"tracked" poems
I remember the history well:
The soldiers and politicians emerged
With briefcases and guns
And celebrations on city nights.
They scoured the mess
Reviewed our history
Saw the executions at dawn
Then signed with secret policemen
And decided something
Had to be done.
They scoured the mess
Resurrected old blue-prints
Of vicious times
Tracked the shapes of sinking cities
And learned at last
That nothing can be avoided
And so avoided everything.
I remember the history well.
2
We emerged from our ******* mounds
Discovered a view of the sky
As the air danced in heat.
Through the view of the city
In flames, we rewound times
Of executions at beaches.
Salt streamed down our brows.
Everywhere stagger victims of rigged elections
Monolithic accidents on hungry roads
The infinite web of ethnic politics
Power-dreams of fevered winds.
The nation was a map stitched
From the grabbing of future flesh
And became a rush through
Historical slime
3
We emerged on edge
Of time future
With bright fumes
From burning towers.
The fumes lit political rallies.
We started a war
Ended it
And dreamed about our chance.
Fat fish eat little fish
Big ones arrange executions
And armed robberies.
Our ******* shapes us all.
I remember the history well.
The tiger’s snarl is bought
In currencies of silence.
Eggs grow large:
A monstrous face is hatched.
On the edge of time future
I am a boy
With running sores
Of remember history
Watching the stitches widen
Waiting for the volcano’s laughter
In the fevered winds
Hearing the gnash
Of those who will join us
At the mighty gateways
With new blue-prints
With dew as seal
And fire as constant
And a trail through time past
To us
Who remember the history well.
We weave words on red
And sing on the edge of blue.
And with our nerves primed
We shall spin silk from *******
And frame time with our resolve.
________
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
17.4k
New words in old styles
Tracked on a canvas of brick
By a precocious kid
Sneaking on the lines;
The little *****
My morning art show
Laid out in illiterate words,
Scribbled by artists
Who failed art at school,
Then shat on by birds.
An exhibition of names
Written worryingly wrong,
Evident to the system
That failed before they
Even joined the throng.
We pause at one piece
Daubed in indelible paint,
White streaked on black,
A chaotic sprawl of letters,
**** al saintz".
I've been there before;
A nice school I thought,
Catholic of course;
I doubt the child gave
The saints a spare thought.
And what about Al?
Does he care at all?
Does he pause here,
On his way to work,
And dream their downfall.
It drives me up the wall
To see tracks filled with art,
But are they to blame?
We let them loose
And they play their part.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
In the evenings
the deer would emerge
from the edge of the woods
stepping over the tumbledown stones
of walls left untended-
they'd leave tracks through the snow
in a wandering line that led to the last apple tree
in the field by Orchard Street.
I remember that now,
staring at this antler I've found
in the clearing between the cactus
and sun bleached stones.
The lines of the antler
flow into the fractures of my palm-
two thousand miles from snow,
and two thousand miles from
the blue evening glow
of a shivering world
glazed over by twilight…
And the deer-
magnificent, pawing the snow
searching for apples that had fallen below-
emboldened by the frozen sweetness of autumn.
They were graceful even in flight-
when cars with chains
jingling and crunching the ice
rounded the corner
down Orchard Street.
Today I've tracked over two thousand miles
in my own wandering line-
the lines of the antler
flow through the tangles and hollows of time.
Sometimes I stand in a clearing,
sometimes hidden by trees,
sometimes I scratch below the surface,
and I run- but, less gracefully...
There are walls I've left untended
and some I've crafted too well-
it is through forgotten tumbledown walls
that memories come-
I thank grace
it was into this clearing they fell.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
Your stars glimmers
Belching, wrenching
Exposing my ethnic aura
A tape of heavenly bliss
The acoustic rhythm
Essentially subliminal
Satiably insatiable
Tracked traces covered
Your tree branching out
Railing through my bark
My bosoms blossoming
Tip-toe to my bareness
Your entirely arousing
A summation of beauty
A firefly to enlighten
Encased within to liven
A body I hold twinkles
Whistle magnetic presence
Sprinkle my mind to entwine
Assign your soul peacefully
A might, a light at sight
A whole in me,a one in you
Pluck, nip,smash,trap,stash
In dreamscapes and reality
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:37 AM UTC
I
To-night, a first movement, a pulse,
As if the rain in bogland gathered head
To slip and flood: a bog-burst,
A **** breaking open the ferny bed.
