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ryn May 2015
I stand at the feet
of this stunning sunset,
The sparks in my eyes,
light each star.

          
Rhythm of each twinkle,
          synced with that of my own.
          Strong and sure,
          albeit few and far.


Nameless wind brings to me,
stories of silky clouds
I pull your smile deep in my heart
and finally can breathe.

          
Familiar words
          without cloaks nor shrouds.
          Just words...
          Yours and mine to reveal what
          our hearts would unsheathe.


What day is this?
Perfect to find
the rebirth of
freshly dewed dreams.

          
It isn't yesterday
          nor is it tomorrow
          It's today...
          Where the sun would see us
          weave our tapestries
          through promise-bound seams.


I feel deep in my heart,
a fluttery stirring,
A hope,
a strength to reach out to you.

          
This hope you speak of...
          Tethered by no thread or string
          Mending my universe
          and making it new.

          So now I stand
          at the end of this set...
          Seeking the beacon
          that I had known.
          I'd again brave through this day
          tomorrow...
          Just so that I could hear your heart
          that beats with my own...



     *Dajena M

     *ryn
Nicklaus Bailey Oct 2019
1-Establish Lux as a farmer with his brother, father, mother. Show dissatisfaction at a lot in life, yearning for more, however Lux feels compelled to stay with family and help them. Establish a close relationship between the brothers, a good mother/son relationship, though a testy relationship with his father. Strange symbol branded on Lux’s chest, been there since he was a baby, no one is sure what it means- or no one is telling him. This is Lux’s L.S. beginning. Establish also is the world Lux is in, the facts of the ministry and the church, the knights and wars of before.
2-Introduce a festival in town with knights from “The Brotherhood” being present, establish them as knights capable of magic and swordplay, “The Brotherhood” knights are taking new recruits at the festival. Wanting to join, Lux goes through the trials and passes, though after a harsh reaction from his father, Lux does not leave with the knights. With Lux out of scene, a conversation between the mother and father should reveal the man is not in actuality Lux’s father, but his uncle, and his brother had been married to Lux’s mother (now his wife) though died fighting in a war between “The Brotherhood” as a member of their ranks, against a rival faction known as “The Order”  peak lux’s curiosity and focus on the desire to leave as established in the previous chapter. This and the next chapter are Lux’s “Go The Distance”
3-The end of the week long festival nears, and Lux is on a hunting trip with his younger brother, returns and is questioned by his father why he wants to leave so much. The truth of Lux’s true father is revealed, and though Lux’s uncle expected this to convince Lux to stay and not go into danger, Lux is angered rather, and leaves in a hurry to catch “The Brotherhood” knights before they leave. Lux is put under the tutelage of a man who claims to have known Lux’s father, though it is revealed Lux’s little brother followed him, and is taken into the recruit pool as well, despite never going through the testing. Note- perhaps have Lux refuse to go with the knights if his brother is not also offered a spot? Hero’s journey, he needs a moment of hesitation and refusal to go. This should be reflected like Lukes refusal to join ben, or Bilbos refusal of gandalf, but quickly change their minds.
4-Training begins the moment they arrive at a camp. Lux and his brother are immediately outfitted with leather armor, dark and gritty in contrast of the shining metal of the rest of the knights. Lux is doing well in training, sword play coming natural, shakey with a bow, and ofcourse a natural talent at magic, (though make a point that in fire spells Lux only manages to start small flames that he can throw, and struggles with healing magic) though his brother is struggling in all aspects and is beat by his trainer. Lux’s trainer urges Lux to ignore it,though Lux finally snaps and challenges the man. The two enter a circle made in the dirt with training swords, and though Lux appears to have the advantage at first, he is quickly beaten and left gasping and ****** on the floor. The trainer leaves Lux there, and soon a hand reaches down to Lux. A female trainee named Ciara picks up Lux and, joined by his brother, the three wander off for more training for the instructors. