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Crego Nov 2018
(Insert satire
about my
Simon Bechtel May 2018
Rotting meat lined the walls
of the spot where the crime was committed
Locked from the outside
Shut in as the oil burned,
the smoke engulfing,
the flames consuming the people as they screamed, "Let me out"
but the indentations of the footprints on the door spoke loudest
They spoke of 25 beautiful faces
lost in pursuit of the American Dream.®
Marla May 16
I killed a man in his sleep...
all it took was taking everything he ever had
and letting his heart take care of the rest.
Arabella B Sep 2018
My parents left late at night
Driving to my mom's parent's house
I feared for the worse
That I would lose my poppy
Never in my wildest dreams would I think I'd lose you
There is so much I want to say
To do with you
You promised you'd teach me to drive
A promise I still hold to you
but now you are gone
I know you are proud of me
I will try to keep my head up high
I love you so much
I know you will forever be looking out for me
As you soar above the clouds
And goof around with the rest of the family
I love you dearly
and I know I didn't see you a lot
I know work was important
You will forever be my fun cool Uncle
And I will always share the stories of you I have
Rest in Peace Uncle Adam
Heaven has gained another angel
Johnny walker Oct 2018
3 am I awoke to a call disorientated I answered it was Helen she was
calling from the Hospital, this was the
the beginning of her fourth week In there due to being so
But never heard Helen like this, get
me out of here, they talking about me bring the wheelchair, I'm dying they no I'm dying, get me home now then the phone went
I heard no more but the next day I asked her, she remembered nothing later that day the doctor asked to see me In private he said he could no more
for her
So I asked If could stay In Hospital
and look after Helen In her final
hours 3 days and nights never left
the hospital,while helping nurses
Helen's body was slowly shutting down
I was holding her on her side
she looked up with those beautiful eyes can't breathe Johnny she said I kept saying you'll be ok  don't worry you will be
Shortly after that Helen said she was
giving up when asked, can't do this
no more the poor girl had no fight
Helen was brave to the end I'm
crying as I write her story she
was truly special to me, and her memory deserves to live
Hardest thing I've had Is watch my wife
due try avoid breaking try not to show
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
I mourn you for all
that was stolen
I mourn you for all
that was lost

I mourn you that
You were betrodden
Until nothing was
left that once was

Your life had
a beautiful reason
You can't be accused
of living in vain

Your days were made full
of goodness that's lasting
Yet the tragedy of all
that's about you remains

Cry me
because I'm here
without you
Cry you
because you're
gone far away
Cry We
that we lost
all We treasured

I mourn Your loss
forever somewhere
beyond my very last day.



Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
Sleeping commuters leave
Ghostly auras amidst
The foggy plastic windows.
They slumber through
The booming snore
Of exhaust-pipes, choking smoke.

Silence. Or closest to.
Even stopped, the Bus roars,
Patiently brooding, growling,
As a wolf in the underbrush
Watching the crimson lights, sharp
Like blood on a pavement.

A small cat, uncollared,
Sprints across the road
But is pounced upon.
The wheels creak,
Commuters stir, and the Bus
Stalks away into the night.
A poem about human carelessness.
#27 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
Rapunzoll Dec 2018
i hate you, and i wish you were dead,
because if you were dead,
i could remember you kindly,
my memory would be of
how you cared for me,
not how you hurt me.

i could reflect on us fondly,
without every memory tainted
by how you left me all bone,
that vultures could not find
anything left to pick of me.

there would be no need
to think about what you were up to
every single day.
i would think of you rotting,
and how i wished you could stay.

i wouldn't pace aimlessly,
my head cold like the winter sky,
knowing you are out there living,
vivacious, carefree,
not giving a **** about me.

