"tartarus" poems
It was the end of the world when Ares met Mars
Supposed to be counterparts, brothers in arms
But on opposing sides they stood
Couldn’t see eye to eye
And instead of stemming the blood
Each took an eye for an eye
Until in time the whole world went blind
The sword attacked and the spear struck back
But that’s what happens when cultures clash
When cultures collide
With anger and hatred it starts to divide
But nobody wins, cos the dead look the same on both sides
It was the mother of all storms when Jupiter met Zeus
There could have been a deuce; could have called a truce
But each wanted more and more
The two as black as thunder
And instead of stopping the war
Each stole the other’s thunder
Until in time the whole world went under
The thunder attacked and the lightning struck back
But that’s what happens when cultures clash
When cultures collide
With anger and hatred it starts to divide
But nobody wins, cos the dead look the same on both sides
The underworld shook when the earth caved in
Pluto and Hades together couldn’t take us all in
We didn’t see when being heartless
In wanting the best of both worlds
That the second of the two would be darkness
And together the weight of the worlds
Would send us crashing down to Tartarus
The rivers overflowed and the fires turned to ash
But that’s what happens when cultures clash
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Brother, our young summers held us in a long chain like the phalanx of bronzed soldiers forward flung,
And the lion was skinned and hung out to dry like the sunned-fur of the beach at Marathon.
Brother, help me to dream again.
Brother, our yellowed days shook us like serried Hoplites of an atomic age,
Shoulder to shoulder, friction rubbed, all ranks split from the fissioned-flanks.
Brother, help me to dream again.
Storm-footed Titans of heat, dust, and irradiated wind pry from a ruptured Tartarus,
The flanks are an open pulse; the scorch-song thirsts for its sea-cooling to stone.
Brother, the lion lives that wears your skull around its mane.
Brother, dream of me again, of Persian arrows and lances,
And my fallen eyes instead of yours pouring in
With a sea of lavender water and mists
And summers of once-were.
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
death mourns a life
that succumbs to suicide...
classical lawless-ness?
calls the jyst...
a thieving;
a stolen death,
a suicide....
bride riddled to a bridge...
baking...
left half awake and half baked...
you count with the number of
blinding equations...
your 80+ segments?
i want nothing to be part of,
whether polymath,
bilingual, or polymath...
you resd yourself into "it"....
fuck you, and...
**** off...
in terms of .gif ***** files...
no... the part where
we don't parrot?
for no worthwhile surprise!
death is alal b & w...
memory?
all invigorating sepia...
life?
the blooming of color...
you take shrooms,
to invigorate the colors?!
oh look...
you're as loony as me...
and why would i
give a **** about your
tall-tales of subversive religiosity?!
you're right!
like you have been with me
to begin with...
there aren't any!
now?!
suffer!
you're in good hands...
turns out?!
i'm a sadist...
i somehow tested the pain on myself...
i enjoy...
the pain, of others,
having, prior, teased the pain
on, myself!
i forgot teasing the pain...
i taste it...
i welcome it...
i've become welcoming
in allowing it,
a stature abbreviating a transcendence
of victim-hood!
i need pain,
to craft an erasure of ever having
the capacity to instruct
a modus operandi for pleasure!
death contra suicide...
a fact contra a premature contest
of pleasure...
suicide is what
death calls thief...
there is no moral artifact
of a "question"...
suicide is the thief,
when death is the executioner...
what moral question is
to be entertained?
non!
i can't blame the mortality
arsonist...
less Tartarus and more Gehenna...
less S.S. and more khaki
S.A. night of the broken windows
and less...
hyper-Hindu
reincarnation,
hue hue grey...
woo woo the ashen pillage...
no... i'm not here for the
cinder and the ********
it's enough that i drink
the sort of excuse,
that sober people could hardly make
excuses about...
and that's enough...
and enough, is, where i'll stick to.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
I hear thunder
*No you don't,
The voices in your head
want some more*
You're lying!
I am aware of my blunders.
I can hear thunder!
*No, you can't
you're just deaf
and without a plan*
You're just inviting trouble
Everyone is trying to hurt me.
My only defence is the thunder
I hear it. I feel it. Zeus loves me.
