"spiceless" poems
Wish for your eyes to see indeed
breathlessly wishing deep inside
your love needs you ,she needs you around here longer.
but you are already half dead and the other half in a coma
doctor says it could last a day, maybe two
or even a decade.
i still need you, without you love
life essense is spiceless
i need a re-incarnation!
faith is the remaining gut
left when all hopes are excercised.
one more redemption, the only chance to life again!
i desire for you life again, not so much to seek a second chance.
for you this cup kindly pass over,
Christ also resisted with an agonizing plea at calvary
one more prayer need answered
in this heavens today
darkness!!!! we lost him
pim pim pim pim and steadily the beeps rise
the heart rate monitor regains a steady pulse
its a re-incarnation!
breath taking deep inside, i recount
God answers prayers one moment in time sometime
when we so badly make the call.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 11:54 PM UTC
What a spiceless world.
One full of orange, then blue.
One full of purple, then brown.
To get through the waters of the womb, you need steel.
Where blood is flighty. And mud is shallow.
To love, you need to ****
To hate, you need to birth another.
A pool of men stronger and faster than a colony of ants.
Who are you, when you've lost all your feathers?
When the bridge above you has collapsed?
Who are you, once again, when all you've known has turned to order?
When there is a hierarchy? Where do you fit in?
To make wings, you need a brother and a hammer.
To fight those orderly ******** you need to call upon your own filth.
To waddle through your own **** your own **** you need to drink the elixir.
Not some shallow nectar from the gods. Who are they, anyway? Who, who are the gods to question the almighty? You were always better anyway.
Who upon this mound of dirt, **** ***** and mercury shall question the authenticity of your command, when they're all dead in the ground?
Will there be anyone?
Will it just be you?
You knock on the door of the rich man, but he does not answer. You paint his door red in your own blood and scream.
What has occurred here? A clash of babies dressed in stardust under a sky of light violet?
Maybe a marriage of scales and feathers disguised as ones you could care about?
You know nothing of this world, and that's how you always got by.
You dig through the pool of used needles, you drench yourself in others' diseases, you embrace a death of most painful circumstance and you cut off your limbs one by one.
Only then, at your final moments, tongueless, waddling your chunks of once arms, legs and wings around, drowning in your own ***** can you ask the most important question.
What if the world was the opposite?
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:46 AM UTC