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Kevin J Taylor May 2016
With trappings of chattel and ownership and slavery
Stain, scarification, of torture and tally
Edification and vainglory of succumb: metal ring, chain & ink—
Inventory:  Declaration of alienable rights: Inexistence

Where are the Free
The Free-to-Live-and-Die-and-Live-Again-at-Will
Where are the Truly Free
For I would dance among them
..
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry from common things.)
Brandi R Lowry Feb 2013
In my heart
I feel a sweet melody.

Albeit, playing a little off-key.

Deep, insightful dreams
Do awaken me

And disturb
My sweet insanity.

No love, for which I do seek
Can remove the remnants
Of sweet animosity.

Playful moods disturb my reverie
And all succumb
To my blissful idiocracy.
Landon Velasquez May 2014
Punctured are the lungs I've used for breathing
This seething ever-romantic feeling
The peeling of skin that reveals the concealed
And opens up the undying existence of the unseen
As my own existence is also undying and unseen
My mind and ego trying to convince me otherwise
This is my illusion
Intruding my mind and infecting it with disparity
And with no clarity of what is to come
I drown in fear that I will succumb
mslu Nov 2018
serendipity

i've dipped in and out

the mountains i thought i moved took back their strength

and in the taking,
cracked open the ground

leaving me off-balance than before

yes, i should've fought back but


serendipity

i stay dipping in and out

there's no such thing as control

no such thing as handled

a loose grip

had me falling through the cracks
and as i fell onto hard times

the darkness welcomed me

so i stayed

. . .
Bad Luck Feb 2019
I've lived the kind of pain they write about;
In the tales of heroes,
                       who came and went without
Salvation or celebration; and,
      instead, became close friends of doubt.

When luck leaves your side,
And there's no one left watching . . .
               There is no martyrdom.
No heaven to fall from. No damnation.
                Just nothing.
                Nothing and no one
.

But I won't let myself succumb
To the temptation
             of self-righteous certainty,
             false justifications, or
             egotistical self-mutilation -
Just to bleed on those who lay
             Below my lowly elevation.

                     Not like you.
                     I am not made like you.

No longer, will I distort my own view
To lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.

               It's true.

               I am a worthless *******,
               and even I can hardly stand it
               when I speak about myself.
But this time . . .
It's about more than me.
And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth,
That I was given and didn't earn,
On those who showed me how to learn
               And to never become like you.

Yes -
I am judgmental and self-loathing.
I am selfish and I am wrong.
I am naive, and strung out and strung along.

                                But I
                                  am not made
                                             like you.

                                             I am strong.
Spenser Bennett May 2016
Truth bids, "Fall."
And my shoulders balk

Failure sets my heart
Aware of the blue parts

Carry me home
Buried in hope

Open my eyes
And heal me tonight

I am burdened
With my own hurting

My legs are numb
My lungs succumb

Open my mouth
No voice pours out

I am wasting
Again and again away

Lonely in this house
Of friends, of doubts
Rob Rutledge May 2013
The Aces check their sleeves,
Hearts rippling across the breeze.
The Queen arises
Slowly,
Torn dress ripped at the knees.

The Jack saw his fill
And quickly took his leave.
Stood trembling in a doorway,
Mind struggling to believe...

The King was an alcoholic,
It was widely known to be so,
Each eve he would sit solemn,
Wine in hand and sword on show,
Clapping to the Jokers' japes
As he danced and sang
About love and fate.
But how was the King to know?
Not two rooms away
His wife had lain,
With a smile and a *****.
Creating a cuckold and a fool...

The Jack had had enough
And promptly marched
To the throne room.
Armed with only knowledge,
Unleashes inevitable typhoon.

The winds will rise,
This house shall succumb,
Imploding inwards
Till the house is done.
And all that remains
Among ash and decay,
Broken hearts and broken spades,
Is the Jokers last laugh.
A mockingbirds call as daylight fades.
Elizabeth Kelly Aug 2014
Even the one
who lights the world
can succumb to the darkness inside.

We become blind
and see only the light.

The darkness can easily hide.

So you've scattered yourself
to the billions of stars that
blanket the billowing night

to help hold at bay
the darkness that preys
on the strong
and the weak
and the rich
and the poor
and the brilliant
and dull ones
alike.

You gave of yourself
with such ferocity of truth.

You fought with all of your might.

So thank you, old friend
for sharing your gift
and rest now
in peaceful twilight.
Rickie Louis Feb 2012
With each our own, upon a thrown, of thorns our souls reside. With each new tear our hearts they bear the past with open eyes. With lessons tried, and tears we've cried from wisdom, we've succumb. Our time will say to run or stay, each choice its own demise.
Skaidrum Jul 2016
Bathed in silver, cracked in gold
love got into one of your stories again.
               ❝ i swear i didn't mean to be temporary ❞

Sangria flames and broken glass;
dry ashes mixed with lavender petals,
a phoenix beckoning the silk threads of night
                ❝ desolation took a bite from the moon ❞

You will become brittle dust to feed old books on shelves,
and I don't regret that I both poured
and drank
a cup of lust and sorrow, just for you
              ❝ do you still want to kiss the ink off my lips ❞

Tip the dish to catch the koi,
as you reincarnate once again;
mind those knives in the sink,
and please remember, that fire is impatient
               ❝as you succumb to me in all thousand lives. ❞
my phoenix
let it be known that
your dreams still stain my pillow

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Hastings Padua May 2013
you do not need to be quiet.
you do not need to expose your heart
to this brutal world to feed its ugly desire.
you only need to walk into the wilderness of your soul
and breathe, succumb to the silence in your heart;
rebel and provoke, then embrace the soft despair
of your broken body and heal; in the miles
of broken road between your heart and mine, repent;
cry a little and scream, for the valley will echo
in redemption and uplift you into the timberline
and up again to the highest point above the valley floor
until the sun whips its fingers across your face and you stagger,
kneel, then pray in your enlightened state;

you will smile when you come home
to the craggy rocks and dusty rivers
and the tender patches of moss along the boulders;
you will tease the tall grasses and the buttercups
and the sunflowers with your fingers
and push deep through the mud with your toes;
here, silence is forgiving.
Jordan Rowan Aug 2015
There's a chill in the air and wind 'neath your boots
There's clouds in the sky and trees with roots
If all were to fall onto your crying head,
Would you carry it home or lie down dead?
The strength you have defines your choice
Will you whimper and cry or show your voice?
Through sorrow and pain and happiness and joy
You either run and hide from all those you employ
Or show them what you're made of inside
For what you do becomes who you have to hide
Not what you say with fury or a gentle tone
But the actions you take when you're all alone
When you're down and out, almost recluse
And you feel as if you have no use
If you still get up and challenge yourself
You will become prisoner to no one else

There's a song in the air and dirt 'neath your boots
A song that carries on down to your roots
Back from the days of no chores or worry
When nothing was done in any sort of hurry
You can hear these words in the back of your mind
And it takes you back to a simpler time
These little moments, spontaneous and surreal
Show you how you can always feel
Feel good and joyous even through the worst
When tired and hungry, they give you thirst
These little moments are found throughout life
They can break you free from worldly strife
And these things define who you were before
And change who you are to forever something more
Harkening back to when you were innocent and clean
Can make you try your best to better your scene

Your moments in life are yours to keep
When daydreaming or your lost in sleep
The worst will come and so will the best
The dark before the dawn always sets to the west
You can succumb to the pain that comes with years
Or you can fight back the stress and fight back the tears
Through everything that comes your way
Only you can change how you live out your stay
Others will come and others will leave
But what holds together is what you believe
Strength is within and without you
Within is taken while without is beside you
Hold onto a grain of meaningless sand
And notice how it's light in your hand
Just for that moment it's harmless and vain
But if you hold on forever it builds into pain
Word *****. Complete rambling of someone trying to make themselves feel better by trying to describe with actual strength is.
Unfamiliar face, with your touch that melts so warm.

Foreign bodies with the same intention, wanting more.

Exchanging breaths instead of words,
No expectations to be heard..

Lines blurred.

Asking nothing but a moment of euphoric selfless bliss

Just thrusts of lustful passion
with pain and pleasure in its midsts

  Subtleness.

As we continue to succumb this yearning, pure desire..

this stranger doesn't feel so strange,
like a flame amidst the fire.


-Bobbie Leigh
I will lay by thee sire,
Dark tall, frozen-eyed sentinel,
What deep harness,
You ****** upon me,
What sorrows I nae see beyond thee,

Black sire in stables, punish me

I will give in to you,
Limp and strafed about yon body,
Without any purse,
I will succumb to you,
What joys you may make me suffer.

Sweet stallion please, break me

I will let you neck me,
Hard and true as the red deer rutting,
Shameless in pride,
I shall betroth my love,
What promise shall gait in surrenders.

*I shall be your mare, unbridle me
patty m Feb 2017
Baby boy,
your desperate cries go unheeded;  
unwashed neglect apparent on both body
and bed.  
It's a jungle in here
dishes in the sink, beer cans everywhere
the trash overflowing.

Baby boy, you rattle the bars
until the bed shudders.  
Where is your mother?
Is she hunting Serengeti's plain,
or lying scissored between the legs of yet another lover?
She can't hear you little cub,
a drug and alcohol induced fog
has dulled her brain.

