze, ooze, ooze
Oily ooze.
Who will pay, who will pay?
Who will make this go away?
Who’s to blame? Who’s to shame?
Many pointy fingers aim –
Lefty points to rich BP,
Righty points to rock Obama,
And there’s six sticks pointing back at you and me!
We will pay, pay, pay,
At the gas pumps we will pay,
So we can drive, drive, drive,
And keep America alive;
Despite the grim disaster that arises from the spill,
The way we live and spend won’t easily end;
So we’ll still say “drill baby drill,”
Each time our gas tanks get a fill,
And we will shop, shop, shop
To do our patriotic duty --
Spend our *****, *****, *****
For the oil.
For the oil, oil, oil, oil,
Oil, oil, oil,
For the gushing and the oozing of the oil!

Drafted 6/8/10, revised 6/14/10
Best read to the "tune" of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Bells"....with apologies to Poe for repurposing his meter scheme for a theme less cheerful!
Unanswered uncertainties limber up
Unwanted confrontations cumulate
Passion deliquescing over unexplored reason
Unacknowledged, ignored, overwritten and dismissed
Without consideration for his fragile heart
The answers flow broiling him, wearing him down

Scorn rejection,
When trust is misplaced,
And she exfoliates to true skin
Hatred smothers over her love act
Bogs him down by the shoulders
All seems empty, all is empty

Toyed with, lied to and used up
He is a clock rigged for self destruction
With no actions that lead to consequences
The reason seems bleak and obvious
His respect for her dies, His respect for her other doesn't exist
She is not the one he loved, she is not the one that he knew

A younger him he sees in her other
Making the same mistake he did, mislaid trust
The multifaceted chameleon that she is
The other doesn't see
Pouring his heart out and defending her wrongs
The other starts to undermine and ignore him

Move on they say,
Only his heart is too heavy
Forget her they say,
Only she was a perennial settlement in my memory, he thought
Hate her they say,
Only he hates himself more for trying

No one understands him
Everyone tries, but no one understands
He loved, he was back stabbed
He suffered and suffocated under the blanket of secrets
Lighten your heart brother,  the mascot of a good soul
You will be alright.
rebecca Sep 2018
It starts with a seed: small and dark
It starts to grow: a stem and a thorn
It grows some more: twisting inward on itself
Now its a bush: one that smothers
It has sharp thorns and soft, black leaves. they ***** out all of the light
It tightens around something soft. you cant feel it but you sense it
You keep watching the plant as it grows
once it was a seed, now a still growing plant
until one day... cant...
Anji Mar 2018
Soft and firm, gentle and fierce,
A parting breath smothers on skin.
Wild and wanting, surrendered and stroking,
Fingers are searching and home.

Quiet, now listening, anticipating, wishing
Until the spell breaks beneath lips -
Blushing it comes, blooming it bursts
Against symphonies and rhapsodies
With melodies heaving, heavy, unheard.

Gasping for life, holding more tight
To another so fragile, human, finite
Stealing, giving, alternately taking
An appetite destructive, delicious,
Desiring, raging;
Flesh upon flesh, ragged, receiving.

Twisting, bones resisting,
A common ground with no space between
Reaching and holding, pressing and pulling,
Synchronized in silent sweet rhythms of time
Warm, willing, fantasies thrilling, perspire
Lovely and lucid, writhing, conducive
As dancing flames to the fire.

Thoughts are melting to muddle
Into puddled pools of passion
Dripping, swirling, flooding, licking
The innermost walls of the cowering mind
Bodies and hearts are pulsing, repeating,
Beating and bruising, until each breath
Is ******, divine.
I don't think mom would be comfortable reading this XD
MaK Cov Sep 2014
August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could keep the sun forever
I wish that we could stay together,
but August is the Sunday of summer

I cannot stand to know you're leaving
My biggest gripe with life is that it
leaves me with no breath
There's nothing we can say now
because without summer there's
nothing left

All we have are skeletons of July
Rain soaked memories of June
The dreadful ending of August

August is the Sunday of summer
the month that murders lovers
the month that suffocates and smothers
August is the Sunday of summer

I imagine you'll find someone better
someone who can actually hold your bad weather
instead of pulling out their umbrella

All i have are broken memories of June
laying in your back yard laughing up at the sun
You are the broken bits of stars
falling back towards the world
And i am just a broken girl
still falling for you

August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could turn the hour glass over
I wish that i could hold you closer
But August is the Sunday of summer
Al Sep 2018
Green fatigue smothers the mind as purple smoke drifts in the breeze.  The earth comforts with shimmering grass, but these illusions never last.

