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Jack Jenkins May 2017
You clipped her wings so she would fall,
but she learned to fly without your voice
to soar into the atmosphere.

You were her morning and evening star,
the guiding lighthouse on the shore;
you were her adoration.

You didn't understand that she truly loved you,
how much of her heart she gave to you that you
trampled on and discarded for your own pleasure.

Now she's going to fly
grow
love
be free
while you're still in your chains
of heart games and misleading.

In short, she's always going to
**be better
than you...
//On friends//
Wrote this for a friend I love very much, who got cheated on. If the ex ever reads this, *******. :D
ryn Nov 2014
If only we were figures...
Accentuated in the night sky.
Starlit effigies bound by cosmic tethers...
Secrets of the universe many would attempt to pry.

If only we were figures...
Painted on pored upon canvas.
Fantastic renditions by masterful painters,
Abstract oil swirls dancing to a whimsical opus.

If only we were figures...
Given life in the lyrics in a song.
An example of harmony in verse,
Bridge and chorus...where we belong.

But we are only figures...*
Trampled on by indifferent feet that came to mock.
We can't undo such a potent curse...
We are but grounded figures outlined in chalk.
Cindra Carr Jan 2011
There’s nothing special here
Hearts are trampled by and by
Lost looks go searching for lost loves
There’s nothing special here
Long thoughts and short lives
Descending riffs rush by every day
There’s nothing special here
No tour bus stops for the lonely souls
Smoke drifts wafting lazily
Hazily the air never clears
There’s nothing special here
High times never made it through
The door stays shut as often as not
Slumped shouldered fools look down
Frowns etched sketched amid the lines
There’s nothing special here
Just lost souls and hazy minds
There’s nothing special here

cc0111
Justin Apr 2014
The water you drink has been poisoned,
The air you breath is corrupt,
The cities we nest in will crumble,
The end is near and abrupt.
Let your feet carry you to a much safer place,
Far from the idols we built,
We ***** and burned all her children,
And now there is blood to be spilt.
We trampled on the toils of her lifetime,
Molested the gifts that she'd grown,
From her ashes we built up our kingdom,
Let our kings sit upon her throne.
And now is her time to come calling,
And now it is our turn to run,
The cities we built are all falling,
The end of mankind has come.
Sarah Ann Dec 2018
Oh, my rose-tinted gazelle
Whose grey doe-eyed gaze reproves
I was a grassland that longed to be grazed
And trampled ‘neath your dainty hooves

Oh, my long-legged huntress
With lips like a recurve bow
I was a rabbit who begged to be shot
And left to bleed out in the snow

Oh, my sweet Georgian iris
Whose arched petals shun my sight
I daren't cut you and hasten your end
So I visit your garden each night

Oh, my rolling green moorland
Whose cold crags offer no peace
I sought my rest in your slopes in vain
Rending my skirts in my grief
this one isn't 100% done but I'm tossing it out into the void anyway to encourage myself to revise it well. it's supposed to be kind of silly.
noren Mar 19
A damaged soul
needs time to heal and get up.
But it is often mistaken for a slain soldier
that lies in the gory battlefield
and trampled upon.

It's defeated, but it doesn't die
It remembers every feet that trod on it
But finds power in the struggle to overcome
the pain of being mistaken - deep within  
It fights another battle which it can't fail to win.

You have brought back these feelings
Resurfaced those fears
Of the fire inside
that had so many tears
A weak flame that was dying
Alive once again
Has now muddied the line
between lover and friend

That's how it goes for me
I don't know about you
The words passing might be
in that moment were true
They kept traveling on
Possibly a comet
As my feelings grow strong
Expectations not met

Once again feel a fool
Even though it's not true
And my heart gave to you
Time again I will do
But this time not the same
It's because you weren't here
Could not reach out and touch
So our bodies weren't shared

Just the words that were said
And the sound of your voice
Resurrect from the dead
Could not stop; Had no choice
Seems like that's how it is
In your lasso I'm snared
All it takes is one tug
And again I will care

Pilot light to a stove
A slight twist and it strikes
You've invaded my heart
Bursting flame will ignite
But if carelessly handled
It's me who gets burned
Walked all over and trampled
Same dolt who won't learn

I have built up the walls
But we're both trapped inside
The tight space is so small
There's nowhere I can hide

Face-to-face with you now
It begins and it ends
I'll get through it somehow
Are we lovers or friends?
Written: October 30, 2018