Your back is a firm line of eastern coast
And arms and legs are thrown
Beyond your gradual hills. I caress
The heaving province where our past has grown.
I am the tall kingdom over your shoulder
That you would neither cajole nor ignore.
Conquest is a lie. I grow older
Conceding your half-independent shore
Within whose borders now my legacy
Culminates inexorably.
II
And I am still imperially
Male, leaving you with pain,
The rending process in the colony,
The battering ram, the boom burst from within.
The act sprouted an obsinate fifth column
Whose stance is growing unilateral.
His heart beneath your heart is a wardrum
Mustering force. His parasitical
And ignorant little fists already
Beat at your borders and I know they're cocked
At me across the water. No treaty
I foresee will salve completely your tracked
And stretchmarked body, the big pain
That leaves you raw, like opened ground, again
4.6k
beauty marks and
kisses from angels
dots on white
checked every year
they made my mom sick
they burned them
cut them
froze them
they cover her more than me
like sprinkles
little moments in time
spread over her body
my fingers would trail them
feel the way they changed her skin
I loved her dark spots
until I realized they did not love her
I've grown
my skin has stretched mine
pulled my dark spots apart from where they started
If I could show you just how much I've changed
I would show you with my dark spots
I would show you how they started here
and moved
and changed
and grew
I would tell you how one dark spot has tracked my growth
it never expected to be pulled down with the years
but my growth prevailed and there it lies
miles away from it's home
I would show you the one that I touch when I am nervous
but not a bad nervous
the nervous that excites
that entices
that knows there is more to find
an adventure abroad
your love to steal
I touched this dark spot when I first saw you
I still run my finger over it
every time we meet
I would show you the scar
where one was cut out
where my kiss from an angel
was suspected to be a kiss from cruel fate
where my Mother's sickness
shined through me
where I felt mortality for the first time
I lost my first tooth that summer day
hours before they took my first dark spot
it was as if my body knew it was time to grow up
now that I had thought of death
there was no point for baby teeth
their assessments were wrong
my dark spot was an angel's kiss
but the risk was too great
a lighter body and an aged mind moved forward
my kiss gone
my blessings gone as well
I would show you the ones that come every year
that lightly dust my nose
I would run your finger over the skin
to show you that they are as fleeting as the season
that they pop up as fast as they leave
just like you did
you left with those dark spots
I would show you the ones that make me who I am
make me who we are
the triangle on my left arm
the triangle that all the women in my family share
the women that are the strongest I know
that have their own dark spots
their own stories
such a vast valley between our lives
joined by our love
by our past
by our dark spots
all in the same shape
I would show you my fourth dark spot
I would show you the thing that I am most proud and humiliated of
the fact that I am not wholly one of them
the fact that I am my own
I would ask you to flip me over
to run your hand across my back
to clutch my ribs
to touch the dark spots I cannot see
to give you the dark spots that are for you
I would show you the dark spots that are for you when I walk away
when I lay next to you
under you
in front of you
if I could show you how much I've changed
I would show you my dark spots
the ones that belong to you
the ones that belong to the angels
the ones that belong to the cruel fate
the ones that are from my mother
I would show you the ones that bind me to the women in my family
but most of all
I would show you the ones that are just mine
that only I know
I want you to know them too
I want you to know my dark spots
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.
Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.
You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.
Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.
A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.
For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.
Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.
In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.
One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.
Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.
Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.
So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.
Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.
- by Bob B
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is’t to such an end
That I praise thy rareness!
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears,
And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary—
Watched within a curtained room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning.
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow.
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing.
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double—
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
4.3k
NOTE - The largest animal in Great Britain, a red stag named Emperor who stood over 9ft tall, was last night shot dead by a trophy hunter. The antlers of the majestic deer are highly prized, and after pictures of the stag appeared in the national press last week, the animal was tracked and killed in Exmoor, Devon.
These mist covered mountains of the highlands,
‘twas here that I once freely wandered upon nature’s pasture grounds,
Now I lie shrouded in the mournful fog of the lowlands,
‘twas here that I was met by a pack of bone breaking hounds.