i do not wish to have unmet you,
but i do wish you dead.
instead i'm grieving someone
who's still alive.
Dear *******
© copyright
liv Sep 2018
That girl sitting there
Such a beautiful tragedy
Her body her grave
Her mind a travesty
O' immortal love
Will peace ever come for thee?
Invite me to die
@LadyRavenhill 2019
Haiku 84
Lily Apr 12
   And tragedy
      Have no words, and
         In love
            A sufferer
                        s  dry.
                          Yet to others,
                   His pain,
          So crushing,
Is laughable.
Glen Castillo Jul 2018
Umaga na pala,
Subalit tila umpisa pa lang ito ng dilim
Dito sa bayan kong nasa sinapupunan ng mga sakim
Pagpagan ang mga baro't saya habang hawak ang sedula
Nilang mga uhaw sa tronong ipinangako sa kanila

Naluklok na bagong puno,sa pagdaka’y nagpaulan
Ng mga balang hindi man tingga ay tumatagos sa kaibuturan
Sa dati niyang ka giyera na s'yang mga tunay na anak ng bayan
Iginapos sila’t ipiniit sa sandipang karapatan

Yaong mga bago niyang kawal ay matatayog pa sa kalabaw
‘Pagkat kasama niyang magkakamal ng salaping umaapaw
Mag kaka-ututang labi ay iisa ang kaliskis at balagat
Sila na mag kaibigang dila at ngipin sa pilak din mag-papangagat

Habang ang mga dating sadyang tapat sa gampanin
Ay mistulang mga bayani na lang sa hangin
Ang pagka dalisay nila sa maka-kapwang  tungkulin
Parang sa tubig na isulat at hindi na basahin

Kawawang Sta. Teresita bayan kong dinusta
Ng mga ganid sa kapangyarihan at mapang-alipusta
Akong anak mo’y nasa daluyong ng kapanglawan
Kabiyak mo sa balsang itinali sa nagluluksang pampang

Kawawang Sta. Teresita ginahasa ng mga mapag-samantala
Hinubaran ng dangal at piniringan ng telang mapula pa sa pula
Binusalan ang bibig hanggang sigaw mo’y hindi na marinig
Mga araw mo ngayo’y mamumugto sa haharapin **** pag-liligalig

Tahan na Sta. Teresita,Tahan na,
Bayan kong sakdal iniibig
Matatapos din ang sigwa,
Tutulay muli ang lunday sa sapa.

© 2018 Glen Castillo
All Rights Reserved.
Mahal kong Bayan ng Sta. Teresita sa kasalukuyang panahon
Johnny walker Nov 2018
Reaching a point In my life
when enough was enough I
walked to a bridge, thoughts
of ending It all, 2 miles did I
walked to get to the bridge
climbing the barrier there to
cling the
Looking down on the traffic
passing in out of the bridge
one slip I'd be gone, no more
would I be, but In order not
endanger Innocent life
couldn't find a place to
Even In death and state, I was
In Wouldn't want the death of the
Innocent the last thing I see
right at that point a voice In
my head, but the voice was
not of my
It was the voice of one time
a best friend who died 37 years
ago, he hung himself on a
the bridge just like one I was on
over a girl, he couldn't live
To this day I remember turning
my head to see him there
sitting on the bridge next to
me swinging his legs over the
His words he spoke "You finally
got here then" climb back over
he said this not your time or
the place, then he vanished
I went back home to
live tell my
I had reached a point In my life I couldn't
Cope the long walked probably saved me
Prologue... Voyeurs Notes: Two lovers entwined in the blue black room of the ante meridian (a.m.).

Under a cutting ******* moon
he enters you
You took him in with Pavlovian drooling eyes. He took your innocence and you shrieked in dripping compliance:::
Only that sickle overseer in the night sky bared witness
to the end of my pleasant fiction

Halogen orb
Halcyon days

Left only with the abscess of the apparition
that was “us”
and a
Phantom pain for the never was

Perhaps she is
quieted by enormity of it all
Life in fast forward, a fallow future, a vertical victim of his ***** ****

Coldness without catharsis on a cobblestone street  

she is again spread before him,
he’s already tired of her
, and again that ******* fading crescent
she’s wishing for a flashback, a do over,
a dream of sanity before her teardrop salinity (it could’ve been us)

But here I stand eternal
Butchered by your lunar lunacy::: alone
Against the backdrop of a pockmarked sky
David Crow Jan 13
Somewhere you hadn't been
might be where you could waste away,
consciously take the same
time for needed deep regret,
Make way for incoming
vehicles and cross to victory,
.. . So, no one keeps time
with the clock, remember that
you saw it coming, its only
necessary... to get away from those
**** cars 'ya know,
Whiskey for the road is right
there and the bag is under
the table.... you'd only know
how to get them if you were human,
This town will burn down
and all around will be torn apart,
it's probably not good to
drink and drive... 'ya know?
the giant wakes
his legs thin
hair everywhere
coarse on your lips
chapped lips legs
how am I feeling?
no. not today.
thirteen stories, take my picture
sooner than you thought.
what to do
me away
you or me
drinking blood

we (together) purchase uranium

into the glass
hold my breath
tongue in my palm
blood from your ear
you cheated
you lied
DEW Mar 2018
The waves undulated as if
they were the backs of 100 wriggling worms
The sky shed tears as if
a 1000 angels wept for the death of hope
black clouds roiled, sparking with fury
casting lightning down upon the mire
but below, upon the sea,
a miracle was set to transpire.

A boat rushed down and over the waves...
Back and forth,
a juggler's ball tossed and turned it appeared to be.
Yet, despite the malice,
and the seething spite of the sea,
the boat was safe
snug as can be.

And in this boat was a silent baby
his eyes stared out into the turmoil
he did not understand the frustrations of the elements
how they wished to smite him where he lay.
Despite the twisting of the boat
he did not roll, nor did water coat
his soft cheeks, his baby blanket
he passed on into sleep,
into dream he

He awoke to battles raging about him
the crashing of thunder
was the desolation of a mountain
the world knew war for the first time
deaths in the billions, no pasture without crime.

He stood as a man
with bearded face
skin like the earth
armor embraced.
He realized he held a mighty weapon
it gleamed in his hands
power coursed through his veins
down to his soul
up to the heavens!
A beacon of light he seemed to be
but heir to destruction he truly was.
He did not know what power does
to the feint of heart
to the well-intentioned...
He struck the ground amidst the battle
the whole Earth shook, oh, the chattering teeth!
The mountains lumbered to form again
as if by the shovels of skyward giants!
The battle paused for the barest of moments
the awe was palpable
like a kingly feast
but the people's hearts hadn't forgotten the pain
their hate surged up, like volcanic bile
despite their peace present for a while
the massacres began again in earnest
perhaps more so than before his deed.
No one knew the power he wielded.

He still had hope, he could do something!
But what greater act was there than mending mountains?
His heart was up to good,
but his mind couldn't ground him.

"I must stop their wanton annihilation!"
He roared within himself,
"Are they not my people? Am I not their savior?"
He went to the most heated battle
struck the air with his weapon
and every person's foe was replaced by their loved ones.
The battle ceased in an instant.
Each person stared in utter disbelief.
By what power had this happened?
It was said that mountains climbed back into place,
but what could summon loved ones,
even from the grave!
The fighting ceased despite their hatred,
and the stories magnified in flavor.
Many who were hungry
for peace from the storm of violence
fed upon the hearts of those in doubt
they claimed they knew who stopped the battle
they hoped to mobilize a peace effort.
He gathered these hopeful souls
banded them together so their efforts became tenfold!
Soon enough, the stories crept across the lands
across the seas
and underground.
For once, hope had purchased ground,
but hate, when cloistered, beaten back, starved,
becomes ever more malevolent,
ever more conniving.

He did not call his people an army,
he called them the Samaritan Initiative.
They did not fight their war with weapons of battle,
they fought with hands that mend and bind,
they saved the sick and the dying,
they uplifted the oppressed and those denying.

As time passed, his efforts grew,
but someone used his deeds as currency,
mobilized the scandalous, the warmongering,
someone hated he who mended the broken...
Someone plotted his demise.

He led his Samaritans across the world
each place they touched was left whole again
and though war still did reign, rotting and true,
he did not tire to end the end.

A new beginning he hoped to create,
but whispers that he was a fraud began to sate
the ears of those whose purpose it is to doubt peace,
they sowed the malice back into the healing wounds
soon enough, his power began to abate,
therefore, rumors seemed to be true.

He grew restless when he was barred from homesteads
barred from cities,
even countries!
Somehow these echoes of forgotten civilization rose
only to defy him
and he smelled someone's stench in the air.
His weapon yearned for someone's death.
For once, it did not wish to mend, but break,
and he felt spiteful all the more.
All the adoration he had garnered
had blinded him from his true purpose.
He sought out the taint that spread its tendrils.
He said,
"Is ruining my... empire..."

One day, while regrowing a desolated forest with his weapon,
someone came to see him.
She smiled at him, marvelled at his work.
"Who are you?"
He wondered, suddenly charmed.
"Someone you know..."
She grinned.
He spent weeks distracted and curious about her,
what was her riddle all about
and why did he feel her in his heart?
She did not seem to threaten or scheme
in fact her presence was a dream
and he yearned after her like nothing he knew
his mission delayed
his plans askew.
Many around him questioned him saying,
"Who exactly is it with whom you're playing?"
He would blush,
"Oh, someone..."

One day,
she did not meet him at their lover's spot.
She did not appear for a week, then another.
His mind began to churn about the months.
Since when had he last sent forth his healers,
or mended cities and silenced weapons dealers?
He began to be suspicious of her
he could have summoned her with a flick of his weapon,
but he dared not discover if she really were foe,
for if he should break, what can he grow?

Eventually, she appeared again,
smiling broadly, like an old friend.
He then knew the anger that so many harbored...
Oh, the twisted things he felt by her abandon,
the sheer weight of his turmoil felt too much to bear....
So he ****** it upon her without any care.
His voice was louder than a church bell,
flashing out across the forest where they would meet.
She cried out in fear
she ran from him swift
he chased after with guilt he couldn't lift.
He found her weeping by a well
on his knees he apologized incessantly.
"How could there be darkness in you,
the mender?"
Her question struck him in all places tender.
Doubt crept into his addled mind.
His weapon's glow flickered
his conscience was blind.
Surely not now should he have such trouble?
Could it really be so simple to pop his bubble?
"I love you more than I can bear!
When you leave me,
I begin to tear."
She nodded and held him close to her.

Someone watched from shadows not far,
they saw his frailty,
like a door ajar...

The months passed and he went back to work
new cities to grow and malice to mend
people saw him more for the savior he was
even though the rumors of fallacy were abuzz.

A special time became the moment of his life worthy of note,
a marriage to the woman whose life he knew by rote.
They consummated in the night and in the day.
Time seemed to stretch on and shrink all at once.
His happiness was a thing of infectious charm,
but all that glittered soon became alarm.

Upon returning home from time spent mending the broken world,
he returned to find his home
covered in blood.
He knew whose blood coated the walls.
Bones, ground into paste, smothered pictured frames.
Flesh reduced to pulp covered the floor.
His mind fractured in no way subtle.
The light of his weapon winked out with no rebuttal.
He wept uncontrollably in fits of despair.
The world seemed cold, frozen over,
desolate of love or laughter.
"I can't bear to live."

Someone crept in through the doorway.
"It's a shame, isn't it?
No man is greater than any other,
yet no man is born equal.
No man lives without love,
but every man dies alone.
Maybe you can understand now,
why we deserve our own genocide...
Maybe now you'll let us fight to the death,
and have our peace that way!"

He looked up and,
despite the pure evil that stood before him,
he did not see that.
He saw someone lost,
someone abused,
someone desperate for truth,
any truth.
He saw someone fighting to love something,
He saw someone forgotten by loved ones
after committing acts that person was unable to avoid.
He saw a frightened being
lashing out at the world
in the hopes that the suffering would end.
He felt boundless compassion.

"I have no power left."
He said.
"No power to mend or bind.
No power worth your scorn."

"I'm going to **** you now."

"If I'm to die,
I hope my blood is enough for all who suffer."

"You're no messiah! You're just a lie we all want to believe!"

"If I was just a man...
I would have died when you killed her.
I would have hungered for torturous retribution.
But you have broken no one.
You're someone who needs to see your own suffering
out in the world
to justify the injustice dealt upon you.
But for every drop of effort you put into destroying her,
I wish you never experience my pain.
I wish to mend what drove you to break me,
so no one else may be harmed by you,
or anyone you inspire to deal death."

"No, I defeated you..."

"You tried..."

The weapon flickered.

"No, no, you can't feel love for me...
You don't have the *****."

"I have very big *****."

"You think you can love me?
After how I destroyed you!"

"If I could be destroyed,
I would already be dead!"

The weapon burst forth with light!

The killer realized they were someone foolish
Someone lost
Someone in need of healing.
For if "he" could not be broken,
surely there was hope.
If he could mend mountains
bring back loved ones and unite lost families
grow cities from the earth itself
grow forests from twigs
and deny a cold-hearted killer
the satisfaction
the honor
of seeing the fractures of a shattered soul
in blood-red, swollen, tearful eyes,
perhaps this man,
this one man,
could reveal what love is
to the killer's own famished soul.

He saw something shift in the eyes of that tortured someone.

That's when he realized...
That's when he understood.
He had the thirst for solving puzzles,
but humanity is not a machine,
it is a collection of gears
each just as vital as the whole,
for the whole does not exist without the worth
of every individual.
And to ignore an individual like this...
Someone who stood at the center of all the woe,
the evil,
and the tragedy in the world.
To ignore them would be to throw out the puzzle completely.

"May I mend you?"

Realizing they were someone facing an open door,
that person nodded.

He struck that person with his weapon.
Light flooded out as if by the sun itself.
Time seemed to stop.
People looked up in wonder of the light.
The very winds halted,
seas stilled,
nature perked up in unison.

When the light faded, he saw himself staring in a mirror.
The man in the mirror had blood-stained hands.

He stepped across the threshold and hugged himself.
His darkness hugged him back and the blood seemed to vanish.

"I forgive myself for killing her."

His darkness melted into a bulbous, gooey form and sank into him,
as if he were some kind of sponge,
leaving no trace of the darkness visibly.
He accepted within himself that he was capable of
unimaginable evil.
He accepted that he had control
and that he was responsible for the health and sickness
of the world.

Around him, the world began to shift.
In fact, it appeared to melt into liquid
and splash around him.
The liquid became clear, like the ocean.
It splashed and slid,
rocking him about.

Light flashed!

The baby awoke, curious about the world around him.
His boat had touched some distant shore.
Flecks of water spotted his cheeks and he laughed.

A couple crept up to the boat.
"I swear I heard a baby," a man said.
"You're crazy," a woman said, "Out here?"
The couple looked within the boat
and found the baby smiling at them with his
toothless, innocent smile.
The woman held a hand to her chest in awe.
She tenderly carried the baby out of the boat
and rocked it in her arms.
The baby laughed.
The man reached out.
"Not that hand!" The woman said, "You just cut yourself!"
"It's okay, no blood anymore, see?"
He pinched the baby's cheeks.
The baby touched his hand.
His **** healed in an instant!
"Woah!" The woman yelled.
Feeling for a scar where there were none,
the man stared in wonder at the child.
"Honey," he said, "This kid's got potential..."
This poem sort of came out of nowhere.
It does sit on the border between a poem and a story.
I've been fascinated by the Poetic Edda and the Iliad, how a poem could be hundreds of thousands of words long.

So here's my little poetic narrative.