Time begins its chaotic spin.  Voices call out.  Many languages and dialects I hear.  

A dragonfly hovers, my eyes become hers.

The green fatigue fades, the smoke fragments, the voices so far below.  Slowly we rise, leaving everything behind.

Freedom on a wingtip,
together we fly.
Frank Corbett Dec 2012
Thick fog rolls over leaf covered rocks,
And trees still bare penetrate the mist,
Bordering lush green,
And contrasting with stone gray skies,
Instilling deep tranquility.
I follow the ***** downwards,
Leading into this bog,
The footing is loose,
The mother is unforgiving,
Negligence will not be soothed.
The vibrant green fades to brown,
The thick mud forming around my footsteps,
I am leaving an impermanent mark,
Only familiar to myself.
The worms will mine it.
It will be undone by rain,
But those I bring with me will know the way we traveled,
As will theirs.
A small trail has been hollowed,
Others are here,
Others have been here,
Undoubtedly, more will follow.
I see the others’ footsteps,
Only foreign indents now,
Still recognizable,
The shoes they wear are a mystery.
I want to know badly,
But it is impossible.
I reach the bank of a small creek,
The trail ends here and I must make my own way,
There is an island where this creek forks,
And jumping there I know I cannot return,
The second spent thinking about seconds,
In itself is the only wasted time.
I spend some time here,
Kicking pebbles,
Pocketing attractive quartz,
There are no rare jewels on the surface,
No bounteous treasure here,
That would require a contract,
The help of others,
More time spent here,
Time spent thinking about the future seconds,
The seconds of others.
Leaving this patch is difficult,
My boots land just inside the creek as I jump,
Cold water fills my socks,
My feet swell as they absorb water,
To worry about the sensation I feel now,
Would be to count the seconds as they already pass.
I follow the creek into the woods, deeper as they go,
Until there is a soft rustle of leaves ahead of me,
Still loud.
Has the deer surprised me?
Or I the deer?
This meeting is simply chaos,
Colliding of mind and figment,
The imperfect, and the form-
The perfect representation-
At a stand-still in time.
This is no perfect doe,
The coat is full brown,
Tattered and messed,
Not at all as it was in my mind,
A copy.
But the more I examine,
The more I realize that a copy is closest to the form,
What is, is perfect,
What is perfect, is narcissism,
One way or another,
Without conflict,
The seconds have no reason.
I stare for a moment,
Her eyes are pools of black,
Wide and anxious,
I blink and she is gone,
A moment,
These are the meaning of the seconds,
The moments,
But is the reminiscence of this fact,
I come to a steep *****,
A huge tree overlooking a large pool,
A ledge above the frigid water,
I climb this hill,
Perseverance is its own reward,
Reaching the top,
My clothes messed,
My hands filthy,
Boots caked with filth,
I sit here, alone at the top,
The bog is a fiefdom,
And I sit upon this ledge.
Snap snap.
I am falling,
My ***** hands grasp for something,
My club-like boots flail in the air,
Clothes billowing in the air,
It’s so cold.
I can feel it over me,
On my skin,
Not here,
There are so many more seconds,
Hours left even.
No, says the mother,
Your moments have passed,
But they have not,
I reply.
I think of my mother,
Friends and relatives.
I think of the deer.
I wonder if she’d save me.
If she knew I’d fallen,
She’d drag me out by her teeth.
The cold water rush over mine,
They crack and decay with the cold.
My bones crack like glass,
Flesh tightening,
Ligaments and tendons become solid.
I can’t feel my hands,
My feet,
My head.
My heart beat smothers my ears,
As I count the seconds.
The Wordsmith Oct 2014
Hastened glances, like frightened mice,
A kiss on the cheek, oh wouldn't that be nice?
I long for her touch, her sweet, sensitive touch,
A smile or maybe a "hey", or is that too much?
Chalk dust smothers the air, like a foreboding mist,
Echoing my thoughts, "does she even know I exist?",
I stare at her, and feel my heart turn to mush,
But deep down I know, this is just a classroom crush.
Wayne Wysocki Sep 2018
There was a man who bought a horse
From a rancher known as Joe,
But Joe explained things to the man
Before he let him go.

This horse is strange, the rancher said,
You command him not like others;
Say "Oh my God" to make him go,
To stop, say "Smothers Brothers."