Brave little baby
with diaper overflowing
painting smelly warning signs on the wall.
A few more racking sobs are swallowed
before you succumb to defeat.  
The little lion lays his head down
lost in sleep, that blessed state that
finally appeases hunger.
Amanda Ray Aug 2015
Invested trust, so poorly spent,
Even the stars have somehow bent.
Crippling doubt, head has a glitch.
Agony thrives, heart's on the fritz.
Relentless gripe, slow to succumb.
Desolate soul, coming undone.
Chartered chaos, hanging the noose. Afflicted love, won't cut me loose.
Demise of dreams, spoken too soon.
You, my love, did not hang the moon.
What have I done?

A calamity has befallen me.

My heart lies impaled by a blade of my own design, beating in agony.

Across from me I see her, huddled over the blade, her hands crimson from its edge.

Her tears descend upon my heart like broken stars, burning into the flesh, down to its very core.

What have I done?

Amid her shrieks of pain, I speak words of remorse.

Amid her words of sorrow, I try to mend what has been broken.

But I have exhausted myself. I haven't the strength to lift my heart off of the blade.

In the midst of my struggle, I see a figure, one who I believe at first to be the Solitude, come to torment me with my failures.

But it does not speak.

Where the Solitude mocks me, the figure remains silent.

Where the Solitude glares harshly into my soul, the figure merely gazes.

It does not show its face, but it breeds a sense of familiarity.

A Spectre, in my own image.

With ease, it lifts my heart from the blade, but with its touch, the heart turns black.

It is devoid of any other hue, engulfing the cracks and scars that plagued its surface, it is unified by darkness.

It is beyond recognition.

The Spectre extends the beating void to me, in silent offering.

But I refuse.

I shall not allow myself to succumb to the cold absence it will bring.

I would rather endure, if only barely.

Yet, as I turn away, I see her. The one who once held my affection.

The one who tore down my fortress. The one who showed my future in her eyes. The one who left laughter and serenity in her wake.

With another.

Turning back, I take the creation of the Spectre, without hesitation.

As it takes its place, I hear the echoes of all the tender words she once spoke to me, yet they carry a harsh timbre.

I feel the fire of passion I once carried, yet it creates only ice.

I see the memories once cherished, but they have become pale and morbid.

"What is this feeling?" I ask the Spectre.

I cannot see its lips, but I know it smiles at the inquiry, before uttering a single word:

Hate.
Luisa C Aug 2016
i wish i could forget my regrets as fast as i make them.
i wish i could end my sadness as fast as it stakes me.
i wish the sky above could change to black and put a stop to the thoughts as i succumb to sleep.
i wish i fell asleep as fast as i crave sleep in the morning, waking,
aching.
i wish.
and i can only do just that.
ryn Feb 2015
His bicycle let out a little yelp as he slowed to a stop,
The lady was dressed the same as the night before.
He could have cycled on but he had intentions he would not drop,
For he had heard stories of such beings from old wives' lore.

It was important for him to address this spectre.
Motivated by the advice he had received from his dad.
To never succumb to fear if a spirit he should ever encounter,
For the fear would consume and eventually drive him mad.

He was brimming with confidence as he spoke,
"Hello there again, I see that you are still in a fix".
He was determined not to be made again the joke
He had sworn to not be taken in by the imp's mischief and tricks.

A sweet fragrance lingered in the air,
Teasingly inviting him to greedily inhale it all in.
A gentle gust blew, caught and played with the strands of her hair...
Enamoured by her visage, he secretly gasped as if the air grew thin.

Her face was still partially obscured by her black flowing hair.
She turned to him before she gave her reply,
"Would you please give me a lift, dear sir...kind and rare...
I do not wish to be stranded alone, unsheltered under the moonlit sky"
.
To be continued...

Based on a story I heard.
DivineDao Feb 2016
Would you succumb to worldly charms
**If you knew nothing is what it seems !?
hsyclara Jan 2019
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen

Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb

And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,

But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery

where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?

So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
12.01.2014
A W Bullen Jun 2016
In the second hand soothing
of darkest address: frost crawls.
Having crept down the alleys
on  serpentine silvers
to pilfer the vaults of an Indian Summer,
in crystalline raiment
the malachite pavements
succumb to its covering sprawl.

On shellac returns of lamp delta falls
minutiae maraud in bitter sweet symmetry
shattering petals, encasing in glass
the Stella shot run of the vine.
A glacier tourniquet scuppers the mold
an accomplished assassin of natural device,
with icy indifference it hushes the *****:

The Moon, for the life in her eyes.
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Did God not make love vain in the first place?
Stolen my wings; my sacred space.

Did God not lie to us all?
To say together we fall.

Can we have time?
Because peace can only appease my rhyme.

What is with people today?
We act in our subconscious away from the fray.

Can someone just make sense?
Because what does not makes the world tense.

Only sticking around because I am a known freak.
To women I am not sheik.

Can someone just make sense?
Because this world seems dense.

Will I succumb to my fear?
Because away from this world I wish I could disappear.

People are starting to swerve as they steer.
What is wrong with people today I said with no fear.
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