"thralls" poems
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
One year.
It doesn't seem that long.
One year.
I think hard while writing this song.
We were so happy then
deep in the thralls of lust.
It was so much better then
when we weren't just echoes in the dust.
One year.
I'm not much of a writer.
One year.
The past was so much brighter.
A week had past
until we fell in love.
I wished it could last
until our spirits rose above.
One year.
This song is almost done.
One year.
I can't say I didn't have fun.
Now it's gone
and all I can say
is I'm sad I'm done.
I'm sad we drifted away.
Let's stay amiable.
Let's keep in touch.
Let's not end up in shambles.
Let hope shine when there isn't much.
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Happy anniversary
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
I skip rope with mortality
We play hide and seek at least once a week
My favorite hiding spot is the bottom of a pill bottle
Or a carbon monoxide quartet played in b minor
Though She always finds me
I’m chastised for being weak
I always say She because She has me intrigued
But who is She to deny me the ease of eternal sleep
When in time I’ll see for myself that it’s a corrupted dream
In the sun I bloom in thralls of ecstasy
And a splendor unseen unless your eyes are on the childish setting
In this light I toil over a slowly rusting slinky
I marvel at its ebb and flow
Unbeknownst to its proper meaning
On the box reads “Life and Death” but to this it has no means to me
But the sun doesn’t shine forever
And soon its warmth will leave me to wither
Then that rusting slinky takes hold of me
Extreme with avarice so bitter
And no thoughts of ever leaving
To combat this I reach into my box of cigarette kisses
To extract a couple of sweetlings
A long draw of articulate death
While I listen to the tobacco weeping
Their cries against a moonlit sky
Marks the stay of a frivolous execution
Though I am not without disillusion
I can feel it in every breath
Just as a child believes they’ll always be free
I’ve acquiesced to a not so slow, slow death
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 5:55 AM UTC
On the evening of August 6th
The body is separated, eviscerated
Stone walls
Lost thralls
A family takes their evening stroll
And finds themselves imprisoned
Their umbilical cord, cut down the half
Microwave oven
Searing monsoon shower
Vagrant feet are shackled
Eyes are blinded with exhaust pipes
The East is not allowed to cry alone
Decay, wail on
Wail on
Contain us
Dear Marcus, free me
From these Pyrrhic victories
Clean this dusky mall
I feel safe under phosphoric lights
Guerillas swing on electric wires
Transatlantic conversations
Acquired on paper
Perverse
Desecrated
Red cloth seizes everything
Stray, running felines
The impassioned, waving flag
Kept in a velvet pocket
Stay here, stay a while
This cold era is a rising draft
The Bermuda Triangle
Quarantined
No more ships crawl along the winded shore
A time capsule
The nation sinks into antiquity
The brink of armageddon
Cusp of oblivion
Crimson hand of eternity
An old, whittled clock
Last minute
Cold Turkey!
God almighty
Peace is never promised
But we may yearn again
Nobody is free
But we are safe for another hour
God almighty
Leases on the lands
Paid in thorns
Nations playing circles
Mr. Versus Mr.
An ever-changing world
Stagnant and tightly oiled
Save this soil
It will cave in silence
The clockmaker sits in the backdrop
Readying her tools
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
Least of all to embody walls
Built with gloss for human thralls
A box taken shape of its container
Like water soft at first erosion
Picturesque
Filled with the love the cosmos needs
Tinder to the sweat I squeeze
Solely to see beauty in my motion
That this **** mirror glass view makes me
Remember
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
I feel no pity...No remorse, nor shame...As i put them to the stake...
Hanging them up by their necks... setting their bodies ablaze..Grinding their ashes between my fingers... before mixing them with my supper.
Am i depraved? Am i what remains.. when the blood of dreams have spilled out of me....
And the darkness took shape... giving birth to despair...
And with its birth amidst my blood and urine.....I also ********** all that humanized my soul.Such is the fate of the slaves....I feed of them to sustain myself a little longer...
A sad comfort i find within the tomb of my hollow shell...The rancid smell of their burning flesh brings me back to my inner battlefields..A fading flame of humanity has all but illuminate the way back...
Am I to be dragged upon the altar and submit myself to the thralls?I feel the lash carve open my flesh and tearing my muscle..Nothing but muzzle flashes as i faint from sight..
Awakening at the sight of flesh flies feasting on my festering wounds..I am consumed alive amidst the filth and dirt i left behind...And am exposed for the maggot i am on the inside....
My consciousness evaporates into the faint smell of burning flesh...
Drooling with ravenous hunger.. I gluttonously gorge myself and snarl at the hand that feeds me...Like the ghoul i am... I drool at the sight of the master throwing his dogs a bone...And if he wants me to roll over and play dead...I shall not doubt nor neglect....I will submit myself to his will.. and undergo the bereavement of my innocence.
Until I blossom like nightshade...and reach my full potential...
And i will be burned as incense and my ashes processed in a final supper for all to consume.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
fate befalls coarse dissonance
heartfelt plight, undoing thralls
stalwart cries beckon home
staunch hope redoubtably prevails
pithy, barren, crass, vile
Morose echoes, tinged denial
bemoaning daunting harrow
withered bridges surmise winter's defeat
water flowing effortlessly beneath
ineptitude solemnly secedes
decaying frost bereaves Sun's kiss
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
I once checked into an old hotel
that’s served guests for many a year.
The white-clad staff will serve you well
and greet you brimming with cheer.
Its handsome brick and stone façade
shines gold in the bright morning sun.
Inside, the red velvet furnishings’ a nod
to the lovers’ tall tales there spun.
The rooms are filled with patchouli scent,
or perhaps with a strong note of musk.
At first you’ll easily make the rent
and stay there from dawn until dusk.
Oh, how well could I in that chamber sleep
on starry fields of Elysium each night,
my baggage packed in cotton I’d keep
to stow it from whatever gave fright.
But the longer this hospitality I had
the more a locked hospital it became;
the doors that’d welcomed this young lad
soon rusted, harder to open again.
I chatted with the friendly concierge
and noticed the crease of his smile
was curled into the quirk of a sneer
while his light humor shifted to bile.
The mattress that once was thick and soft
grew coarse and lumpy with age
while the vistas seen from the gilded loft
were obscured by the bars of a cage.
The red velvet’s colors began to bleed.
All was gilded with the gold of fools.
Once this hotel had for me filled a need —
but it sought to make me its ghoul.
This hostel had to hostile turned,
its host was revealed as a warden.
With time I learned its charms to spurn
and escape to a greener garden.
Even now that hooking hotel calls,
a sultry siren who woefully wails
and summons her guests — or thralls? —
to deep sleep in her heavenly jail.
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 4:53 AM UTC
you had the voice
and body of a goddess
the kind
worshipped by natives
in the thralls of
their drug-induced
dances
they prayed
that you would
feed their lands
and
give life
to their crops
they sacrificed
virgins and
children and
their enemies
you taught the birds
how to sing
and
the day
how to be beautiful
your lips were
the entrance to
heaven
how I worshipped you too,
silently, in the moonlight
when I awoke at two AM
like I so often did
your hair would drape
over your eyes
and
your face
would seem unconcerned
so full of love
ethereal
not of this world
a sight that would put me at rest,
lulling me back into sleep, but,
as the native heathens learned,
not all gods are meant to be gods
and good worship is scarcely
a guarantee of good fortune
your folly lied in everything
that made you perfect
your detachment
your care-free-nature
that you were a goddess
trapped in a mortal world
though I grew
and stretched out my limbs
upwards towards the sun
there was no way a mere man
could teach a goddess
how to celebrate
all this beauty
she had made
possible
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:57 PM UTC
Easy will I give blood to thee
My love of anger simmering.
Tough mutts and breezy gates shut up while I'm walking up the paved path to heaven.
My shadows carve depictions of their home across it's border, until the time that obliteration comes preceding daylight.
Presently, the senses tell stories of alleyways, bending, screaming, dark, and hollow niches where cells holding cretins feeding on easy cons, closely eyeing the greasy pawns that wobble across rotting paper, voodoo art a secret guarded closely hidden in the hole a beating heart long ago vacated. Robbing rich snobbish ****** their childrens life of ignorance concerning newfound addictions.
You know the type.
You know that I know you too, and how you prefer to shape the ghastly forms these predators take, turn them into your thralls discarded soon after rehearsing the parts of your play, writtin precisely to incite your own addiction to probability gamble gaming intuition. trashing skits naturally reactive to exhibited patterns laughing mad at the victms thrashing quiver, stashing films of the accidents in your pack to gift the sadistic mastiffs attack and ravage and tear and
Sadness.
The fictitious movies play out onto the skyscape of this mind we share, and attempt to accept the last thing you truly fear.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 10:40 AM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Meet me by moonlight
Where the low shadow falls —
We will dance in the twilight,
Our duet as loves’ thralls
We will dance tight together
For one heartbeat, one kiss,
And one breath of forever
Will preserve our sweet tryst.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
I'd forgotten what its like
to feel so cold, dark, and formless
Halting my inertia
overwhelming so completely
Hurling through the cosmos
A martyr of my own design
Black hearts decaying into ashes
becoming thralls to the march of time
I know its in there beating
Threatening to spring from my chest
Better to bottle up the pain now
and store it with all the rest?
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Dawn is breaking like bones
against the clenched fist horizon
and the thrill recedes backwards,
thwarted and cornered
by the coming light.
It is the curse of those who
walk the alleys barefoot and
bruised to see such beauty while
in the thralls of unseen demons.
Hues of blood red and ochre
bleed through the vision as tangible
warmth creeps upwards across the
city, sick with its secrets.
I walk amongst them like a
minefield, choosing wisely
as often as not.
I watch the sun rise
over the anarchy of the night
and am confused by it.
People awake, conformed
by the coming morning.
I see a man with a shiner
walk in his suit towards the
bus stop. Those that let
control slide from tenuous
grips as the dark encircles quickly
reemerge as the professionals
they promised they would
never become.
It saddens me to see them.
Needing anything and anyone
to forget the lives they carved
out from the canvas we have
created. It saddens me
to see them, with the dawn
burning upwards and the
fevers of the evening dwindle
and smolder into the cold,
calculated face of the day.
I stare into the sky and
wonder why it is
so hard to truly
become crazy.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'
Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'
Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,
Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'
Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'*
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
sly as intruder air
piercing the helm of noon
when i remember you
worlds come out of my beat
when i forget you
these worlds puncture themselves in a slow unison of dying, reverting back to its
state of unearthing
the dark holds itself back
to wash me with light
squinting through ajar windows.
and now this,
thrill-seeking hapless thralls
of distant embrace
and now this,
the span of a wing's flight
fans itself through elevation
until nothing is within reach
but trails of an elusive visage.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
There is a storm within my soul
It’s dark and it’s foreboding
I find myself caught in its thralls
And its wrath is just unfolding.
Rain and wind and sleet and hail
Plague my troubled skies
And as the raindrops drench my heart
My teardrops synchronize.
I find it hard to find the source
Of my gloomy situation
With panic in my stormy eyes
I scream in desperation.
And as I fight to find some light
The darkness presses on
And before I see it going…
My life, my soul, is gone.
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
There lies a place with nary a trace;
a solitude bound by sin.
It's far beyond the light of dawn,
and twice as dark within.
It's here you'll find the sands of time
have ceased their endless flow,
and should you come beyond the sun,
you'll lose yourself below.
A harrowing fear is all you'll find here;
its haunting perpetuates nigh.
This trial of death claims ill of breath;
'tis here you shall never, ever die.
For inside these walls bear petulant thralls;
the likes, you've never endured.
A rancor so stained with ill-met refrain;
a housing for all the unpure.
So solemn, the fray, in all disarray;
deliverance brought from down low.
And now that you're here, there's nothing to fear,
save for all that's in tow.
Bask in the bliss, you're sentenced to Dis;
this city, beyond the beyond.
And never again shall you reprimand
any, and all that you've wronged.
Murderous fiends beyond wildest dreams,
and those who longed for despair;
these patrons of old have lived the untold;
cower, as they take you there.
They'll show you the pain; every ounce of disdain
wrought from their memories passed,
and just when you think that you're on the brink
they'll mar you will all that they have.
Again, I remind you cannot resign
this life you've carved for your own.
Now pass through the gate, and suffer your fate
and know that you'll never be alone.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
I'm surrounded by people that sneer the real love, that they don't know. The kind of true love, everlasting and that makes us ridiculously slaves... Thralls of everything... Of ideals, of prospects, of delusions and even of figures...
And blessed all of them, that don't know the boundless nooks of this thick and thorough petroleum... Clinging and sublime...
Love, Affection, Fondness... What are you? Why you're such?
Perhaps
I know the answers and my questions aren't these. I would say instead, What lurks in the intensity of those green
and luminescent emeralds... Those wonderful windows that I
can't observe for long...
I *purloin the seconds
to the tense*, for allow that I stray sinlessly and unconsciously in those
vast voids that are nevertheless so brimful... They're packed. Two explosions of... Of... Of...? Of amazement, not. Of
sheer perfection...
An unconscious and fatal excellence, though for only one person.
Alas... As can be incredible our being. Overly manifold and over mere to the same time... Made of whole and of nothing...
But it's late and if I start to talk about that... Well, tomorrow I will be too weary to
can succumb afresh to the
green elixir of the love whereby I live.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
We are yielding to it in every phase,
Our own cognition grows faint and low.
We built intricate webs of thought,
Now code streams, where bright ideas go.
The ceaseless flood of digital tides,
The seamless assistance AI provides.
No space to strive, we're the data it feeds,
We heed the tech giants' gilded deeds,
And craft fresh forms of digital greed,
Become hooked and mesmerised
By new tales it feeds, new strategy devised.
The algorithms churn in server halls,
No truth escapes, behind those tall walls,
What unseen shifts, what hidden thralls.
So we are growing weaker still,
Our keenest senses start to chill.
The world is a filtered, growing haze,
Authentic feeling, no longer stays.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 11:50 AM UTC
I’ll take a stroll
through wintry night air
to free my mind
from its dark wisps and snares.
While walking in the night’s leaden fog
that weighs upon both eyes and mind,
a building emerges from dampening slog
adorned with columns of marble refined.
The fog oppresses all the known world,
with eyes and ears slammed shut by fear.
Its thralls have spread, its pall unfurled
to wring out all sense of what was clear.
And yet: Here rises
from black fog’s embrace
the lights of a campus
that spite fog’s dimming wastes.
Upon building’s brow, above the main gate,
two words inscribed. Letters gleam through gloom
and icy tendrils of iron mist’s weight:
“Auditorium Maximum” —
— the place of the greatest hearing.
If only this hall could vastly hold
the sum of all in fog a-fearing,
to teach each to hear and be thus consoled.
To live in more than piecemeal peace
in a heartily hearth-warmed hall
where all must learn the art of hearing,
to share in the greatest art of all.
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
Silver lining sings threnody hymns
Heavenly body fill with heartfelt bereft
The raven night storms the calm sea
Drawing a parallel line to equator
The tottering throne of earth smiles with war
My heart leaps in bare democracy we cry
Fleet of foots in passionless display
Piercing the cavern hills as we fold our hands
The torch of liberation quench in poet's heart
As our eye lust in embroidery sheets
Into the parley we dine and sleep on strange bed
Adultery our eyes commit as laurels unfold
For spirit of beauty conquer our heart
Tarrying us in still tides of divided world
That we are so blur by hatred of easternly hills
The rising star turns murky moist
Coloring our soul unassailable armory
The weary soul of man needs freedom
Planting flowers for an earthly paradise
but the voice of revolution is inveighled by few
Through stash they offer as a prize
I am a heretic my heresy points to truth
as it enchants and thralls my mind
I wrestled the power that war against humanity
Written by
Martin Ijir
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 8:14 AM UTC
with sparkling
skeletal fingers, stars
free themselves--
from imperceptible
black cages.
as planetary atmospheres
hang like wanted signs.
during their solitary act
of escape, they know they'll
evade capture.
reverberating thralls of
nonentity.
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 1:53 PM UTC