All rights reserved.
[Anapestic Tetrameter format]
harlee kae Apr 2014
Like the dirt under your feet
I'm trampled on
I'm crushed
I'm insignificant
And at the end of the day you wash me off
Like a bad memory
harlee kae Apr 2014
Dead and trampled on the floor are the promises you gave me.
Just like the flowers in my car,
the ones you picked for me.
And everything there ever was between us is on trial.
I'm the jury, judgements out, you're the guilty party.
No punishment grand enough for the  crimes you have committed.
Death penalty for sure.
*Death penalty for sure.
Deborah Downes Feb 2017
Like so many
Lemmings
they rush to southern climes for
greener pastures
year round golf a
Slower pace
Cheaper prices and
Tropical temperatures

Leathery
Tanned
Unnaturally taut and
Sun-spotted
they crowd the local haunts and
Clog the highways.

At best they tolerate whoever is not
Pensioned or
Privileged

At worst they ban the
Underage
Unfortunates
from their gated communities  
and social gatherings

The pendulum has swung from a time
when the Old were at the
Mercy of the Young
to the present
when Youth is
Oppressed by Senescence

Once democracy’s backbone they now wax
Conservative having obtained their
Slice of the pie

Now there is no pie
Mother Earth has been trampled to death and the
Toiling hands of those who
Stoke the fires of industry are
Blistered and discouraged
You don't have to be old in years to belong to this culture; and even if you are old in years, you don't have to adopt this lifestyle.
Claw apart my flesh
to reveal a bleeding heart
Peel me open
to show what is falling apart
Stoked flame burns
brighter than trampled coals
Turn me to ashes
to crumbling charcoal
Once drowning
now buried in storms
A star shines brighter
fractured light reformed.

-Esther L. Krenzin-
-Roguesong-
Mary Gay Kearns May 2018
The road lay empty down the lane
No bird flew out across the sand
Alone this trampled world goes by
And dancing hours beneath me call
But in this place that is no more
The latched gate closes once and all.
My grandparents’ backgate to their garden and bungalow in Totland when they lived on the Isle of Wight.
(not far from Tennyson’s Lane )
KM Hanslik Jun 2018
We were laying down our lives
from the beginning, but we didn't know
how cold the nights could be
or how heavy our feet would sound
on wooden floors, we didn't know we were built
for more than coughing up new ways
to pass time, no we were only
practicing for this,
we were only fighting for our lives,
we were only cutting out new patterns & fitting ourselves with
our wrung-out hopes & dreams,
but those fell limp & we didn't realize
there was anything else
I didn't realize these shards in my lungs were leftover
from the first time learning how to crash & burn, the fall left bruises printed
up and down my arms,
under my ribs, but I thought that was
a good thing, I thought
we're supposed to fight for what we love
we're supposed to feel the pain
but,
we are only a billion lonely strangers
laying down our lives here, I'm hoping
you'll pick mine up before it gets trampled on again
although we really do make the finest doormats
for feet heavier than ours, maybe
we will remain in the dust & the sand until
we are buried, or our throats are filled so that we can't ask whose deadweight
we carry today;
so come lie to me,
tell me that this all goes away
I'm tired of playing in the shade by myself, I need fresher dreams
bigger things than childhood fantasies
they tell me I am only make believe
I am only a lonely star, I am only pretending
they don't see the corners I cut or the nightmares I chase,
the graves I dig just to survive, just to bury
the rot of older skins I shed on the daily,
we don't like the way the gas in the atmosphere
hides the stars so we seek
open spaces & we lay our hearts in felt-lined boxes thinking
they'll be safer there than in our chests, because our chests might be
caving in tomorrow
compressed under the weight of passerby, if you need me I'll be here
(we didn't know how cold the nights could be)
I'll be laying down my life over here.
Andrew Oct 2017
I cannot mitigate his momentum in my mind
He charges through me like I charge through time
He is the rhino in my brain
A powerful unstoppable train
When I am weak
Survival is bleak
And there's a horned stampede
I'm unable to impede
Until I'm trampled
Into a stamped hole
By a giant rhinoceros
Who's power is preposterous
His herd is deafening
But he's my reckoning
When his rhino's roar
Echoes through my plains
He's my dino sore
In this uneasy terrain
His hooves thunder through my Serengeti
Sand flies in the air like confetti
Obstructing my view of his breed
I'm being ripped apart at the seams
By the vultures who sensed my loneliness
And made my body their ****** nest
I lay there broken and praying
For the mercy of a rhino straying
Poetry Addict Jan 22
I am accused of innocence.
I am guilty in a sacred court
For my cross-examination
Is to tempt a concept: the monarch questing breathless in its insect intelligence
Floating into vacuum of train and tunnel
I thought I saw her there too
Crossing city streets
Immaculate with a book in front of her face,
A book instead of eyes
Avoiding cement and its desire to be trampled
I saw myself
Innocence can be dangerous
jerrey Jul 2018
Marigold Marigold
Is still alive
She comes back each summer
No matter how hard I try

She drowns under snow
And gets trampled all day
But her head pops back up
And she smiles and waves

Like it never occurred
As if it didn’t hurt
Marigold Marigold
Just can’t be spurred

Marigold Marigold
Why won’t you die?
How can you come back
With more color each time?
Be a marigold
Steve Page Nov 2018
Blessed are they who are conscripted, when they are dragged into wars not of their choosing - for they will be remembered.
Blessed are they who are convinced by politicians' rhetoric, when they are shamed into service by posters and speeches - for they will be remembered.

Blessed are you when men shell you and seek to **** you.
Sing and be brave, for you will be remembered.
Blessed are you when leaders lie to you and lead you to your slaughter.
Sing and be brave, for you will be remembered.

You are the salt of the earth, thrown out and trampled underfoot.
You are the light of the world, placed in darkness and buried.
But truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the least drop of your blood will by any means disappear from the soil.

Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these and encourages others to forget will be called least in this kingdom.

But you,
you
will be
remembered.
I have mixed feelings about war. Just wars are few and far between. Men's egos and power plays are more common.  But the soldier fights for those on their left and their right, not for ideologies. Soldiers deserve our respect.
Kayal Dec 2018
I came across this guy
Who had the exact same eyes as yours
Maybe it was different
Those eyes couldn't reflect me
Like yours did
But that doesn't mean
I miss you

I heard this song
You sang to me
Your voice flashed in my mind
That honey voice
I could never get tired of
But that doesn't mean
I can call u at 2 a.m

I saw this picture
Where our eyes were still smiling together
Not knowing what happened to us
But that doesn't mean
I would be happier
If we were together

I went to the place
Where we went often
The one filled with our stories
I saw you with her
For the first time
Your smile trampled my smile
But that doesn't mean
I regret letting go of your hands

Your memories haunt me everywhere
This doesn't make sense
There is always this little part of you
That got struck in me
That can never be cherished
Never be despised
But that doesn't mean
I still love you
zebra Aug 2016
while heaven and hell
where engrossed in their own affairs
the light bringer
an incandescent intelligence
was cast down
to this metallic monument of stone
hurled to the depths
mourning star falling
for aspiring
to greater altitudes
the furthest reaches
perhaps some distant
parametric edge
or insensate endlessness
of the northern most realms
Baals glittering throne

Lucifer
stellar divinity
mourning light
enemy of evil
gave mankind its foundations
fire, technology
the signatures of spirits
those vey veys
the voodoo
that Jews do
the secret of
the dark speculum
polished obsidian
for scrying
door to arcane gods
and spirits dark
of great power
Solomons instruments of wisdom
demonstrating that man might live in grace
without watering the ground with tears

now vanquished in the depths
of labyrinths submerged
and contained in a brass vessel
crypt of sigils
the true names of power
reside

as ages rolled over
we lost our depth of mind
became zombies
shadow beings
at first a mystery to our selves
and then the mysteries
became memories
and then even the memories
became dust

no longer could
we conjure or evoke
from the depths
our Jacobs ladder
those Goetic spirits
and  Amadel
of angelic powers
our protectors
and sustenance
lost and bereft of
aladins lamp
leaving men a drift in reason alone
barren religions of flagging faith
desolated
heaven and earth separated
a god absent
based on belief
the words
historic etymology
be-lie-eve
at its very core
it hides its secret for all to see
a lie

science of endless calculus
bereft
a one trick pony
rationality
like a sludge hammer
its only tool
which maps the known universe
but understands nothing
about what things mean
like the subtle architecture
of consciousness
and its interconnectedness
to all that there is
which may be nothing
with no physical properties
no volume
no trans-formative elemental substance
energies of light or force
or pulsating quanta
but inventions of consciousness
it self a light
which lacks volume
and physical quality
all of reality mere dreams
by an unknown dreamer
perhaps the child of another

at the stroke of midnight
the darkest point
in the murkiest age
the Kala Yuga
post modern man
remains conceited
while the world burns
paradise lost

Monotheism reigns
in our back water world
millenniums long night
of honor killings
god of the blade
thou shalt not ****
yet all condemned to die

put that in your pipe
slave makers
over bearing pedagogues
god loving war stooges
your god has a bigger ****
while parents
pack up their
shell shocked babies
there little trampled flowers
forced to
plummet to some dark address
tears fluttering
suffused  by poison clouds
in shady groves
where they only dare exhale

have you not had it yet
with gods mysterious ways
if it quacks like a duck
hello
hell goons
****** spiritual stasis
toxicity and contagion
of the simplistic

their god
a shrunken form
projection of an incomplete  mind

those who live by the sword
die by the sword
and those who do not
die anyway
not a leaf falls with out the will of god
are we not all falling
oh man
cast off axioms
of the addle brained

oh priests
of petrified ideation's
if you have a real god
look to reality to understand it
do you see mono anything
or do you see binary everything
love hate
macro micro
life death
creation destruction
as above so below
the tao
male female

no your god
both great and terrible
can not make you whole
with out her
for she is all of space
creator of all form
our human women
vessels of the goddess
who you have
conveniently subtracted
and profaned
for vainglories patriarchs sake

the universe it self
a multitude of powers
from hells deep shocks
and dismal woe
to adorations from the queen of heaven
and the sacred temple prostitutes
now made sullied
by goody goody minds
shames children
a vice of knives
solar heroes they think
while high minded and ignorant

the synoptic religions
feeding frenzies of dogma
beatings of submission
mouldering skeletons
of the abyss
******* blood loving bats
all dressed up
in Don Trump
plush red power ties
made in china
where indentured servants
in state hell mills
are worked to death

while others
prim men
pretending to love
god
all ostentatious actors
spiritual materialist
fearing hells abyss
outwardly proud
in self righteousness
performing public adorations
while in secret rooms
they ****** themselves
under shadows guilt
blasphemy of gloating piety
begrudging the pleasure of others
there guiding light

there true god
a demon of obedience
bes-tower of agony
ensuring
you gota suffer now
so you don't have to suffer later
dividing man from himself
All of them covering there heads
to obstruct the gifts of wisdom
and freedom
blocking the rays of Luciferic light
and insight
******* in there own hats
so they may remain undistracted
by their gods commands
having forgotten
that they themselves
made them up
pious dullards
that they are

oh Lucifer bright one
i stand before you
embraced by eight
the number of Majick
in arms that proliferate
the true will
Lucifers eight arms
amen
Iska Feb 2018
'Why is it so painful to grow?'

A seed.
Just a seed buried under the ground.
Under the pressure of the soil,
It fights to grow.

The seed cracks,
such a sturdy little seed,
opens with a painful snap.

A sprout coils out.
Out of the cracked little seed.
A sprout now crushed under,
Under the pressure of the unforgiving ground.

Yet still... It grows.

A little sprout,
Now reaches up.
Up and away from the little seed,
and up to the light of the sun.

Pushing and groaning it bursts out.
Out from the unforgiving ground.
Yet now new dangers are to be found.

Will it be trampled
Or eaten alive?
The possibilities are endless,
The ways it could die.

And still.. it grows.

The sprout toils endlessly,
always stretching and growing
Reaching for the crimson sun.

The rain falls down
beating upon the sprout.
Pelting it's skin and whipping it about.
It skin hardens painfully,
and sprout becomes stem.

And still It grows.
The stem keeps reaching,
Stretching to the sky.

The stem then splits
It rips in two a bud appears
A little bud,
With so much to do.

Then the bud breaks
A crack appears
a petal unfurls from within.

Then it's a bloom.
Such a sweet little thing.
Until the crack stretches
So the bloom can grow
In to the beautiful rose
We've all come to know.

And still.. it grows.

Thorns burst free
Breaking out of the stem
And petals billow and grow in the breeze.

Then you see me,
And my beauty delights you,
So you wish to see me every day.
And your scissors encircle me
To give you your way.

They cut me in half.
They slice me in two.
being a rose,
There was naught I could do.

You carry me with you,
Your hands coated in my blood,
I'm dying slowly,
All for your love.

And now... I can't grow.

So as I bleed and wither in pain,
You place me in a vase
Or press me in a book,
All to save the bloom for another day.

And as I gasp for air,
Among your dry pages,
You leech me of all life,
Perfectly preserved
just so I could last the ages.

Or else I am drowning
In glass and water
My beauty wasted
hour by hour
Day by day
All to satisfy your whimsical ways.

And now all I wish to know,
'Why is it so painful to grow?'
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