The fresh dew upon the harvest of autumn’s final flowering,
‘twas here that I chewed the grass of sweet nature’s offering,
Now I grow cold upon the ground where I was stalked by dark doom,
‘twas here that I left life’s rocky way under a hunter’s moon.
The air of the early morn moor with the sky above my dome,
‘twas here that I ran and with joy loved and royally roamed,
Now my legs will nevermore click or clack over my domain fenced with tree gates,
‘twas here that I wooed and won my shy majestic mate.
She, my queen of the green woodlands, she was my wife and my empire,
‘twas here that we romanced in the fading summer’s fire,
Our charming child, my princess of these grassy hills now cloaked in shade,
‘twas here that she saw her father the monarch in death finally fade.
In the chorus of the dancing dawn awakening upon the horizon’s golden rhyme,
‘twas here that I sang the tune that will drum till the end of nature’s time,
They will come with stakes and wood and cross and bow me to the beams,
‘twas here where they hacked and tore off my enchanted crown of weeping dreams.
The scent of the freshly mown grass mingles with the green pine,
‘twas here that I drank the perfume and nectar of the divine,
My eyes glaze, my breathing falters, my clay chills, my soul no more sings,
‘twas here that I finally returned to the hands of my Beloved, the eternal King.
*"...I shall now graze upon the sacred acres of my Creator,
I shall frolic and run free in the tender fields of endless splendour..."*
©Rangzeb Hussain
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 3:08 AM UTC
I
Half of the fellow father as he doubles
His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk,
Half of the fellow mother as she dabbles
To-morrow's diver in her ***** milk,
Bisected shadows on the thunder's bone
Bolt for the salt unborn.
The fellow half was frozen as it bubbled
Corrosive spring out of the iceberg's crop,
The fellow seed and shadow as it babbled
The swing of milk was tufted in the pap,
For half of love was planted in the lost,
And the unplanted ghost.
The broken halves are fellowed in a *******
The crutch that marrow taps upon their sleep,
Limp in the street of sea, among the rabble
Of tide-tongued heads and bladders in the deep,
And stake the sleepers in the savage grave
That the vampire laugh.
The patchwork halves were cloven as they scudded
The wild pigs' wood, and slime upon the trees,
******* the dark, kissed on the cyanide,
And loosed the braiding adders from their hairs,
Rotating halves are horning as they drill
The arterial angel.
What colour is glory? death's feather? tremble
The halves that pierce the pin's point in the air,
And ***** the thumb-stained heaven through the thimble.
The ghost is dumb that stammered in the straw,
The ghost that hatched his havoc as he flew
Blinds their cloud-tracking eye.
II
My world is pyramid. The padded mummer
Weeps on the desert ochre and the salt
Incising summer.
My Egypt's armour buckling in its sheet,
I scrape through resin to a starry bone
And a blood parhelion.
My world is cypress, and an English valley.
I piece my flesh that rattled on the yards
Red in an Austrian volley.
I hear, through dead men's drums, the riddled lads,
******** their bowels from a hill of bones,
Cry Eloi to the guns.
My grave is watered by the crossing Jordan.
The Arctic scut, and basin of the South,
Drip on my dead house garden.
Who seek me landward, marking in my mouth
The straws of Asia, lose me as I turn
Through the Atlantic corn.
The fellow halves that, cloven as they swivel
On casting tides, are tangled in the shells,
Bearding the unborn devil,
Bleed from my burning fork and smell my heels.
The tongue's of heaven gossip as I glide
Binding my angel's hood.
Who blows death's feather? What glory is colour?
I blow the stammel feather in the vein.
The **** is glory in a working pallor.
My clay unsuckled and my salt unborn,
The secret child, I sift about the sea
Dry in the half-tracked thigh.
3.9k
I can't question how my mum will feel
my dad, my sister,
my brother, my nan
*****
when I go home and tell them the news
that the once gone cancer
is truly back
*****
I can't get out, that look on my mums face
when I tell her it's back
another cancer has been tracked
*****
but why me?
Why terminal?
What's the point of being alive?
*****
I'm only 25,
why I should be here
how long will I survive?
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
Your beastly desires were always hidden beneath
A calm and cool exterior, hiding truth
You waited and hunted me, tracked me
And watched me as your intentions stayed aloof,
Preparing to at last spring your vicious trap
Cleverly laid in the deep woods of passion
You are a beast, who stalks this once lush forest
And I am your prey, lying dead in trees now ashen
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
As I walked the hills I heard the horns
The stamp of steeds and cry of a hound
I ran towards that iconic call
The hunt was on, I knew the sound
As I watched the fox run and hide
A magnificent creature sleek and fine
The thought intruded upon me
And created an image in my mind
What greater event could I encounter
Of the pursuit of love that I here had
The pursuit of something beautiful
called forth with trumpets and fanfare
Chased by all and caught by few
Tracked and then lost, joy and despair
The chase of the fox
Woman, seductive and coy
Pursued by gross beasts
Determined man and boy
For love like that fox is wily and sly
Catch only a glimpse before it flies by
Sleek and slender a thing of great worth
Pursued by all to bring home to the hearth
For love outside your possession has no value
Home it must reside to bring satisfaction to you
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 3:47 PM UTC
"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.
What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.
What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. ******** that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.
What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.
What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.
What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.
What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Beautiful blue berries
Blood red cherries…
Swirling in the night
Chocolate chip covered thief appearing with fright
The beat of the candy heart vibrates with weak deliciousness
While the frozen dessert screams its loyal wickedness
There was a flaw in the meal
For the law wasn’t happy and signed the seal
A perfect good journey turns into a nightmare
The monstrous ice cream still screaming its snare
And now the story rises
As the peanut butter footsteps arrives and surprises
A strawberry invitation is handed to the achiever
Icy tears hangs like icicles from the law breaker
The peanut butter melts away and now the story reaches its ******
The salty eyes are now side tracked
Beautiful blue berries
Blood red cherries…
They suddenly disappear
The candy heart beat slows and is replaced with cold fear
Ice cream drips into silence cutting off its screams
Chocolate chip covered thief fades, leaving a ghost of its beams
The flashing thief in the night
Is finally gone, but the emptiness leaves a fright
Yea I was hungry and extremely frightened
So when the police stopped me, my imagination became deliciously enlightened
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
The Helos hovered silently
as the Seals roped to the ground.
They touched down on Sesame Street
where the “Big Bird” could be found.
The C.I.A. had tracked him
Using feed from P.B.S.
President Mitt o.k’d the hit
when we tracked him to his nest.
A blue grouch in a garbage can
liay bleeding on the floor.
That **** named Cookie Monster
won’t eat cookies anymore.
Ernie, Bert and rubber ducky
Were in the bath they say
When Seal team six broke through the door
and blew them both away.
Big Bird hid in Hooper’s store
While all this had transpired.
Then he laid down suppressing fire
With a weapon he’d acquired
Several Seals lay silent
in that sleep that isn’t sweet.
Snuffleupagus opened up
and forced a Seal retreat.
A stealth Helo exploded
raining wreckage on the street.
Maddened Muppets hurling Bricks
compounded Mitt’s defeat.
As of today Big Bird’s at large.
Him we couldn’t whack.
The briefing failed to tell us
That a Liberal Bird fights back.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
A father reborn
Waking up in tears, is a normal day,
Since I was informed, you had passed away,
I know you’d be angry, for me falling apart,
I try to be strong, but guilt crushed my heart,
I keep beating myself , for being away all the time,
When your clock in your body, had started to chime,
A countdown had begun, and you wasn't aware,
While I was out socialising, and didn't seem to care.
We barely spoke , when we were at home,
I didn't show you respect, by leaving you alone,
I was side tracked, by the lover in my life,
I should’ve saved our marriage, and cared for my wife.
I failed to even ask, how you were each day,
As I picked up my briefcase, and left on my way.
I failed as father, missed our children growing up,
Always in the distance, when I should’ve been close up.
I forgot each birthday, and anniversary as well,
I made your last months, difficult as hell,
I'm so sorry my love, I want you here next to me,
I was blinded by her lust ,when I needed to see,
I wasn't even beside you, as you took your last breath,
I was beside my lover, as I heard of your death,
I can't turn back time, and change what I’ve done,
But I promise you always, I'll be a father to our sons.
I have quit my job, and severed all ties,
To the place where I worked, and my life full of lies,
I didn't know how, to be a family man,
But I aim to be, the best father I can,
It's been challenging, upsetting and wonderful to see,
As a single father family, who are as close as can be,
You can rest in peace my love, as your memories live on.
As I see your spirit, in each of our sons.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
The rabbit haunts from a distance, patrolling fields for one to bear witness.
Gracefully the tenderfoot stalks, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr.Fox.
The creature walks with a slight limp, other animals often call him a gimp.
This way, that way, it all seems wrong, keeping time with a lost robin's song.
His home constructed as a single story wonder, located within a large tree laying asunder.
Family life wasn't right, as fleeting an image as a wayward kite.
A field mouse, left without spouse,
Stumbled upon the home in a tree, accompanied by a group of songbirds filled with glee.
The field mouse was asked to go, the creature in response, simply said no.
A man stumbled up, as mad as a hatter, his portly girth made it hard to imagine being any fatter.
He spoke of intrinsic right, boundless visions beyond sight.
Told the rabbit he had a duty to the mouse, saying it immoral to deprive him of a house.
The rabbit, reluctant to accept , found out from the man of the true evils in neglect.
He was told that he didn't own the home, it had simply been gifted as a goodwill loan.
That meant it was as his as much as the rabbits, regardless of any perspective habits.
With that the moused moved in, and brought with him his prized snakeskin.
Over a meal the mouse spoke of danger, coming in the form of a wandering stranger.
He told the rabbit, this creature travelled light, but usually shrouded in the cover of night.
Said the creature was not large in size, though his methods of thievery seemed quite wise.
The rabbit recoiled in his chair, as the field mouse offered up a demonic glare.
The field mouse grinned from ear to ear, sensing this rabbit's new grasp on fear.
Pulling the snakeskin from his sack, the dried shell was quick to crack.
The mouse spoke of a brave duel, between him and this monster, which had downed a mule.
He used every ounce of his cunning, and sent the legless beat running.
It wasn't good enough for the mouse, who was certainly no louse.
He tracked the snake for six long hours, through a field of partially bloomed flowers.
In the end he killed the snake, then took its skin so listeners knew the tale wasn't fake.
He held the skin, I mean the mouse, and said he'd hang the shell within the house.
Mr. Rabbit was found dead two days after, his body lay desecrated next to the snakes, hanging from a rafter.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Its about one in the morning
I know I have to get up at 7
I wish I was knocked out snoring
I told myself I’d go to the gym at 11
I guess I can never keep a promise to myself
There are so many things I should do
But I just put **** off and keep it on a mental shelf
Why can’t I ever follow through
I told myself I’d tell you I liked you weeks ago
But then I figured that you wouldn’t care
You’re always with your friends for all I know
If I told you I bet you’d just stare
I told myself I’d get in shape this year
But surprise I actually gained weight
Being fat again is the worst thing I fear
This week I’ve tracked all the calories I ate
I told myself I’d try to stay in a relationship
But two weeks in I freaked and ended it
I got too annoyed kissing your lips
I can’t pretend to be interested in this ****
I told myself if other people are happy dating
Then I could probably be happy too
But I’m not comfortable with anything more than a fling
Monogamy just isn’t something I can do
I told myself I’d get my **** together this time
Yet I’m snorting addies at a Philly party
Then proceeding to cry about how I’m
Such
A
Piece
Of
****
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
I was born into this, something I never wanted. And all of my life, I've been running, hunted. We're being tracked down and slaughtered, chased, by people with fire as their ally, their weapons made of silver or simply wooden stakes. You've run us into a corner and murdered all of my kind out of fear, not a shred of their existence left behind, proclaiming it was for everyone's sake. I am the sole survivor, the last of my race. I have vowed not to fall victim to the same fate.
You've claimed me to be a monster, but what does that mean? The only monster I see is you. Murdering and spreading rumors of my kind, you don't understand what I've been through. Saying I've slain many, but you've killed more than a few. Stop speaking of such things; it's hurting me. Stop lying to yourself. Why can't you see? Are you ignoring it purposely? Look at me, into my soul, and realize the devastation caused by your pursuit. Why can't you understand? Monsters have feelings too.
Though, it is too late to go back to peace. The people can only see something unreal, a fake part of me. And now, I will never be free. I'm forever running from your conceit. I have done nothing to bring you to this. I've cut off my horns, my fangs, and my claws to try and be a part of your bliss. I burnt my fur and scorched my skin, but all I've done has been dismissed. I have to hide in caverns deep. In the cold and damp, I sleep, afraid to be found in my cavern keep.
I could never fight you, that would only make things worse than before. My skin is covered in my crimson blood and I'm in pain from the scars. In anguish, I roar. My gargantuan, curled ebony horns lay broken and cast aside; my thick, midnight blue fur reduced to patches and strewn across my stone lair; my calloused pads raw from running; my weary eyes tortured and worn. I've given up on living any longer. It's better to die and to be conquered than to be caged and grow weak from hunger; so I step out of the cave, crawling out on all four; and I lie down, exhausted, on the forest floor.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
You said you knew the truth for me
And whispered it on the breeze
You opened up your heart to me
Then pushed me to my knees
You painted out a world for us
Full of sun and smiles
Then you put your words into reverse
and back-tracked several miles
You promised eternal friendship
Beyond all other ties
Your open mouth let snakes fall out
The serpents of your lies
I sent my dove over blackened seas
Olive branch in beak
You turned your back and walked away
So, which one of us is weak?
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 23, 2009 at 6:29 AM UTC
The shadow Elves lowered their weapons.. I could not read their minds.. They moved through the wind and forest like shadows.. Without sound, voice, or soul.. They all approached at once toward Ri and I.. I then lowered Ri to the ground and told him to stand at my side..
" My name is Solen, these are my brothers, Rias, and Breen.. We hail from the city forest of Scrioux.. Our Tri was sent out to hunt down a wyvern and bring back its scales. They're great healing properties within the scales that we extract from them. We had been following the wyvern for 3 weeks. They roost atop Mount Razis.. But for some strange reason this one never returned, and we tracked it back to this dark forest. We then saw the encounter you had with the wyvern and also saw you eliminate the wyvern altogether. You then proceeded to consume the entire wyvern which in turn failed our mission."
" I do not have no ill will toward the failing of our mission."
I then saw the helmets of the Shadow Elves light up in patterns. I felt as though they were studying me somehow. The strange spears they were holding before had a strange way of retracting into a small cross like object. It was very amusing to watch. The shadow Elf places his hand at the center of the spear all while sliding his thumb up making the spear into the small cross. They then hung them on a ring that seem to be part of their strange armor. The light patterns in their helmets finally faded. One Elf turned to the other with a look of confusion. Solen then spoke once again all while doing the same trick with his grand bow and retracting it into a small silver and golden circle.
" Where did you come from? And why are you watching over these humanas?
I suppose the humanas were the villagers.. These Shadow elves have been watching me for a long time.. I really had no way to speak to him.. My dragon voice would sound like a roar to him.. I then spoke to Solen with the voice of Ri..
" The dragon belongs to me. I have raised it since it was a baby.. I found him by the river.. He is friendly and protects our village.."
A lie of course.. I do not trust these Shadow Elves.. Solen then offered Ri a sort of bright fruit.. " Come now humana child, do you really expect me to believe that".. Ri took the fruit and held it close to his chest.. Solen then looked to me one last time.. " Farewell blue dragon and young humana child.. We have to hunt us another Wyvern.. "
Together they walked off and all at once they touched the crystals at their hip and faded into the air becoming shadows of the forest and river.. Ri then told me that the fruit he was holding was called Lifelo.. A thought to be mystic fruit that can heal all at once..
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
Where the hell did you go to
with your fancy two dollar words?
What happened to the flaunt-er,
the flirtatious ******* fornicator?
You tempted me with daunting thoughts.
You teased me with your pornographic pics.
Posted HTML induced *******
leaving my C.P burning for U!
Where the hell did you go to?
you said you were protected.
What happened to your anti-viral software?
I thought it covered all your hardware.
Don't just ignore me, or flood me out...
you have a senseless, sick sense of humor.
You kicked me from your room,
out in the cold of cyberspace.
New address, different text,
but now I've found you!
Hiding behind a new facade.
Yes now I've tracked you down,
don't you know me, can't you see?
It's you that's done this to me.
Barefoot, bowlegged,
and pregnant with you cyber-child!
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 5:57 PM UTC