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stopdoopy Jul 2018
(In a vacant church Little Girl and Big Man sit on a parish
a few feet apart, in between them lies a book titled"My Feelings".)

(The curtain opens. Little Girl sits staring at Big Man. Big Man gets up and goes to the statue of himself in front of them for a closer look.)

Big Man: Will talking in person really make a difference?

Little Girl: I like to think it does.

Big Man:  (turns to look at her incredulously.) What wishful thinking, you're so naïve.

(Little Girl opens her book and starts to read aloud.)

(Big Man cuts her off with a noise every time she starts to say something until she falls silent.)

Big Man: Just as I thought, it doesn't change anything.

Little Girl: But you don't-

Big Man: (cuts her off again.) You just can't let things go, that's your problem. I told you I didn't want to do this, yet you dragged me out here. It didn't accomplish anything!

Little Girl: That's because you don't even want to listen or try to talk, you just want to yell and blame me!

Big Man: That's enough, this conversation is over. (Walks off stage right.)

(Little Girl screams in anger and throws "My Feelings" at the Big Man Statue.)

(The Curtain closes.)
I wanted to try something a little different! I've never written stage directions or a play before but I thought this would be a nice change. I didn't really convey the raw anger or passion, nor was it the scene what I originally wanted but maybe it's a step in the right direction. Trying out different styles is neat. Not happy with this piece though but... oh well.
MalakF Aug 2018
Who in the right state of mind would rebel against the gods;
the ones whom kept them alive,
doing everything they can to not let you die,
the only thing that has done nothing but stand by your side?
Why would you rebel against the only thing that will always be able to forgive you no matter what you do?
This body of yours wants nothing more than to see you flourish,
it has a mission and is not programmed to abort it.
Take care of yourself and your body.
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
God ensures everyone a shore
floating on the sea of the soul!
No stone is as solid
lying in any temple.

Light up the flame lay it on
the passage to the truthful
selfless human conscience.
Unleash from the unseen
the one true enduring origin!

The more one understands
the universe's more meaningful!
Hails from the one yet to expose
the utmost intelligent of all!
zebra Jul 2016
did you know
that the
self effulgent light
of God it self
is **** shaped

as above so below

the inner revelation
******* above...light woven
******* below ...flesh woven

does this not infer
a magical operation
perhaps a hermetic
ritual of adoration
perhaps a puja
to the ****
with ornate
kaleidoscopic mandalas
replete with wrinkles
and folds
emerald toilet bowls
silk *** wipe
with full color florals
to be ingratiated
by **** art prints
and to be fussed over
and judged
by certified *******
clergy

then to cleanse
with fragrant ointments
that it may remain
unsullied by its
birthing labors
voluptuous
smoldering
fecundations
for purities sake
as god remains
free of limitation
it too
must remain
free of its forgetful
tarnished children


i build  temple of ****
high above the people
the little *****

do they
even know
where they come from
how they may
devote themselves
to the grandeur
of the solar ****
and its bestowals
of clumpy torpedoes

the catechism
of the  solar ****

to know
to adore
to prostrate

to proselytize
the glory of ****
to the
for corners
of the earth

to be faithful
unto it
to be obedient
and present
your *******
for ritual manicures
by the true initiates
the fussy
******* faeries  

those who have
the secret knowledge
and remain true
to the lore
and precepts
set forth
of divine correspondences
to fully appreciate
its eminence
its glory
and have no
God before it
that mercy
will follow them
all the days
of there lives
Lexie Mar 1
Touching is not a sin
Within these pillars
The temple of my body, I call home.
There are no prayers to be found
Between the dryness of my lips
And where you left me
With the wetness of my eyes
Singing its hymn to the martyrs before

Their hands have gone cold
In the silence of my secrets
These martyrs knock their bones together
As if trying to make fire
Could turn back time
As if their ivory stamina
Could voice its plea
There is blood on the walls in their temples

I hear the foolish cry out
With a voice that has never known lack
That condemned buildings are only meant to be torn down
That the bricks of my house were meant to return to dust
Buried in the mortar of my memories, blown in the wind
Unbuilt with no remorse
Leaving mortar scars in the earth

If the walls of my temple could speak
Her concrete lips would part
Revealing timber teeth
If her tongue was not sewn shut with shame
She would begin with a whisper
For she has never brought her voice up from the basement before

Her breath, stumbling over the threshold finds its footing
A guttural cry makes its way forth
A voice that blows doors off its hinges
A voice that only does cosmetic damage
As it attempts to touch your heart
Where it has never been reached

The cornerstones
Begin to talk
You were told even the stones cry out
It is too late for them now and too dark
The sky was almost crying
The heavens on the verge of tears

It is too late
I came undone
Because you can't tether fingers
As much as I wanted to tie ropes
To the nerve endings of my extremities and pull with all my strength
Pull them back to my heart
So they could be safe
Feel safe
Carry to the grave
Words I could not whisper to you in the dark

What prayers could I offer
To a temple torn down in anger
What words would I give
To the grave of my being
Whose hymns still ring out
Into the night, crying
Dust to dust
Ashes to ashes
lonleyflowerx Feb 2017
I heard my mom saying that my body is a temple
When It took just 3 text messages to get you through my door
Your finger prints all over this broken building, my body
As you enter without even knocking, screaming you love me
As it took just one goodbye
to be forced to act like I don’t know you anymore

I heard my mom saying my body is a temple
When I stumbled drunk into your room
You took a bat to the already broken doors and windows of this building
Screaming that I’m good enough, good enough for you
then watching you roll over and ignore  my calls the next day at noon

I heard my mom say my body is a temple
When I realized mine is nothing more than the resting point along the way
Because temples are full of worship and love .
Something I have never felt inside these broken down doors and cracked walls
No my body is not a temple,
for I’m just  something you stop at because it’s beautiful,
but never the place you want to stay
Adil Zaidi Mar 2015
Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,

There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,

Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?

If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?

The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?

But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,

That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,

That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,

Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.
Stu Harley Apr 16
love
a
vulnerable
and
fragile
relationship
of
reparations
towards
a
qui­et revolution
inside of
the
temple of peace
Arianna Jan 17
It enters
From the night,
A creature of torchlight
Flittng

          Poised and ethereal

From pose to pose
With disjointed grace

          Limbs frozen, contorted
          In every-way triangles

Fair, infernal moon
Masked in the guise
Of those black-eyed Erinyes;
Decked in bells,
Clinking at the strike of feet
Punctuating the raucousness of flutes
With the kithara:

          Prowling beneath the rhythm,
          Twirling melodies through the candleshades

'Ere riseth Dawn,
Leaning upon the wild mountains,
When the vision retreats
Behind the veil, and is gone.
Inspired by "The Bacchae" and the movements of Balinese dance.
Wild Myths Apr 2017
I’ve been thinking of the small patch at your temple
Just in front of your ear, with the fine white hairs exposed.
If words are all I have left, they’ve drifted into clichés that don’t equate to what I feel
So I’ll try again.

I’ve been thinking of your expression as you looked into the fire,
Your helplessness guarded by the collar of that shirt.
And I’ve been thinking of the way you grasped at me, snatching under my clothes
When I left the first time.
And how I walked away without word or caress
The second time.
How I willed this intimacy to drift into abstraction.

So I’ve been thinking of an anchor to stop me floating away
Weighing food, myself, empty hours,
Muscular repetitions keeping cycles.

Yet I can’t stop listening to your favourite songs when I have time to wander.
I don’t know if I’ve earned them, but they feel like mine too.
Part of me has floated away into your world -
Though I’m trying to stay safe in mine.

So I touch without feeling
And I leave without caring.
I’m losing that softness I held for so long,
The softness I abhorred for so many years,
A softness I’m killing with self-loathing.

And I think of these words sung so sweetly by a ghost:

“It’s so easy to laugh, it’s so easy to hate,
It takes strength to be gentle and kind”
A bullet into whatever I have left inside that’s still tender, not yet monstrous,
And I know I’m not dead without you yet.

I can’t **** my pain without killing my joy,
I’m alive, calloused and bruised
Lexie Mar 23
Will my body forgive me
For the market I hold in her temple
Sins for a denarius
A farthing for a night under her tapestries
When you could be watching stars
Stars shine the same whether you clutch a ticket or a match
They love to be the last thing burning out at night
I am not close to their light
Burning seems of little consequence to me
Look upon the stars
Find them more patient than I in stamina
I more soluble in my regrets

The sun begins pulling cloud tears back from the earth
Agels whisper the innocence of the world into the atmosphere
The stratosphere knows nothing of our regrets
She does not see fingers crossed behind our backs
Knowing nothing of pennies given for promises
Promises given for free
Plastic coins for a lover
Nothing in my pockets for me

Hold your secrets under my skin
Knowing you let the night carry you away
You can take it back
These are the dreams in the desert
In the sun, under the mountains
Those who journey on foot
Knowing that knocking on doors means being turned away

My desire to cling to you
Is the cold that pushes you away
You are the oranges in the snow
A cold citrus kiss
I know your real name
With no courage to spit it out
These hands are clenched
No room for promises here
Between your fingers and skin
You grip regret so tight
One truth that will not abandon you
Biting not the hand that feeds
Go hungry
When a morsel is a memory
Dreams a feast to you
Regret devours all but bones

Anger has chosen your words for today
She is your strong horse
You will not bare the weight of the reins
A bit does not taste much of metal
When there is blood on your hands
Your prayer today
You have hope tomorrow, to hope for tomorrow
Time is a feather, fool
You give her flight for the price of falling
These coins in my pockets are for you
To make my steps lighter
A copper face is nothing
When you have seen the writing on the walls

e pluribus unum

they call me legion


How many hands will you give me
How many dealt
To count my sins on my fingers

misertus est enim stulti

stultus est misericordia sicut vilis ut eius precibus

When the walls speak will you listen
Translation for italicized sections
1. Out of one, many.
2. They call me legion for we are many. Demon cast out of a man speaking to Jesus. (Mark 5:9)
3. Pity is for fools.
4. A fool's mercy is as cheap as his prayers.
Ralph Akintan Dec 2018
Saintly cassock,
Glittering altar
Ornamental pulpit.
           
 

Driving the congregants
            in a paroxysm of fib,
Gullibility enshrines adherents
            hearts.
Do you know the Messiah more
            than the apostles ?
Thou traders in the temple.

Parrotic tongues set out
            commands
Loquacious sweet-coated mouths
            misdirects faithfuls.
But the uncreated Creator who
            creates creatures watches
Dreadful silence astonishingly
            permeates the entireness
           of the universe.
Do you preach love?
Do you follow peace with all?
Ye robbers in the temple.

Command darkness to produce
            light.
But you turned moonlight into
            tale.
Can you display Davidic dance
            steps on the road?
Profanity of sanctuary with
            false homiletics.
Merchants of dross in tabernacle

Speak.
Let us hear you.
Preach
To the congregants.

Righteousness afar from the
          apron of faith.
Charity locked up in the
          tunic of hope.
Sanctity of holiness sprinkled
          into the tributary of sin.
Commanding the stars to turn
           to sun,
Captains of night in light.
Ye robbers in the sanctuary.

Pastoral advertisers of chattels
           in the tabernacle,
Merchandising gold dross in
            sermonic hymns.
Sugar-coated doctrine wept in
             the tomb of Lazarus.
Prompting Him to weep again?
Ye merchants in synagogue.

Disentangle faithfuls from the
          webs of worriment.
Dislodge congregants out of the
          shackles of sin.
Deliver ignoramus from the
           isle of incendiary.
Let the sifter of strength
           separate out afflictions from
           feebleminded faithfuls.

Ye robbers in the temple
You love prayers more than God
But who answers prayers?
Lexie Apr 7
Drag my fears to altar
Sacrificing sleep to make peace
With shadows dancing on the walls
Penance is a costly coin
I count sins like pennies in a jar
Plunking copper in vain
In a well that has not run dry
A well that knows nothing of my sins
No knowledge of my wishes

My temple is crumbling
Age has never met mercy
Time's cohorts know no pity
These pillars hold up shambles of a roof
Holding together is a dry hope for heavy skies

Will you lay with me
On the coolness of the stone
When the final hour awakens
Creeping in to steal the heat of your skin
Finding bashfulness looking upon the stars
This is the same sky
I see in the dark part of your eyes

I have longed for these constellations an eon and a half
Concrete in my reasoning
A stone knife on a stone table
The world is not as you know her
Or as she seems
Her spinning does not dizzy you
You crave stability
Do not leave footprints in the sand

This incense is unburnt in my lungs
Light me up once again
Can I unbreathe your memory
To unlearn threads
Unwound in my tapestries
I wait, unpatiently
For your silken voice to whisper
"Come to the light"

Promises whispered in the dark
Kept beneath the moon
Rafters of my temple an accord
The trembling of my foundation will not strike
You cannot move a stone mind
As all things are made
They can be undone
Your apologies sway them not
Vexren4000 Nov 2018
A temple of gods,
Brought bright days,
From places of darkness and solitude,
Blessing man with hope,
And art, as if some divine spirit did overtake,
Oracles of Delphi,
Spouting this and that,
Humanity listening intently,
To ravings of madness,
Taking it as the voice of god.

©BAS
Stu Harley Aug 2018
what is the soul
but
the
temple of God
the
light of heaven
where
the
stars shine
eternally bright
still
a place
called home
a shiny sea of ecstasy
where
to
build a nest
a place
for
my soul to rest
a place
that
brings me
joy and happiness
Dawnstar Jan 2018
Tepid damp and lukewarm night,
Build your camp by rivers bright;
Sable black and and somber grey,
Silt the river's arms away.

Island tenements rent for cheap,
Bakèd bricks in plinths lie deep;
Stores of merchants and their wives,
Sheltered from the thund'rous tides.

Glance on that maternal shrine,
Softly angled toward the Rhine;
See the men with flowing beards,
Seldom entertaining fears.

Moon illumes a stony pose,
Sun sustains a garden rose;
Temple pillars bathed in or,
Leave mute shadows on the floor.

Olifant horns begin to sound,
Tribesmen fall upon the town;
Riding with the northern gust,
Trampling the homes to dust.

Yet, as gateside rocks abound,
From the ashes, rises now,
Where that city met disgrace,
A mighty fortress in its place.
Now, the horns will sound no more,
In the Temple of the Ruhr.
Xoaquín Oznian Oct 2018
Come on.

Come on baby.

Don't be selfish tonight.

Let's be lovers.

Let's be more generous.

Let's be more nurturing and caring to each other

As we taste and explore each other's bodies

Open your legs.

Let me extend my generosity

To the legends within your hidden temple

An abundance of *** in the air

Is the sound of your voice

As you moan without care

I get so ***** thinking of you kissing my neck

and touching me in the sexiest places the way you know that I like.

I just need you on top of me right now.

My body yearns for you constantly.

It has grown so deeply attached to you that it craves your ***

and needs it to facilitate a healthy, ****** release

So come on baby

Don't be selfish, it's alright

Give me all of you

Focus.

You'll be moaning with delight.
in my backyard
beautiful!
with alluring flowers
wild flowers, purple haze
green, with a shade of russet

Nature at it's very best,
the visual perception,
of my garden
brings,
to the mind and soul
a great aesthetic rapture!

This is my pagoda
I come here to meditate,
in the spectre
of beautiful  aura
and to be at peace with nature,

Amidst my temple
a spliff I shall spark
with a profound  purpose,
to bless my mind
and to bless my soul
with sagacity,
from the universe!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
<>
The Instigation:
Edmund  Black, commenting on “weary weighted,”

I agree with Kim; This is poetry at its best :)“

<•>

both of you shush!

there is no “better” in poetry

mine yours theirs, alive or not,

just gasps tears and blood
whimsical smiles and isles
cuts and burns of pained revelations,
hidden in fog,
that words try to delete away,
through the shrouded mists of
human tissues,
unconstrained by the
bounded shape
of the human cell,
our first, our own
self-imposed jail

tissue, too,
baby soft, or,
purple beating majestic bruised blotches
by those weaklings whose
kindness never
fully developed;  
or old man mine whose
skin cells erodes, so poems and light
weary weighted, lightly flake off
for your “betterment”
mostly tho for worse

good humans all await,
in patientce lightly hidden,
residents of dark sunspots
in the glaring existence exposer
of the unlit lighthouse whose time will come

they get it

how we get there unimportant

get there

GET THERE

get there
that is the poetic
mission critical

no path best or style preferred-
no compare just, but,
any path that
lifts and elevates,
to the commonplace


the common place

where all costarred, universal,
where common is the temple mount
of highest praise, holy smoke rising,

a place that
that discloses and closes,
is scribed/described honestly as
a connective,
which is the simplest
successive

call my poems,
blessedly common!

that an honorable,
so gladly accepted
and
so much more meaning-full
than merely best or better



for that,
I’d gladly weep,
for no praise
ever been
bettered





8/2/18 406pm
on the jitney to my isle
the instigation: Edmund black › “weary weighted, I agree with Kim .... This is poetry at its best :)“
Ray Ross Sep 2018
Mixing ***** and juices,
On Tuesday morning, Monday night,
The parents are asleep.
The stars are so bright.

My body is a temple,
You're **** right.
If it feels good enough,
I'll respect it tonight.

Bandage my chest,
Hurts my ribcage,
I’m a ******* kid,
Shouldn't have to be brave.

You should've been a brother,
Should've got the name right,
Should've been her son,
Instead I'm drinking tonight.
cait-cait Dec 2018
learn to cradle yourself
in your own arms,

be strong, because
your mother loves you, and your
sisters love you,
                             more than i
can ever say.

and…
your body is not temple, because
you exist to survive.
so cherish yourself, and one day,
someone else will…

and it won’t be painful, the
way that things are painful
now.

so bear your teeth,
                                 but wear a crown,
you shouldn’t
bite yourself just to cry...
im so stressed **** me
Izlecan Sep 2018
On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.
Planejane2 May 19
The temple of my soul,
I humbly apologize for taking advantage of you.
Negative down talking you.
Letting unhealthy things enter you.
Attracting the same demons over & over again.
Letting just anyone enter you
Sometimes not allowing you to move,
Being still in the bed because I didn’t think you were deserving to show the world
Moving too much, misjudging your strength & underestimating your need for rest.
Letting my mind get so sick that it resonates with you too.
I’m sorry, I promise I will be better to you.
Celeste Briefs Sep 2018
something stirs in me
a mountain, veiled in mist
and shadow,
painted by a forest's fragrance
and a temple
singing through its crumbling hollows
where only the wind
is left to worship
something echoes through the trees
leaving whispers in its wake
I walk the lonely path
unafraid,
not alone
ancient eyes are watching,
primal breath is stirring,
clouds gather in my bones
as I sit upon this rock,
press my hand against the ground,
feel the earth beneath my feet
forever changing,
a restless dance
of once was
and will be
I wrote this poem while listening to this amazing video on youtube. Check it out!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQcLIm-s75U&t=326s
I kneel before the temple of tomorrow, while still lingering in yesterday.  Cut by broken promises, and choking on the words I couldn't say.

Here I cried a river so vast, that it became a sea. I cupped my hands but couldn't catch, all the shattered parts of me.

Prayers slip from red stained lips, but it's just to heavy in heart. There's no more a clear reflection, that ripples do not part.

I have hope tucked in my pocket,  I built this raft with dreams. But I can't keep from drowning, it's busting at the seams.

