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"transform" poems
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry
0
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
Maybe there's a reason I never told you.
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry
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70
life is like when you're a little kid and you discover that there is more than twenty-four crayons in the box that there is the possibility of forty-eight colors of sixty-four of one-hundred and twenty that there are so many shades of love and anger and peace and despair and absolute bliss and the ability to express them all are now in the palm of your hand life is colorful beautiful thought-provoking lovely soulful heartbreaking inspiring and absolutely wonderful every day is a new sunrise a new chance to transform into the butterfly you want to be go out there and change the world, kid
0
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 5:43 PM UTC
butterfly
I was a caterpillar , before I became a butterfly . The pain I had to endure in order to transform into the beauty I am today . This is my tale . In the forest there was, My cocoon wrapped in the finest silk, With a power to live in a colorful world. To dream and conquer goals. A Vivacious soul spinning in the purest silk Growing and maturing as I spun. Wishing for freedom with my beautiful wings, Counting the days to be free and soar as a lively butterfly until You winded into my community Lured my queen and her uneven monarch. Tempted to sabotage my purity. For that you, Lured yourself into my vulernable cocoon with that trust, you decided to disrupt my process. How can one man ruin my nesting site? And I had faith in you , to be a figure I never had. I wanted. My heart ached for it. I needed it. To be loved . To be nurtured. To never be like those stray dogs looking for a home. This was the moment . Where.... Innocence stripped, heart captured. My Freedom gone. You were naive to comprehend On what you were doing... You would stab my cocoon with your sickening poison . Over and over you stabbed . Ruptured the veins of my innocence . To break my finest silk . Purity banished. Stabbing your poison was Making my cocoon useless , worthless , unwanted, colorless, I tried to run and I tried to scream but I was devoured by this poison It was the love I deserve. Couldn't escape , numb to the pain For every poison injected, I began to Question God? Where was he ? when I shed out a tear of help. Where was he? when my cocoon was destroyed. Was I loved God? when I muffled help in your name. I hated myself , I stay in my cocoon afraid to see my future. I wasn't going to be a beautiful butterfly Battered Butterfly My life seemed to be colorless No one wants a battered butterfly My life.... It seemed it had ended when poison sunk onto my helpless body . No one wants a battered butterfly Imprisoned to these chains. Being poisoned every night by different Predators. Oh God.... Those predators ... Battered lifeless little butterfly Was I ever loved in my nesting site? But then again nobody loves a battered butterfly How can I reach to heaven when I was worthless. Believed I was a vile ***** Tricked into a poison of hell. Battered Ugly Butterfly ***** Little butterfly*. There was no light in tunnel There was no holes in my silk To escape this poisonous nest. Why? Because I believe nobody wants save a battered butterfly How can the man I trusted ruined me. I thought you could be the one to complete my lovely monarch . To complete the missing piece. But you continued to misuse me. To haunt me. To barricade my heart To own my soul But one thing I can truly say You never once won over me. You never imprinted my change. I endured your pain That was a sign of God To show me what strength I am capable of. That was the light that I found, You had no control to inflict pain anymore. Because I became impervious to your pain. I am a beautiful butterfly reigning over my monarch with no thought of you. That is my freedom
0
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
Battered Butterfly
I was a caterpillar , before I became a butterfly . The pain I had to endure in order to transform into the beauty I am today . This is my tale . In the forest there was, My cocoon wrapped in the finest silk, With a power to live in a colorful world. To dream and conquer goals. A Vivacious soul spinning in the purest silk Growing and maturing as I spun. Wishing for freedom with my beautiful wings, Counting the days to be free and soar as a lively butterfly until You winded into my community Lured my queen and her uneven monarch. Tempted to sabotage my purity. For that you, Lured yourself into my vulernable cocoon with that trust, you decided to disrupt my process. How can one man ruin my nesting site? And I had faith in you , to be a figure I never had. I wanted. My heart ached for it. I needed it. To be loved . To be nurtured. To never be like those stray dogs looking for a home. This was the moment . Where.... Innocence stripped, heart captured. My Freedom gone. You were naive to comprehend On what you were doing... You would stab my cocoon with your sickening poison . Over and over you stabbed . Ruptured the veins of my innocence . To break my finest silk . Purity banished. Stabbing your poison was Making my cocoon useless , worthless , unwanted, colorless, I tried to run and I tried to scream but I was devoured by this poison It was the love I deserve. Couldn't escape , numb to the pain For every poison injected, I began to Question God? Where was he ? when I shed out a tear of help. Where was he? when my cocoon was destroyed. Was I loved God? when I muffled help in your name. I hated myself , I stay in my cocoon afraid to see my future. I wasn't going to be a beautiful butterfly Battered