Cyan Oct 3
I’m not a Grecian hero.
I’m more like
At some point
I also must have ******
off Poseidon
because I cannot drink
water without spilling it
on myself.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Memories crying, screaming to be heard.
Try as I might to bury these amidst busy days,
still they rise from the backyard of my mind haunting my dreams,
making youth a nightmarish memory.

Empty rooms cry out in agonizing silence.
White ghosts float on lifeless bodies with the same question; why?
Anxious moments still taunt just beyond of safety.
The sickness that gave birth to this still clouds the mind.  

So long ago, a lifetime to make peace, still lucid moments of torment
making March an anniversary dirge.
It makes no sense to cry for those gone, for mortals spent in tragedy,
yet every year I try to understand once again, why?
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
hiba Sep 25
"what's my problem?" he asked.
"your problem is that you've got everything that you ever wanted and now you don't know what to do with it." she said.
"that makes me a bad human then." he looked up.
"that doesn't make you a bad human. that just makes you... human." she replied.
Lost Garden Dec 2018
Cleopatra, like Caesar my heart concedes
And even though it is only one sided
The hardest quest would be to get you out of my head
Always dedicated to all your needs

Infamy I have bestowed upon myself
The fire burning the hearth of my soul, never dimming
I would give my self to you for your trimming
A romance that you would leave on a shelf

Cleopatra you are the most pure, the most precious
For your happiness I would play the vicious
To be your obsession I would be cottonweed

Wondering if I have truly spoke with you
Could it be that I mirrored myself unto you
Veritably it is not love but only greed
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
In a costume of conflicting emotion,
of crossing diamondic colour,
with regal posture in grief,
the Harlequin and the King,
a display of opposites
creating a composite being,
that eases her body
gently into the waiting water,
to float away serene,
on her journey to the nether.

Midnight blue and emerald green,
the regalia of ermine,
both ostentatious and humble,
robeing the aspects,
understated in crowning splendour,
the gentleman King bows,
and the Harlequin laughs,
the bi-polar reaction
to the tragedy of misfortune,
with a sting in the myth-tale.

With the dark hues of mourning,
a legend passes on her way,
across the streams of time,
on a voyage to discover herself,
carrying her Harlequin in a purse,
holding her King to her breast,
owning them both in her heart,
the medicine wheel spins,
knowing the grapes of wrath
yield the wine of spite.

The motley speckles of attire,
a starry parody of night skies,
lighting the decorated funeral barge,
gliding along the rivers of space,
worn with the mantle of sorrow,
and it sails into the sunset,
as the Harlequin and King observe,
the mandala turns,
the bier of the Queen departing,
bears their sadness forth.

The Harlequin laughs and laughs 'til he cries,
his heart grows cold, then withers and dies,
whilst the King, statuesque, memoirs his life,
lamenting the legend of a Queen, his wife.

© Pagan Paul (24/07/18)
Wesam Tanana Jul 16
As I looked into the mirror
I wasn't myself anymore
I've come to realize that life
Has beat me down to my core

Once so full of life...and love
Now so down and full of spite
No words to express
Why my chest feels so tight

My friends I once loved
No longer call my phone
I expressed my loyality
But I've been left alone

I don't trust anymore
And I don't want your empathy
Just let me be to myself
Until you see the end of me

They say I've changed a lot
But they don't seem to see
Those that once loved me
Left me here to bleed

I'm tired.
The echoing sound of seagulls
Flying above the sea
And leaves upon their branches
Such a wonderful harmony.

Nature's inspiration was it
The reason for his call
From a humble shepherd on the land
To packing out town halls.

Music there within his soul
And words inside his head
Singing was his only goal
His future, good as read.

He sang his songs every day
He was asked to join a choir
Little did he realise
His fame would grow much higher.

He made a massive impact
Wherever he would go
Although he never wrote a song
His voice would steal the show.

He found himself a little band
They became like family
He treated them like brothers
The way that it should be.

Suddenly his fame was over
The result of a tragedy
Sadly he left us
Leaving behind his legacy.
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