Mountains tremble in fear.
He is ready with his bolt.
It's a message
you don't see it
yet
but when thunder shakes the ground
you shall hold your breath.
*Talk about Hermes, Apollo
and everyone else.
The thunder shall do us no harm.
Olympus was never safe.
Aphrodite knows how to sell her body
There will be war, my friend.
The titans will rise.
Kronos will escape from Tartarus
and attack in stealth.*
You dummkopf,
you have no idea what you have been talking
Don't argue over Father of God's bolt!
God of the skies.
Traveling by air? You might die.
Poseidon can make your way back difficult
This behaviour of yours was very typical.
*You ignore your mind when it plays tricks on you
Oh dear, you really are a fool*
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
I would part the seas
just so you don't get wet
but you would rather they did it.
I would fight every monster in Tartarus
just to keep you safe
but you don't care.
I would go to Hell and back
just cause you asked me to
but it doesn't matter, does it.
I was there by your side
when you were crying
but it's them you have your eyes on.
I love you
no matter what you say
but you love someone else.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
focus needle sharp and glowing
piercing the rare white winter calm
of my mind at rest
like a ray of too bright to see sunlight
too hot to do anything but set
the edges of conscious thought ablaze
where they blacken and burn fast
curling inwards with steady flames
roiling over ashen fingers grasping at
the long forgotten Morpheus's throat
prying wide the sleeping god's eyes
fastened open by Prometheus's chains
Hades, Tartarus, eternal penance,
for bringing inspiration into this
dark human world
the price I paid in sleep for grades
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
Tantalus tartarus tortures through time tremendous
Amber ambition aback at arousal
Menacing mandibles munch my member
Eating eruptions eeriest ***********
Docile delusional damp dame do digest
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
Amid the Romans the seven arrive,
To work something out to stop the impending war,
To everyone it seemed like things were going fine,
Until Leo was possessed and attacks the Roman camp,
Aboard the ship they fly away,
But they have no idea what will happen to them,
Throughout their journey they find many clues,
Except they don’t always know what to do,
Till Annabeth discovers that she needs to leave the group,
Against her will Annabeth heads out on her solo quest,
Throughout her journey she faces many hardships,
Over Tartarus is where she ends up,
After Annabeth is finally found by the rest of the seven,
Inside Arachne’s web-filled cave,
Upon the long lost Athena Parthenos,
Above Annabeth is the Argo II,
Against their luck the ground is questionably stable,
Toward Tartarus Percy and Annabeth fall,
Down they fall for what seems like days,
Into the place where the monsters lay.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
Muted color
On darkest day
There was a light
to show the way
In dreary towns
My eyes were bound
To the misty lights
Up on the cloud
What is that phenomenon?
Where did it go?
The place we are seeking
We shall never know.
As our eyes droop down
And our smiles go flat,
It is easy to see
That we shall never go back
To that muted color
On that darkest day
Where that light to guide us
Showed the way
Immortality is over
We are now doomed
To succumb to our future
As our destinies loomed.
As we were shot down
To the pits of Tartarus
My fate was no longer
Ambiguous
We were forgone
Forever to roam
The pitch black world
Always to moan
That muted color
On darkest day
Was unfortunately one
To never stay
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
One day I'm going to slit my throat in a beautiful burst of rebellion and commitment to eternal solitude. And in my last, blood choked breaths, I'm going to condemn myself to Hell and ridicule this dystopian legacy I was introduced to called love. I hope you understand. I'm just starting to realize that each and every one of us are alone. And I don't want to be alone. I've been alone long enough. That's why I searched for you. You, my focus, my chief goal, my everything. You saved me from my most feared demon, myself. You brought me out of this pit of Tartarus and into a grand epitome of ecstasy and emotion. All of that emotion turned towards you. And now this. It's safe to say, I'm in cursed love with you. In. I'm in love with you. Everything I do is in hopeful remembrance of you. And without you this curse is going to consume me into oblivion. Yet, without you, oblivion is most certainly my paradise.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
'Sola! J, why are your poems so depressing?'
Oh for the love of Tartarus, prosaic. Will you please shut up?