Butterfly My life seemed to be colorless No one wants a battered butterfly My life.... It seemed it had ended when poison sunk onto my helpless body . No one wants a battered butterfly Imprisoned to these chains. Being poisoned every night by different Predators. Oh God.... Those predators ... Battered lifeless little butterfly Was I ever loved in my nesting site? But then again nobody loves a battered butterfly How can I reach to heaven when I was worthless. Believed I was a vile ***** Tricked into a poison of hell. Battered Ugly Butterfly ***** Little butterfly*. There was no light in tunnel There was no holes in my silk To escape this poisonous nest. Why? Because I believe nobody wants save a battered butterfly How can the man I trusted ruined me. I thought you could be the one to complete my lovely monarch . To complete the missing piece. But you continued to misuse me. To haunt me. To barricade my heart To own my soul But one thing I can truly say You never once won over me. You never imprinted my change. I endured your pain That was a sign of God To show me what strength I am capable of. That was the light that I found, You had no control to inflict pain anymore. Because I became impervious to your pain. I am a beautiful butterfly reigning over my monarch with no thought of you. That is my freedom
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I feel most at home When I am beside you. I am able to breathe freely & abundantly. You speak kindly to my soul, & nurture the points of direction Which I grow. My sanctuary of peace, My birds eye view of serenity. I feel most at home When I am in view of your garden. Offering the utmost Of warmth & affection. Make no mistake, I am not there to simply pass time Nor am I there out of the convenience Of you. Being around you takes me to another world & I am glad to share in the experience Of you. I am in awe at how you transform me Into a moth, in terms of light. I’ll follow you anywhere
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Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
Anywhere there's Peace
Coffee must always be hot It warms the soul And awakens the body It fends off the sleep Like a dragon's Fiery breath A drink for the gods A magic elixir for man But it must be hot. If it were to be cold It would only numb.. The world is cold enough as is. No no, brew a fresh *** Let the smell Dance through the air And fill a morning home. Like Jesus, Mr. Coffee Will transform water Into something more But even better, It will be hot Coffee must always be hot.
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Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 9:38 AM UTC
Coffee..
He was her lake where every night she'd transform under the moonlight into a princess from a swan white one day he left blinded by daylight trapped as a swan she was a sad sight.
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Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Swan Princess !!
Here are two pupils whose moons of black transform to cripples all who look: each lovely lady who peers inside take on the body of a toad. Within these mirrors the world inverts: the fond admirer's burning darts turn back to injure the thrusting hand and inflame to danger the scarlet wound. I sought my image in the scorching glass, for what fire could damage a witch's face? So I stared in that furnace where beauties char but found radiant Venus reflected there.
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15k
On Looking Into The Eyes Of A Demon Lover
Manila, Manila, Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys and the hollers of the drivers as they say, “Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!) Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights that surround every tree around the Meralco building when September begins; Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive twenty-four by seven where traffic enforcers dodge cars and vans trucks and tricycles and jeepneys and bicycles while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears with a smile and a salute to all the drivers from dawn to dusk; The noise awakens the outskirts of your city filled with people who never fails to smile even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina, where children watch the roads transform into this ocean of black water and small wooden boats become the means of transportation; paddling in between houses as the adults try to go to work; where chickens waddling upon roofs and cats chasing rats become the best forms of entertainment but Manila, your lingering smell of cancer comes with the dark blue starless sky telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies. Manila, say good night while they hold it tight protecting it from the dark humid air where thieves come out to thumb down unscrutinised objects from shallow pockets by the flickering lamps across the blazing red and emerald green lights you see less and less and less faces as the Sun sinks and says good bye. Stop and try to tranquilise yourself. Your city is now lead by a blood-thirsty leader. Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people. Manila, ignore them and sleep well. Let the truth decay while lives burn and vanish. Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy. Halcyon days are over but Manila, you are still a beautiful city. Your resilient people overflows with hospitable hearts. Their faces plastered with big smiles as they welcome us for you and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!) proud and mighty. Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits, Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves, The Pearl of the Orient Seas was my hood. Manila, despite your lack of snow and intense weather swings, You are and will always be my home.
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Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 4:54 PM UTC
Pearl of the Orient
Manila, Manila, Your bustling streets vibrate with the rumbling of the jeepneys and the hollers of the drivers as they say, “Pasahero diyan, kasya pa, kasya pa!”; (Any passenger there, some seats are still free!) Your nights twinkle with the Christmas lights that surround every tree around the Meralco building when September begins; Your endless traffic jams keep McDonald’s and KFC alive twenty-four by seven where traffic enforcers dodge cars and vans trucks and tricycles and jeepneys and bicycles while dancing to the rhythm beating in their own ears with a smile and a salute to all the drivers from dawn to dusk; The noise awakens the outskirts of your city filled with people who never fails to smile even when the storm pirouettes like a tempestuous ballerina, where children watch the roads transform into this ocean of black water and small wooden boats become the means of transportation; paddling in between houses as the adults try to go to work; where chickens waddling upon roofs and cats chasing rats become the best forms of entertainment but Manila, your lingering smell of cancer comes with the dark blue starless sky telling people to grip their bags until it merges with their bodies. Manila, say good night while they hold it tight protecting it from the dark humid air where thieves come out to thumb down unscrutinised objects from shallow pockets by the flickering lamps across the blazing red and emerald green lights you see less and less and less faces as the Sun sinks and says good bye. Stop and try to tranquilise yourself. Your city is now lead by a blood-thirsty leader. Apologies from gunshots overpower the cries of help from your people. Manila, ignore them and sleep well. Let the truth decay while lives burn and vanish. Prayers cannot save your mutinous ignominy. Halcyon days are over but Manila, you are still a beautiful city. Your resilient people overflows with hospitable hearts. Their faces plastered with big smiles as they welcome us for you and say, “Mabuhay!” (Long live!) proud and mighty. Offering their minds on banana leaf plates to everyone who visits, Giving away their hearts in small loot bags to everyone who leaves, The Pearl of the Orient Seas was my hood. Manila, despite your lack of snow and intense weather swings, You are and will always be my home.
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76
You can quickly transform with a quiet resilience Remaining deeply grateful to be standing As feeling sorry for yourself, is merely an excuse To hold back and accomplish nothing Educated by the spirit of meaningful experience One can change and adapt in a flash Merely seeking out pity for the sake of affirmation Is buying an excuse to stand back You can call up the strength deep inside of you Overcome the struggles you face Stand up proudly, knowing you survived the battle Gladly take your rightful place You may appear weary and worn to the masses Yet deep within you have more fight Silently standing up for what you believe in Steadily on the edge of the right
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Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
Quiet Resilience
I love chocolate chip cookies Be they soft or be they crunchy They are my favorite munchie. I love them by the pound. The best snack around. My love for these cookies Surpasses my love of ice cream. They are more than what they seem. They make my day and then more so. Even though they make my **** grow. Chocolate chip cookies They are my very best friends. I am sure these cookies With stick with me to the end. I can count on them to please me. Cookies never ever tease me. I love chocolate chip cookies Whether they are baked at home Or just purchased on the roam. If they are professionally made, Gifted to me or I have paid. Nothing else tickles me so much. I start giggling when I first touch Those delightful little sweet plops. Don’t bother calling the calorie cops. Chocolate chip cookies They are my very best friends. I am sure these cookies With stick with me to the end. I can count on them to please me. Cookies never ever tease me. I love chocolate chip cookies I know it started when I was a kid; What those rolls of dough did To me was transform me instantly Almost to carbohydrate insanity. I could eat as many as I touched; I loved them just exactly that much And it continued on into adulthood. Chocolate chip cookies are that good. Chocolate chip cookies They are my very best friends. I am sure these cookies With stick with me to the end. I can count on them to please me. Cookies never ever tease me.
0
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
Muted warning red-line horizon submarine morning a full moon wanes by nature, earthbound yet of the heavens meant to transform those seeking sky forget the ocean how stars appear upon reflection celestially untethered navigating the wild uncharted reach
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Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 8:08 PM UTC
Deep
A lonely child, child of neglect I see you. Night it befalls, lonely child met.. You meet me. Peeled round waist from belly to back, four pieces do a belt of babe make; stitched and branded. Lonely child of neglect, I bathe in your warm fat. Clouds they roll, stream cotton-frayed sky. Mother's light peeks to say goodbye, to you; -the lonely child whom had to die? I transform. AWHOOOooo! eah, hah-hah, hah-hah, hah-hah... <>...Hunt...<>           C
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Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Wolf
*hints of auburn drift creating a soft cadence against the autumn wind almost heard in lieu 'tis felt somehow awakening souls buried long ago giving birth to falling crimson leaves tinged with maroon and gold abandoned dusty roads transform under enchanting spells cast by fall burnt orange pumpkins standing solitary on wooden porches threaten to reveal hidden secrets held by dusk’s luscious cinnamon seasoned air once fulgent sunflowers begin to slumber softly beneath the harvest moon whilst autumn’s trance brushes all it touches with honey colored hues i stand pensive as an amber leaf gently twirling falls to the ground bewitched by thine supernatural powers; thine gifted artist’s hand who with one stroke turns to butter amber all that once was forest green and imbues my soul with thine exalted essence forever ripening ©2016janetaylor
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Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
i long for autumn
I'll eat you out while you're bleedin' I'll eat you out til you come I'll drink the *** in your blood Feeding, drowning, I'll show you around the other side of sanity Be a wolf transform under full moon I'm a wolf alone under her moon do you come to meet me at the edge of light every night for fun or do you want these -- do you need these dark eyes unblinking in the shadows?
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Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
Rule of Rows: "Hungry Chant"
Stars in the sky exploding Space and time folding Bombs going off as the galaxy rips Flashing lights fight to eclipse Visions full of fluorescence At the sacrifice of a solar systems essence Shooting stars cry across the skies Puncturing planets as they pulverize Swirls of liberation Celestial bodies melting in devastation Swarms collect and deform Exploding into storms as they transform   The aura of the aurora bleeding like mascara As if the planet is crying at the end of an era Watching as black holes fight over vibrant sights Pulling it apart as it ignites What a wonderful curse To befall the universe It's so beautiful its cryptic God bless a life so apocalyptic
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Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
The Beautiful Curse Of The Universe
"This is the day we've been waiting on.  It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared.  You are the sacred vessel" said the tall dark skin woman as she looked down into the eyes of the ten year old boy.  Dressed in a red and black robe the ten year old boy says "I'm not afraid.  I'm just ready to get this over with."  "That's just what I wanted to hear Levi.  It's time to get started.  Please follow behind me" said the tall dark skin woman.  "Yes mother" said Levi as he followed his mother out of his room.  Leading Levi down a long hall that was illuminated with red light his mother says "When Priest summon the spirit Cruelty remember not to fight it.  Just let it take over."  "Ok" said Levi.  When Levi and his mother entered the worship area Levi's mother had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy.  "Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe.  "You're welcome Priest" said Harriet.  Stepping down from the altar holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand Priest stood in front of Levi.  Priest stabbed the baby creature in it's stomach and ripped it opened.  He then dipped his finger in the baby creature's blood and anointed Levi's forehead with it's blood.  "Bring me the Book of Sins" said Priest.  Stepping down from the altar holding the Book of Sins a short figure wearing a black hooded robe brought Priest the Book of Sins.  Turning to the chapter of Cruelty, Priest began reading.  "As night blinds the sight of the male and the female and Hate stands on the grave of Love.  Only then will evil reveal it self.  Like Death stalking the living Cruelty will crush Kindness.  I offer this vessel to the mistress Cruelty.  Come forward I summon you Cruelty."  When Priest finished reading from the Book of Sins the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on.  From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi.  Slowly the wind began to transform into black smoke.  Over taken with fear Levi was unable to move.  Entering through Levi's gaping mouth the black smoke took possession of him.  Shaking violently Levi fell to the floor.  "Levi are you all right?" asked Priest.  Standing to his feet and looking Priest in his face with eyes as black as death Levi says "The child is no longer in control."  Walking up to Priest, Levi sticks his hand in Priest's stomach and pulls out his intestines.  "LEVI YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest.  "I am Cruelty.  Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Cruelty as she looked at Harriet.  Pointing at the robed figures on the altar Cruelty tells them to get rid of Priest's dead body.  "Yes Levi" said the robed figures. Written by Keith Edward Baucum
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Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
Evil Levi Chapter One
"This is the day we've been waiting on.  It's ok to be nervous but don't be scared.  You are the sacred vessel" said the tall dark skin woman as she looked down into the eyes of the ten year old boy.  Dressed in a red and black robe the ten year old boy says "I'm not afraid.  I'm just ready to get this over with."  "That's just what I wanted to hear Levi.  It's time to get started.  Please follow behind me" said the tall dark skin woman.  "Yes mother" said Levi as he followed his mother out of his room.  Leading Levi down a long hall that was illuminated with red light his mother says "When Priest summon the spirit Cruelty remember not to fight it.  Just let it take over."  "Ok" said Levi.  When Levi and his mother entered the worship area Levi's mother had him stand in front of the altar and the clergy.  "Thank you Harriet for escorting Levi to the altar" said a tall figure wearing a black hooded robe.  "You're welcome Priest" said Harriet.  Stepping down from the altar holding a baby creature in his right hand and a knife in his left hand Priest stood in front of Levi.  Priest stabbed the baby creature in it's stomach and ripped it opened.  He then dipped his finger in the baby creature's blood and anointed Levi's forehead with it's blood.  "Bring me the Book of Sins" said Priest.  Stepping down from the altar holding the Book of Sins a short figure wearing a black hooded robe brought Priest the Book of Sins.  Turning to the chapter of Cruelty, Priest began reading.  "As night blinds the sight of the male and the female and Hate stands on the grave of Love.  Only then will evil reveal it self.  Like Death stalking the living Cruelty will crush Kindness.  I offer this vessel to the mistress Cruelty.  Come forward I summon you Cruelty."  When Priest finished reading from the Book of Sins the red lights that illuminated the compound began to flicker off and on.  From out of no where a gust of wind began to circle around Levi.  Slowly the wind began to transform into black smoke.  Over taken with fear Levi was unable to move.  Entering through Levi's gaping mouth the black smoke took possession of him.  Shaking violently Levi fell to the floor.  "Levi are you all right?" asked Priest.  Standing to his feet and looking Priest in his face with eyes as black as death Levi says "The child is no longer in control."  Walking up to Priest, Levi sticks his hand in Priest's stomach and pulls out his intestines.  "LEVI YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER!" screamed Harriet as she ran over to the lifeless body of Priest.  "I am Cruelty.  Like I told the child's father Levi is no longer in control but for amusement everyone may still call me Levi" said Cruelty as she looked at Harriet.  Pointing at the robed figures on the altar Cruelty tells them to get rid of Priest's dead body.  "Yes Levi" said the robed figures. Written by Keith Edward Baucum
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Change... a word with a world within With the power to transform Visions into victories Opportunities into accomplishments Some fear it; some resist it But not us We are a breed apart We challenge the limits of action We dare to explore new dimensions And transform tomorrow With courage and absolute conviction We DREAM fearlessly, BELIEVE resolutely And ACT decisively And when the odds are against us We even it out by transforming all we have & becoming who we are. BE THE CHANGE
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Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
Change
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. A great beacon light of hope. Seared in the flames of withering justice. One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free. We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Now is the time to make real promises of democracy. Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. You have been veterans of creative suffering. Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A deeply rooted american dream. A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character. I have a dream today! That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters. I have a dream today! The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together." This is our hope. This is the faith I go back with. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
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Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Freedom and Equality - Found Poem - I have a Dream Speech by Martin Luther King Jr. - School Project
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. A great beacon light of hope. Seared in the flames of withering justice. One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free. We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Now is the time to make real promises of democracy. Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. You have been veterans of creative suffering. Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A deeply rooted american dream. A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character. I have a dream today! That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters. I have a dream today! The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together." This is our hope. This is the faith I go back with. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
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The beast loving the beast he didnt have sympathy for beauty and the way that beauty should be treated. Beauty she didnt have the hard core nature of reality that means the way a beast should be. Beauty and her Beast The tender love and affection that beauty needed. Was often ignore rejected and neglected. from the beast. The same way, that beauty wasnt able to saddle the hard core meaness and the rocky foundation. That the beast was used to. To accept him being what he is. Unloving uncaring ungiving. because he is better known as this beast. Beauty and her Beast. Beauty would often be torn ravished and taken for granted. While the beast would often feast on the tender meat. Of Beauty! Ravishing and seeking, beastly taking. Barely ever having anything descent to be giving. No kindness no loving ways, no maturity. Because the beast didnt even love himself. This beast he be! Sometimes as beauty would be recovering she'd reach for him in his rocky hard core places and it would leave her torn. In tragedy torn ripped places because Beauty. Needs peace beauty needs sweet relief. That couldnt be provided. By a ravishing Beast. Beasty and her beast. The way he seeks,, the way he treats the way he harms. The way he rings alarms. Beauty would sigh love me! The Beast would say Hate me. Hate me I am Beast! My Features are beast My ways are Beast. My Heart is beasty. For I remember am Beast. Beauty would cry Love me, desire me, want me, Cherish Me, feed me nourish me. comfort me, cradle me. For I am beauty and I seek love and maturity. I am Beauty. Do Not Devour me. But nourish me and treat me kindly   And Know that I am beauty. I seek sweet sleep sweet deliverance For I am Beautiful I need not  a Beast! Don't be beasty let me transform you into my Prince charming my romantic knight and shinning armor. can I kiss the beast and he turn into my romantic beast. By SelinaSharday.. All Rights reseved S.A.M 2018
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Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
Beauty and the beast!
The beast loving the beast he didnt have sympathy for beauty and the way that beauty should be treated. Beauty she didnt have the hard core nature of reality that means the way a beast should be. Beauty and her Beast The tender love and affection that beauty needed. Was often ignore rejected and neglected. from the beast. The same way, that beauty wasnt able to saddle the hard core meaness and the rocky foundation. That the beast was used to. To accept him being what he is. Unloving uncaring ungiving. because he is better known as this beast. Beauty and her Beast. Beauty would often be torn ravished and taken for granted. While the beast would often feast on the tender meat. Of Beauty! Ravishing and seeking, beastly taking. Barely ever having anything descent to be giving. No kindness no loving ways, no maturity. Because the beast didnt even love himself. This beast he be! Sometimes as beauty would be recovering she'd reach for him in his rocky hard core places and it would leave her torn. In tragedy torn ripped places because Beauty. Needs peace beauty needs sweet relief. That couldnt be provided. By a ravishing Beast. Beasty and her beast. The way he seeks,, the way he treats the way he harms. The way he rings alarms. Beauty would sigh love me! The Beast would say Hate me. Hate me I am Beast! My Features are beast My ways are Beast. My Heart is beasty. For I remember am Beast. Beauty would cry Love me, desire me, want me, Cherish Me, feed me nourish me. comfort me, cradle me. For I am beauty and I seek love and maturity. I am Beauty. Do Not Devour me. But nourish me and treat me kindly   And Know that I am beauty. I seek sweet sleep sweet deliverance For I am Beautiful I need not  a Beast! Don't be beasty let me transform you into my Prince charming my romantic knight and shinning armor. can I kiss the beast and he turn into my romantic beast. By SelinaSharday.. All Rights reseved S.A.M 2018
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48
More than just kawaii desu More than nico nico ni And senpai noticing me You are the reason my heart goes doki doki More than the final rasengan More than the last hurrah And all the power needed for a kamehameha You give me strength when all hope is gone More than just friendly rivalries More than swimming medley relays And underdog hero clichés You help me be the best I can be always With Moon Prism Power I’ll transform right before your eyes Into a weeb like no other You bring me joy before I even realize
0
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
Ode to Anime
Art has the unfortunate responsibility of reflecting all the ugly truths of the world while at the same time upholding the heavy burden of hope at the times breathing becomes its hardest we must inhale deeper and transform the pain in our lungs and the doubts in our own hearts into something for others to hold onto to rest upon to take refuge in we must fight hate with love give kindness the strength to hold back cruelty we must eat a little less so those with nothing will have something to eat humanity may seem to be slipping away taking a step too far away to ever come back to ever remember who we could be and isn’t this a beautiful burden this heavy weight upon our backs and within our hearts this feeling that we are still alive still able to breath despite the pain that we can still create something out of the things others would see destroyed the ugly beasts that dress like presidents and kings with no clothes with their ****** power and their blatant lies history will remember their crimes as we will not let them be forgotten tomorrow is not a day they own... yet... but if we want to take it back we must start by doing something today remember artist need other artist to remind them that there is still something left in this world worth making something beautiful for and everyone everyone of us is an artist so pick up your bricks and your hammers and your buckets of paint and let your hearts run wild through the streets and start the taking of tomorrow by turning the world into something better today
0
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC
burden and responsibility
Art has the unfortunate responsibility of reflecting all the ugly truths of the world while at the same time upholding the heavy burden of hope at the times breathing becomes its hardest we must inhale deeper and transform the pain in our lungs and the doubts in our own hearts into something for others to hold onto to rest upon to take refuge in we must fight hate with love give kindness the strength to hold back cruelty we must eat a little less so those with nothing will have something to eat humanity may seem to be slipping away taking a step too far away to ever come back to ever remember who we could be and isn’t this a beautiful burden this heavy weight upon our backs and within our hearts this feeling that we are still alive still able to breath despite the pain that we can still create something out of the things others would see destroyed the ugly beasts that dress like presidents and kings with no clothes with their ****** power and their blatant lies history will remember their crimes as we will not let them be forgotten tomorrow is not a day they own... yet... but if we want to take it back we must start by doing something today remember artist need other artist to remind them that there is still something left in this world worth making something beautiful for and everyone everyone of us is an artist so pick up your bricks and your hammers and your buckets of paint and let your hearts run wild through the streets and start the taking of tomorrow by turning the world into something better today
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68
Was it an illusion? Words that trigger an attraction A reply that lays a connection Was it an illusion? A look that exposes a sensation A whisper that defines an emotion Was it an illusion? A touch that pushes a button A kiss that captures a moment Is it an illusion? To transform words into reality To turn moments into eternity It is an illusion When words are lost in silence When affection is met with fear When All is subsumed in memories Whilst memories may fade The illusion remains We hope for those moments again Poets love the illusion Though  Cynics judge us weak We shall silence their mocking speak Thank goodness for poets
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Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
Illusion
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
0
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 6:55 PM UTC
An Ode to Poets
The first thinkers were poets Naming Mother Earth Beginning symbolic thinking Of nature, death and birth Though themes are often repeated Love, Beauty and God Poetry in the guise of Religion A prophet or a fraud The poet resurrects the Primitive Through allegory and similes Disarming the unknown like explorers Sublime Prophets and Visionaries They must lay bare those treasured images That must be expressed Unraveling and revealing the sounds At each soul’s behest Encompassing the entire Cosmos So lyrical the beat The poet’s excitement flows outward Laid at the Reader’s feet So original, individual She won’t examine or explain Letting go the festering feelings Disturbances in her brain He exposes his dark, wounded psyche Just to release and express Such capacity to see and compare Hyperbole at its best I love, I hate, I suffer A special dance in rhythm and rhyme The poet as a buffer Lessening the pain and sting of time Laden with symbol and feelings She gives you sweet relief From something urgent, revealing Confusion to belief Through a cinematic kind of seeing The poet purges to transform By leaping through Alice’s looking glass She never was one to conform Quite intolerant of convention Just like The Mad Hatter His passions immune to all logic In syncopated patter Jamming up the poet’s mind Struggling for expression Seeking order out of chaos An infantile regression Cleaving to his imaginary world The poet breaks out into words Creating sound paintings to be unfurled So his own agony is blurred She succumbs to storms of passion With instinctive techniques Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion Out of hand flows mystique The poet mines from his unconscious The Reader is not blind For every single line and symbol Means something to the mind Causing an inner liberation Enlightenment or flight It is a matter of life and death When darkness turns to light.
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64
The Canvas (c)08-25-2012 A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life. We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become. Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great. The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great. Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today. The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great. I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait. This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come. When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.
0
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
The Canvas
The Canvas (c)08-25-2012 A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life. We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become. Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great. The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great. Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today. The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great. I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait. This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come. When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.
Continue reading...
11
Light the Endearing Youth she introduce Of Trouble Death's Warrant I cannot spell Meet me this haply; Your Mind I deduce Transform a Stranger to a Friend so well I know you Love him. In Degree of Soul That a Year's Promotion is not enough The Author advices his Name; In Truth So merry comfort your Will to adopt See? Now he prepares for his Loved Event Inspired by the Contract for his Dad If I were you, wear those Sprint-Shoes you spent And chase the Best Moment you ever had. Once it's done, come set your feet by this stool And let me rub-in some Herbs to be cool.
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Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
SONNET TRIBUTE: CLAIRE HART