Waves pull from the earth, my heart now ticks to the rhythm of sorrow. I can't mend what's already fallen apart, but I can find faith in the Temple of tomorrow.
English Jam May 2018
Boredom on a Sunday is inescapable
I try to hide it behind playing my musical instrument
Trumpeting with my trumpet - blowing my own horn -
I'm praying no one interprets that last sentence as an innuendo
Anyway, I'm nodding off, signing out of reality
The world goes hazy in a second
And I'm ****** into the vortex of a dream

Weird how when a dream begins, we immediately understand the situation
For this scene, I'm spewing blood from my spleen like a bottle of sauce squeezed too hard
It stains the leather of my vehicle
My foot is pressing the pedal to the floor, and the speedometer is twinged in half from all the pressure
The monolith of a highway I'm speeding on shakes as though giants stomp upon it
And the wail of a siren drives me into a frenzy as I try to escape the inevitable
Their polychromatic lights dance at the edges of my eyes, spurring rhythm into action
Even though they must be aeons behind, my heart melodramatically pumps in my chest as though the police are in the backseat
Blood bursting through my temple, thoughts wheezing by like someone's let go of hundreds of balloons  
Up ahead, the road twists itself into a knot of nothingness
My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly, I fear I might never be able to release them
It's a slight movement: right hand goes down, left goes up, but it kicks the vehicle sideways
My body slams into the car with a satisfying crunch and my mind spirals to spaghetti strands
Oddly enough, the world becomes rinsed with blue wash and I'm underwater

My train of thought becomes peaceful, melodic
I float about, running on the inverse of the waves
Here, even a scream is joyous as it sounds all bubbly and childish
Suddenly, a red streak runs across the ocean, chilling me to the bone and erasing all my bubbles
The sea becomes glittered with red and blue streaks, a warning
Bullets stab at my spleen, reminding me of the pain that was, and still is
And my body gears into a full 360, concluding my return to the real world
Or is it the dream world?
Oh well
Either way, I'm back in my car
Carelessly freefalling from nowhere
Weapons, glass, blood droplets, pocket change, pedestrians...all breeze around slowly
Pleading with me to wake up
Then

Everything crumbles, and I smack my **** head against the window, splattering my brains everywhere
My car flew from the sudden turn and I crashed, I think
Now I lay, grasping onto consciousness while pedagogues staple me to the ground
The Lawman towers over me, grinning madly at my defeat
The most barbaric insult, however, comes from the radio, still magically working
"I fought the law and the law won," The Clash idly sing
One of my favourite songs turned into dark irony
The last I remember before blacking out is the scarlet and marine lights clashing forevermore

When I wake up, I'm face-down on the stony and icy floor
The cold burns me enough to wake me from la la land
The iron grip of the handcuffs feels very real
Words are forced into my head, not by my own design, but sort of like they've been placed there
An argument as to whether existence has a meaning is taking place in my head, and I can't stop it
Sort of like how in a dream, you can't control your thoughts or actions
Wait
This is still a dream, right?
Right?
So that's the Kudu-Horn used on your Prize:
The Kind which no Mundial will ever blow
To pity their Ears; And Focus revise
But Senior Petrol in Love filled her Glow:
In turn flashed her Grin as a Cool Relief,
Humbled her Lady and recalled you Friend
Indeed, the Word so long etched in Belief
Was the Same Sharp Sound which caused Fans to spend
And did this Spike ever taught you to Boast
Though Genious the Temple Beggar reminds:
That Good Deeds Un-Posted are Noble Toast
But Kisses under the Fender are Fine.
I guess what's left to do this Summer's End
Is Toot that Horn; And Flames burn Flames again.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Acina Joy Jan 11
Where there is thunder that reigns
down the emptiness of your flesh,
in a war hidden and filled with apathy,
to sink behind darkness , once named shame.

There it is, the torn kingdom,
that you've claimed as your body.
The temple which you've loved,
but never cared for in those aeons of silence.

Where you pretended that doing nothing
would solve everything
.

And so you weep, for the unfairness of it all,
as you claw at your already mangled flesh,
and press for the warmth of your heart.
Pretend that the rush of blood is a rolling blanket.

You swallow those shards of glass, and emulate the heavens,
and pretend your body with jagged scars
is the place for honourable heroes; pretend your triumph
in this barren, damp land of storms
is the place where thunder always reigns.

A place for heroes who never won, but died in their place.
a poem that is a bit analytical of people who are apathetic to their problems in life; who let themselves get hurt, and pretend to care for themselves by doing nothing, believing just weeping and feeling sad can solve the pain in your life; people who are apathetic, and still persist to hurt themselves (both literally and not).
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