He commanded sternly, "Oh my God!"
Once mounted on the steed;
At once the stallion started off
With a frantic burst of speed.

Toward a canyon cliff he ran,
Across the desert sands;
The man, in wild excitement,
Forgot the two commands.

In fear he cried out random words
As fast they neared the drop,
Yet still he could not find the phrase
To make the stallion stop.

He then remembered "Smothers Brothers,"
And yelled with all his breath;
At once the beast slid to a halt
An inch away from death.

Afraid to move, he gazed upon
The canyon deep and broad
He wiped his brow, and in relief,
He whispered, "Oh my God!"
This poem was inspired by a joke going around in the 1970s.
Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Alan McClure Oct 2011
I have come to understand things
in a rational way.
Even love, that endless mystery,
can be broken down
into respect, reliance, trust and patience
With ample evidence available
for each category.

But a blast
from your long-ago eyes
destroys the shelves,
smashes the glass cases
and smothers the labels
in cryptic Pagan pictograms

I have no words,
only a feeling
warm and welcome
that something remains
forever, unexplained.
On your midnight pallet lying,
Listen, and undo the door:
Lads that waste the light in sighing
In the dark should sigh no more;
Night should ease a lover's sorrow;
Therefore, since I go to-morrow,
Pity me before.

In the land to which I travel,
The far dwelling, let me say--
Once, if here the couch is gravel,
In a kinder bed I lay,
And the breast the darnel smothers
Rested once upon another's
When it was not clay.
A Thomas Hawkins Jul 2010
I hear Troubles gonna call
gonna knock upon my door
so what am I to do
if she should push me to the floor

Or if she takes me by the hand
leads me to another room
and smothers me in ecstasy
what a way to meet my doom

But perhaps all that is rumors
and she's not like that at all
just a victim of the lies from those
on whom she doesn't call

Thats why I don't make judgments
on tales others tell
I'd rather find out for myself
cos then I'd know ****** well

If the rumors they are true
then I'll know just what to do
but if the rumors are just rumors
then I'm ready for that too

You see Troubles gonna call
and she's gonna call on me
and as for whats gonna happen next
we'll just have to wait and see.
Zubair Hussaini Dec 2009
Out in public
With a friend,
With a brother,
With a lover,
It's all the same

When your soul is sick,
When it won't mend,
When the truth smothers,
Then you'll discover
It's all the same.

"Be stoic,"
They blather.
No. Never.
I'm not the same.
Shirley Smothers Nov 2012
In a creepy old house I
found a creepy old doll.
I bent to pick it up
and boy did I have a fall.
I stood up had a lump
on my head, but
otherwise alright.
I looked out the window,
day had turned to night.
I looked and looked but
did not find the doll.
I turned to leave and there
it was hanging by it's neck
against the wall.
It's creepy smile seemed to say,
"Come and play with me my friend.
We can play forever
without any end."
To get out of this house
I ran for the door.
But there was no way out.
It was not there anymore.
Through a window I
threw a heavy bust.
The window smashed and
there was a ton of dust.
I looked out the window
but there was no ground,
we seemed to be
floating in air.
I said, No, no
this just isn't fair!"
I felt a hand upon
my shoulder, I let
out a scream.
I heard someone say,
"Wake up honey
your having a dream."
I opened my eyes
to see my husbands
concerned face.
I breathed a sigh of
relief, I was in
a safe place.
My eyes grew heavy
and as I was returning
to sleep, I heard
my husband say,
"Go back to sleep
my friend,
then you
can play forever
without any end."

Shirley Smothers
This would have been perfect for Halloween. But I am now just posting it.
Bashayer Dec 2015
Your soft voice is my cure
It expels out that fear
Your heart is so pure
It smothers that fire I can't bear.
Arthur Vaso Jul 2019
when words fail you
silence smothers you
fears surround you
you borrow inside yourself


                              till that special friend

                         brings you back

your heart and mind
Forget when I wrote this
S Oct 2011
No light penetrates
The overwhelming warning
Of the Heavens,
A warning of brokenness
That cannot be avoided,
A cool quietness smothers the trees,
An eerie implication.
Halted are the simple treks for survival.
Forgotten holes of yesterday reopened.
As the clouds resurrect,
A thankful calm washes away
The fear of the unknown.
Fear comes before growth and
Preparedness need not be remembered.
With the rain comes baptism,
With the storm comes renewal.

— The End —