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Any man would be blessed to have a goddess in his life.
Possessing all the wisdom, beauty, and grace
worthy of the Greek pantheon.
He prays and makes the appropriate sacrifices
to win a steadfast Hera
to his wayward Zeus;
a queen to his king.
That one girl who could start a war
with a glance.
They seek that one perfect goddess.
Yet I have a problem with that preconceived notion.
My eyes have been opened to the fact that goddesses
walk around us every day.
Women with the wisdom of Athena helping boys
learn what it really means to be men.
Hera’s who hold the family together no matter the cost.
Hestia’s who makes sure there is always a place to call home,
whether it’s a college dorm or rich estate.
Demeter’s who even when their love is taken
they still find a way to brighten the lives of those around them.
Praise to those with the spirit of Artemis
who won’t a silly thing like gender
stop them from achieving everything they want.
Also just because she doesn’t look like Aphrodite
to you doesn’t mean she isn’t one to me.
So thank you to all the goddesses in my life.
You helped to make me a hero when I could’ve been sent to Tartarus.
Never forget that you are special and never settle for less.
You inspire the muses.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
I was deep in the land of shadows
Halfway between the living and dead
In the awful silence of void
The atmospheres soft
And it’s people plastic
Mephistophelean and astute
When a band of ruffians stormed
The inferno beneath
With volcanic tremor
Sweeping down like a tidal wave
Of so terrific Tsunamic magnitude
Spurning all restraint
Slowed down my pace
By reciprocal math of wizardly
Substituting the direct proportion for inverse
I dragged and they almost flew
Corpsic form and tattered cloth
Is all I see and
Gaping mouth oozing blood
Grotesque creatures tinting hell
After me and almost done
I should out loud voiceless
I reach for the nothingness
And there’s no thing
I stretch still to scale it down
Wishing I had wings
And take flight
Or superhuman like Superman
Hopping I possessed metaphysical force
Like the Matrix upgrade version
To disembody and dematerialize
And so vanish into stillness
To hang in space out of sight
By the trickery of magic
To cast spell like lady of the Voodoo
And freeze plant herbage and the human
Instantly and give a diabolic glean
Make a catwalk of villain trump
To the disgust of victim
And ultimate flown of the gods
That hardly smile anyway
But I am human and my powers feeble
My infinity lies bound within
Time and daylight
The parameters of finite
In a rat race so unfair
Distances too close and defeat too plain
I die out and awoke within
To brace another day with headache
Devil, I escaped Gehenna
That gives me surety I will outpace you
For what I saw when I slept
Hail Tartarus I am Morpheus
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC
Maybe it was fate in the threads of that
skirt as short as temper and temperance
that ended the ellipsis breathing.
A dancer needs an answer
on life enhancers, dear romancer.
Your smile was more than good enough.
I drank of it, the cup of Christ that turned
my blood into whining moments of
insecurity.
Call security, you say, making the call on
what I am because I am transparent,
transdimensional, traversing the bridge
of your nose with my high-risk eyes.
You say that I am, and they cry.
As your hands ticked at your clock-click keyboard,
I waited, passed the time wondering the
difference between naive and navel.
Harm came like rain in winter, the words
of Zephyrus slipping from between those
amber lips, lithe on naked fingertips.
You take the names of gods in vain,
into your veins, let them convert only
the white blood cells. You'd crucify
me for vanity.
You accuse the recluse of abuse,
and it suits you, tailored because
hatred sized you up the moment you met.
The orchestra disbanded, the buds of May
have yet to burst, yet to blossom like you
say you always will,
but the spring in your step when
you walk away from the last word
tells me more than the chirping birds
nesting in your hair.
You remind me of Paris
on the walls of Troy,
thief of hearts and fool indeed.
Bringer of fire, brander of hell,
but only because you were already the
Tartarus Employee of the Month and
enjoying Elysium.
This is the
beautiful mystery
undone as her clothes and
naked as the day Rosemary Matron gave her
to the world.
This is the beautiful mystery
returned to voids as tangled as her hair,
the nonspace between the curls hiding
secrets and conviction.
This is the beautiful mystery
concluded, all the movements of
her symphonic body no longer to allure.
This is the beautiful mystery
answered, the riddle of the Sphinx
leaping from the pillar, a killer
not quite so strong as her eyes.
This is the beautiful mystery
laid to rest, buried alive in a life discarded.
This is good-bye.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
How Strange.
You long for change,
but you are loath to redo.
And thus, loathe yourself.
And this loads on you,
on your coarse course.
Preventing the Metamorphose,
and forces you
into your torturous fortress.
A cocoon,
that protects against monsoons
but not the typhoon raging inside,
waking Typhon,
and blowing out
Prometheus's fire.
Oh how Oedipus Wrecks
the tedious good
until spiritless.
But never hopeless
Pandora's box is open
but Sparta's soldiers
will close it and guide you
from Tartarus to Olympus
and change, you will.
Shed your mortal grossness
for immortal happiness.
No common sense
that this recklessness
has consequences
When you do realize
What the Fates's foretold
it will be too late.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
My life feels like it's hanging by a thread
I've pushed away all my stress and worry
And now it surrounds me everywhere I look
It's like I'm tight-roping over the river of Styx
And all my fears, concerns and doubts
Are reaching for me
Like desperate hungry hands
Searching for their relief
Like the hands of those souls
Begging for a release
But where exactly is my relief?
Where does the end of this rope land?
Tartarus or the Elysian Fields?
Will I make it to my Elysium
Or will I bathe in the sea of souls?
Will I bear the Curse of Achilles
Or will I be trapped there myself?
All the worries that surround me
Make me feel like diving in
Isn't so bad
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 1:09 AM UTC
Reality was bereft
As your head,
Caresses the pillow
A night deft.
As I hear the crickets
Lagging behind, I
With you on the way
To dreamland with a ticket.
Don the Hatter's Hat
In Alice's Wonderland.
As we sip tea
With Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat.
Be large or be small
Eating chocolates
And muffins
Down the rabbit hole.
A carpet of wings
We fly over
The Caspian, The Aegean
To where the Siren sings.
Three headed dog is yours
A gargoyle, mine.
Little pets we walk
Down Tartarus's corridors .
Europe behind, we face
South West
To the land of Mayans
And folk of a mystical race.
We play war chief,
Play in our blue tepee
Flying on the backs
Of eagles as they screech.
You dance around
My fire
Gyrating in that form
Bringing rain down.
Purple Rider
On a wind maned horse
Black One on a
Golden strider.
Barfights and shootouts
Brawls and scuffles
You gained a puffy eye
While I broke my stout.
Seeking a view
We jumped from
Skyscraper to skyscraper
Old and new.
Jumped from hills
Into rivers
Spoke to the wild
For time to ****
Wary of the time
We take flight
Off the Everest
We just climbed.
Down and down
Into a sea
Coloured silver
Bubbly diamonds all around.
No lack of gas,
You put swimming to the test
Tripped on a rock
A jellyfish attacks!
Boom and Pow
Wham, slam and
A big crunch
Little jellyfish said ow!
Get stuck in traffic
Office hours
We suppose
As the birds swam chaotic.
We're here!
Portal to reality
Now exposed
By now the dream was dear.
Maybe now you can't see
But we will,
The sun rise,
From the bottom of the sea.
So we wait
As the sea turned
Silver to fire
A nice first date.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
I have been cursed by the spell of Aphrodite.
No matter how much wrong you do,
I am a fool blinded by you.
You could drag my soul through the waters of Styx,
with a spell so powerful that it would delude me to think Tartarus itself was greater than Olympus.
I can no longer speak your name upon my lips,
for whenever I do, it is an incantation to you.
Yet no matter how much I curse your name,
I cannot help but to be in awe of your beauty.
Your mere memory itself makes me fall deeper into your spell.
I am a madman, longing for just a whiff of your perfume.
I curse your name, but in the shadows I worship you.
Never have I seen true beauty until I looked upon your face.
How I curse Aphrodite for working through the vessel that is you.
Jul 12, 2024
Jul 12, 2024 at 10:54 PM UTC
The mighty Atlas, father of those seven sisters,
Bears the weight of heaven on his broad shoulders.
And even one of the brothers three, lives eternal;
In Chaos realms, Tartarus' black abyss, in which
No soul returns, to gaze upon life's light once more.
Although, forgive me, I lie; a few, a few selected,
Have returned from amidst heavy woe, pushing
Down their sorrows. Orpheus ventured,
With sweet song, motherly ordained and with divine,
Unrivalled skill on his lyre, seduced Hades himself.
I too, challenge his great powers; and with her skirt
Flapping with speed, ride on Auroras saffron chariot,
Cooking the sky's dark covering wings, to a baking red,
While the sun gallops up, stampeding behind our cart.
I play, not keen, to act the fool, and lay these pale ivy
Laments in front, which my lips have yet not touched.
I place you in the centre, forests following, clear streams
Flowing as crystals sway on its surface; and yet,
I have not put them to my lips; but keep them by.
I praise not this, but sing, because together we sit
On this soft green grass; now the woods are leafing,
Now the year is at its loveliest, the cheeky girl
Pelts me with apples. Presents are laid up for my Emily,
I myself have observed where doves make their nests.
I'll pick ten apples, picked from a woodland tree,
And for you, I'll pick ten more tomorrow.
You breezes waft a word or two to the gods' ears
And to my pure white seraphim, for her to hear.
I love my angel most of all, for when I left,
She wept and said ‘So long, love, so long.'
Wolves are sad for the folds, rain for the crops,
Gales for the trees, and Emily, me for you.
I love my muse, let him who loves you share your paradise.
Let honey flow from him, let roses blossom
From his pores, to pick flowers and earth born strawberries,
To dip you, in springs of tears myself. My love is ruinous
And the sky extends no wider than my heart.
Say, in what lands the flowers inscribe your name,
The name of goddesses; for who fears the sweet,
Or feels the bitterness of love; let them drink their fill.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 9:13 AM UTC
Do ya feel that?
The rough scratch of air scraping over skin,
God’s calloused hand running over heaving shoulders.
Outside, the wind never stops for a rest,
It just changes pace.
Do ya feel that?
The frantic shedding of desperate sin,
The chains of Tartarus falling like feathers;
An eaglet free of the nest,
Kicking the straw into the gaolers face.
Do ya feel that?
When the prison is broke from within,
And the fields are skies to beating wings,
Disappearing into sunlit clouds,
Lost in the storm of long sweet yellow grass.
Do ya feel that?
The rising wind carries the sound;
The horns of blind men bearing fanged arrows.
The long grass beckons in the breeze
And I’m running, flying.
Do ya feel that?
The stalks brush against my legs,
Weak hands fumbling for a grasp.
I hear my despair in my head,
A stumbled scream caught in the act.
Do ya feel that?
When the prison is broke from within,
And the fields are skies to beating wings;
Ware the fangs at your heels,
Arrows in the long grass.
Do ya feel?
The dogs sniff at the feathers,
Bloodied maws dripping with spite.
A crow takes the eagle’s eye,
The final irony of freedom is chaos.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
How lonely infidel
He that passeth I;
in Phlegethon dwells.
Son of the Seas,
seasoned with algae.
Had a plea
about how he happened to be:
"When you threw me to the
depths, into the heart of the open sea,
then a very river encircled me"
Melpomene holds her Mother's dress
while sailing the temptuous tide.
Recalls the sight of hundreds and
hunches over to address.
"Lead by a primitive spirit" she wails
and solemnly stoops to ponder.
Their ship's prow now plunges deep and
through the ripples, Melpomene meets the
seedy yellow iris' of the beast
reflecting the clouds. She squints upwards
and beholds hoofs with Faithful and True.
As the river streams into Tartarus, Mnemosyne's ears
begin to ring with a thousand cries and pleads.
But the whinnies ring out louder to deafen her
while the tail of Leviathan disappears into the blue.
Through the cave and into Lethe, the earthy smell
of the tops remain as the last but dizzy to remember;
of all those who swam lightly past its mist. But to her,
tears to enter the watery abyss:
"Many must have passed through here,
lived long to see,
but not enough to learn--"
But the ship sailed on.
The stream narrows and an opening reveals. They
see melted hail with blood on the only land they recall.
