"treacheries" poems
The simple is crafty,
It's driven by thriving,
It's cool and it's artful
Envisioning the sublime.
Allow me be simple now,
That's not outrageous.
All sorts of one substance,
All forms of dim treacheries.
A smooth olive sparkle,
Not the one with the edges
Abiding with the peeves,
Deeply drowned in dry Martinis.
Too diligent to continue
Because if a life is only simple,
It becomes completely unbearable.
Taste makes me feel all the complexity
Of it, but the simplicity is just a scale
At which I am capable to create.
Aug 19, 2022
Aug 19, 2022 at 4:41 AM UTC
Am I in Love?
At night, laying sleepless,
I bemoan the treacheries of life
with my love
and appreciation....
And though,
in my dark,
and cavernous foundations;
Roar the pillars of stone,
and shake them.
Waked,
by curiosity,
and interest,
I stare intently at you,
and though I cannot see,
You are there.
Tangible,
by my creativity,
and invisible,
by my negativity.
And through the secret game
that to many, has forbidden name
we speak.
Fear,
and pride,
my greatest hatreds,
now run through me,
though the game of
Predator, and Prey.
I am the prey,
of myself,
in the black vapors
of my confusion,
you two rought me
with confusion
elaborate,
and woe,
despicable.
My thoughts now strand
off into many divisions,
all joining together,
to reveal my fear,
of disappointing you.
The thing we connect through bings,
and so we remain in contact, it seems.
But ever, we thought beautiful
I am marred, and proved untruthful.
You do not deserve me,
but somehow
in this void-feeling heart of mine,
I sense you care.
I care.
Am i in love?
My Mind craves you,
and I put much emphasis on that,
for that, might,
just might,
be my undoing.
Should I look to the East,
to find you, riding, in
shining, and metallic armor,
And see only dust clouds
roam aimlessly from North to South.
But I hear banners, in the West,
all risen high,
as high hopes,
and high spirits,
to guide them.
This, is what I've waited for,
for years,
as do we all.
But my misinterpretations,
now lead the banners,
with silver swords,
bearing the name of hate.
with this,
I deserve only
to lay my head down,
lamely, for you to hew it
from me, and call it,
Victory.
This, I forsee,
this unsensible
and crazed
sight,
that passes through me,
and guides me
to all darker paths of light.
So that I may be dimmed,
and in a cycle refrained,
I should, as a doomsayer,
say my doom,
and I, as a fool,
should subconciously make that true.
This is what I see.
I fear, for you,
and fear,
for me.
I burden all, though a child
and my will is heavy, upon you,
and wild, is my desires
and should you penetrate my curtains,
you should see,
the cold bitterness, of my truth.
But all the while,
mind and soul crave you,
and body revives,
slowly,
but surely.
I sense love,
and my stomach churns,
knowing I shall hang my head
in Guilt.
Am I In Love?
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 3:26 PM UTC
I've known of the man called Freedom,
His eyes pristine and his hands of good gesture,
He gave to all he ever saw,
Even those who wished he'd be dead.
You see, Freedom is a nice man,
He had given us the chance to be one,
Yet some see him as a hindrance,
That he'd be the one to cut the bridge to their horrid ambition.
It's true Hell's already empty,
The Devils are already here!
And they'd tied Freedom to the podium!
**And they'd ready their flames and *****
"Witness! As this hell of a saint be exposed before your very eyes!"
The Demons wailed and shouted.
"Light the flames! Expose his treacheries!"
As the demons hissed and the ***** lighted.
Freedom speaks.
Friends, my brothers, people of all brethren,
Ramble not, for I shall tell you truth.
Ebb is the fierceness you encounter,
End is the beginning of your hate.
Dawned to me, you have lost your innocence,
On the edge of light and darkness;
Mourning am I to you all.
Never the same are your reasons to fight,
Earnest are you to your reasons,
Vague, yet, are your answers.
Earthbound will be your rationality,
Revolving in wrong, your right.
Demonstrate not crudeness, but kindness,
Ice the hatred and let the good burn within you.
Enough of the foul that has come to be,
Sing the words that are your harmony.
All is silenced.
Freedom opens his eyes.
The flames, gone.
The hissing, deafened.
Freedom, is you.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
I won't bleed
So don't worry about me;
I won't bleed
So it's fine if you hurt me
I won't feel
When you leave me
I won't see
The treacheries you'll be giving me
So let me rot
In my pedestal
Let them do what they want to me, it's fine
I don't bleed
I won't bleed
No point worrying about me;
I won't bleed
So hurt me
I won't bleed
My blood won't come gushing out
On the wounds and scars
You made for me
I won't bleed
So do as you please
I won't bleed
I'm already dead
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
HE SHE WE
Seek shelter through the storm
EYES CAN'T SEE
Nature's wisdom as she forms
PARTS BREAK FREE
Amongst debrie of broken dreams
NEW LIFE BREATHES
Amidst decaying, dead treacheries
WHY ASK WHY
Layers pile one upon the last
RAIN TEARS DRY
Each new life fed by its past
A STRANGENESS TO
This rythm, this bittersweet song
PRIMITIVE IS TRUTH
We live and die yet always belong
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:32 PM UTC
I don't know
Why when I mop
It doesn't glow,
Why even without a bottle cap
Your memories
In bubble wrap
I cannot pop,
And thinking
And missing
I cannot stop,
In my surroundings
There are simply
Everywhere treacheries,
Betraying you like Wingdings;
Or that too obvious undercover cop,
But in my mind you are fading faint
Forgot if your face is smooth or dimply,
Like my heart enveloped you in packing peanuts,
Left my straight jacket at home cause it's warm outside
But I know you know that I know that only for you I'm nuts,
And I await you like patient zero awaits a cure at the airport curbside...
© okpoet
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
Desire I have to be a great,
Desire, lost and won.
I have it in my heart,
For in my many lives I have seen
What treacheries come about
When it may run deep.
I know this place feels foreign,
For I am of seventeen.
I have not made a home,
And there is none to be seen.
Desire for a home arises,
And I must put it away,
For love of all things is to
The poets dismay.
We all love desire, and,
We desire to die,
For we do not know,
Or, perhaps do not have
The means to live.
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:51 AM UTC
A gloomy soul for an unnamed vessel,
A decaying mind with the will to wrestle fate,
Aimlessly walking beyond the scene,
Forgotten or discarded by anyone they've seen,
Just the painful memories, coming from the treacheries,
A sip of hot chokolate makes them think,
Why am I to enjoy this drink,
It doesn't matter, it will never be,
With such determination they must flee,
To a happy place without even dreams,
To an unknown darkness and where it streams,
Not giving up, their will becomes stronger,
Not even accepting this any longer,
Yet, one cannot chose who they are in this world,
Burning my tongue I softly smile,
It's a beautiful day outside.
~ Umi
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
I hear the muffled voices of distance
Snickers of the devils, the mockery of my existence
I could fade into mist, let blood feed on my soul
The treacheries of the present dig in the flesh of my form, a hole.
Cries of my smile go unnoticed, the tyranny of my heartbeat
Treated with apathy; I’m falling into the numbness of where I reside,
In this tormented abode, on an overcast, cold street.
A sardonic camaraderie is what I’ve accepted, with the masked creatures of being
That surround me; they lick my bones
While I walk the pathway of malice, at me, they throw stones.
I weep, gather my gait, my thoughts
Trying to awaken the carcass of my lungs that have been smothered, trampled upon
By the seize of their condescending eyes and uncouth manifestations.
I am hurting, falling, burying myself into the ground
To see what I can see, the teardrops of my endurance,
There they have left dots.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
I'm done with this pain,
I don't know why I just can't seem to fit,
I'm a hopeless cause on this worldly epidemic,
The rain cannot fulfill my sorrows,
For my heart urns for the wrong thing,
I just can't seem to be happy knowing who I am,
Growing up in a nowhere land,
I just can't understand how I got this way,
Slowly driving myself off to never land,
I feel as if the inside of me has been dieing,
This could be the last nail in my sacred coffin,
Let this be the most dangerous thing that lets me go,
Ill live forever in my secret ways oh so clever,
As I lay as a corpse would,
And listen to the world run rampant in its own filth,
Sounding of the endless treacheries this world must endure,
As I bow down to the world,
I finally understand that I must never be that way,
The way that all humans expect,
Its time to be unique that is the one gracious thing,
That makes us all Human.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 8:11 PM UTC
She keeps hijacking the most pure
Of my metaphors
I wonder if she
Sells them in slavery
To him;
Forced into prostitution
To the ****
Who sells their own children
To their lover/business partner?
My only weapon is now
Saying the truth out loud
She offers him stolen
****** expressions
as sacrifice
but they were mine
I grew and nurtured them
I fostered and guarded them
And she took them away
They were merely thoughts
in my garden with osseous walls
I showed them to her,
gave them her tears
and her smiles,
gave them her names;
She picked them and ran,
claimed them not even
all for herself…
but for him…
the foreign body
This is merely one
in a line of treacheries
and I will no longer
allow her to fall
any further
into this monstrous
scar of transgression.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
there is no good love
anymore
all these little treacheries
scabbed wounds
scar and bleed and
the love is lost
in the hemoglobin
there's no good love
anymore
the drink and the
drive leave you
****** and forgotten
on the side of the motel room
picking at the scabs again
there's no good love anymore
all these little treacheries
like needles in the arm
or bullets in the brain
the act is drawn out
and overplayed
the women are all torn up
and ****** off and
thrown out
they sit in leg crossed
anger in the corners
bitter and apathetic
there is no good love
anymore
to **** is to ****
everyone's running away
from something
the act is drawn out
the treacheries are
bleeding us all dry
and then you're hung
up like the carcass
in the butcher's freezer
there's no good
love anymore
no good no good
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
To the deceitful people I say,
As in the midst of treacheries they lay,
To test gold there does exist a way,
For their wrong deeds they'll have to pay.
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 6:12 PM UTC
Luxuries and treacheries
disguise themselves
as the other
It's an egregious cycle
A mundane ellipsis
My head spins
in time with
wherever it originated
I don't know
if it will
have a grave
though I hope
and pray
-cj
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
I asked myself today, who am I.
“Who am I?”
“Who am I…”
A question that demands attention and continually forces a new, more thoughtful, more concise, more self-aware answer, over, and over, and over again.
The question we revisit so long as we continue to exist; so long as we continue to progress, and even digress.
So I ask myself today as I am moving into new and uncharted waters,
“Who am I?”
Despite my best attempts, such a dynamic part of MY answer lies with YOU.
Today, as it stands, I am a woman who does not truly have her father.
I am a woman who faces the treacheries of this world, with very minimal help and love from her father.
A woman who rejoices in the beauty and awesomeness of this universe without being able to fully share that with her father.
I am navigating this life with out your guidance, nor your wisdom.
But, I am healthy and growing and beautiful and passionate and smart, and most importantly, I am happy.
I am happy, despite you.
And that saddens me.
Today, as it stands, you are alive and well, so this should sadden you too.
Because when you face your question “who am I?”
Your answer should have me in it. Your answer should contain me so completely that you simply cannot separate our two identities.
You should be able to truthfully admit to yourself that a part of who you are,
A part of your answer to one of life’s most important and unavoidable questions is that you are MY father… MY dad.
As long as you are not able to truly admit this to yourself,
It should sadden you too.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Some people stay up thinking about the treacheries of life
Their mind becomes a jumble of thoughts banging on their eyelids like the loudest of drums
Their over analyzation denies them any type of rest
They cannot fall asleep
This leads to insomnia, and sleeping pills come to the rescue
--Me I'm the opposite
I can't stay awake
Reality drags me to my bed,
Under the comfort of my sheets
I can dream whatever I PLEASE about this sick world
Trumps not actually president
The world is a platform for love
Hate is wiped clear of the planet
Racists realize that color does NOT matter
Humans learn to love eachother with their minds clear of bias
I'm good at something??
The boy I like actually likes me back?!
When I'm in bed I don't want to wake up
It's so much easier living in my head
With colors that fly through my mind like a paintbrush
It's my own drug
Every dream I have is a book that I have published for me myself and I only
there's a little world in there far better than the one out here
I'll snooze my alarm for three hours
And imagine the world how I want it
With my eyes closed to view it in the highest of definitions
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC
I used to be a lighthouse, standing sturdily
Shining my light that others might see
Guardian of your safe passage through life’s treacheries
Until the day my light began to fail me.
I struggled on illuminating hoping to shine through
But ominous clouds amassed and grew
Leaving me with the dimmest view
How can I get through to you?
There you stand in the midst of the storm
Innocent substance this tempest has torn
I try to reach you, to cry out, to warn
I am broken, despairing, forlorn.
Time now to take down my beacon, you see
Not part of my nature, but setting me free
The new role that I’ve chosen for me?
To shine within and hope others will see.
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC
The first pit is of meaningless
Corridors of faithlessness
Through lonely caverns wandering
A labyrinth of pondering
Then desire gathers squalls
Through restless halls and chamber walls
A tempest surge of carnal lust
Eroding true love's kiss to dust
I hunger for her poison bite
Insatiable my appetite
My penance now an icy rain
Frost-blighting teeth consume my pain
So I seek shelter from the cold
In hollow warmth of things I hold
Possessed by tangibility
Expended in a gilded sea
Poured as rivers fraught with anger
Selfish souls in warring clangor
Smote hath I, the ego lord
Now my wrath confronts the horde
As fires still rage disbelief
For lies that fuel my hellish grief
Let flames of truth incinerate
This cross of nails that seals my fate
An image dripping violent red
From severed head and children dead
So Christ's blood my sword will taste
Just one more body left disgraced
By holy water snake oils
Corrupted wretches reaping spoils
Countless lives they have destroyed
Such excess sin must share the void
But not with I, the pulse of Death
No treacheries could freeze my breath
Past Satan's frozen form descends
My consciousness to far worse ends
A tenth circle e'er to enclose
My wilting rose in starlit glows
No depths Dante would dare to go
Existence is my inferno
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
Dear E----,
The bus crawls eastward like an insect:
silvery carapace and compound eyes,
broad-spotted blue-red with ads
as we scuttle along the curb-crumbs,
outpacing a decaying Tuesday sun.
In my thoracic seat I think of love,
its strangest colors and contours,
gentle treacheries and bridges burnt,
a wavering lawn of doubled sleep.
Tonight we dine on margaritas
in our cheap pub on the hill,
hope the questions all get answered,
touch feet under the table in secret.
I'm sure I wear at your patience
with this haircut I slashed myself,
my many stumbles of attention,
all my errors of cipher and code,
& the old hot luggage of my battles...
but you persevere. Look up -
the stars are champagne perlage
in a dark coupe, and all around
the living are dying; the dying are living.
May 7, 2025
May 7, 2025 at 3:14 PM UTC
you might listen if i could write melodies and not treacheries
of spirit, violations of the psyche
stabs that pinch just right (just wrong)
you might just listen
if i was a songstress seductress
a siren in your bed in your head
(i could make you listen)
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
the distance we've made
when the cards were played
with nothing to be said
and time to be paid
I can only love an option of higher grade for the sake of me
for the sake of my ***** ******* mind
who knows of it's treacheries
how many people still waiting for me to decide whether or not I really love her or not
it only amounts to nothing
delicate to the stumbles we take
down the sewer with the rest when I fail a couple "are we still "there"? tests
in my arms
out my arms
the only person you can truly be isn't what you see in me
but what you see in everyone
I just think ******* be *****
really *****
I just be sidetracked from a temporary truth
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 6:50 AM UTC