A Tree glowing brightly in front of a black sky; counted many
swords gathered at the foot. Three days they traveled in
their ship, but now their oars were put on land.
Thunder whips and trumpets horn, the fallen fruit
comes ashore.
THEIR voices bellow to ask a question:
"Was it needed for a war?"
An answer, but no pardon:
"Many a pang I have felt, those aches
violently sprung up from the seven lakes,
Is nothing but a genuine mistake.
Those worthy time and day,
Will surely be given a way."
Mother and daughter wiped the tears from their eyes,
while gently lifting them to the skies.
Above them the sun shone on the wet mass,
they see high and colorfully cast:
A reassuring Promise and eternity.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC
Osiem metrów wysokości.
Pośrodku szczelina.
Rzeźba dziecka z betonu
obok kontury ciała i pustka
po bezbronnej istocie,
której już nie ma.
Szorstka struktura szarości
rani delikatną skórę.
Głód. Choroby. Samotność.
Świat zapomina o tych,
co nie krzyczą głośno—
o tym co najbardziej boli:
o miażdżonej niewinności,
i olbrzymach pilnujących
orszak przestraszonych wielkich oczu
w małych, wychudzonych ciałach.
Pamięć nie jest wygodna.
Ona fizycznie boli.
Uparte rany nie goją się.
Było.
Jest.
Wije się w sąsiednich otchłaniach Tartaru.
Aksjomat przyjęty przez aklamację:
„Tak ma być!”
Cisza.
Na scenę wychodzi syn ocalałego.
Łamiącym się głosem szepcze:
Tata przeszedł piekło, ale kochał nas.
Przeżył, napisał pamiętniki.
Dał świadectwo.
Rozumiał ten wykolejony świat.
BROKEN HEARTS
Eight meters high.
A crevice in the center.
A concrete sculpture of a child
and the deep void.
Once there was another child,
now gone without a trace…
The rough grey texture
hurts fragile skin.
Hunger. Disease. Loneliness.
The world forgets
those who do not scream
and what hurts the most:
crushed innocence
guarded by the giants
watching the procession
of terrified wide eyes
in small, gaunt bodies.
Memory is not a peaceful place,
it brings physical pain.
It gnaws from underneath.
Stubborn,
festering wounds,
they refuse to heal.
It was.
It is.
It will happen again
by axiom,
accepted without question.
That is how it must be.
Like a venomous snake
slithering near the lands of Tartarus.
Endless sacrifice, leaden silence.
And then, the son of the survivor takes the stage.
He speaks in a whisper:
My Father went through hell, but he loved us.
He wrote it down—
a testimony of a derailed world.
He knew what it meant to be human
when it hurt.
He survived to love and to be loved.
Jun 2, 2025
Jun 2, 2025 at 6:13 PM UTC
Such suffering I have sown,
But I accept my portion,
What then is there to do.
All the blame cannot be my own
Alone.
If in the flaming depths of Tartarus there is a searing pool
It is there I shall dive, for I have fallen beneath the zenith,
I dip beneath the clouds, soon to shatter on the earth.
Likely that my plea for clemency will fail,
I cannot be held accountable for so blindly fumbling into the deceptions,
When no lens has been provided for me,
I was greeted first with insult,
Then recognized for my wit, and patience,
But low, I never parted the veil.
Justifications are for the guilty,
I cannot justify my nature.
Nor can I say why a scale tips back and forth
With equal weights, on each side,
Only to settle askew,
Again and again.
If there is enough love in this shallow heart,
This cheap vessel of hollow virtue.
I will burn it in the embers of my failing passion,
So as maybe, to brighten the eyes of another,
Whose gaze is less grey than mine.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 5:47 PM UTC
their first
and last mistake
was thinking that she was a flower
or anything fragile or gentle
though she looked like silk and velvet
she felt like broken glass and iron
and it cut deeply into your skin
your mind
your soul
spilling your blood as she went
perhaps rainstorms and romantic lullabies
are more your kind of fairytale
but you'll never again deny her power
her dark and wondrous power
like lightning across the darkest of clouds
the fire and brimstone of Tartarus
the grey and wild lashing of the ocean
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC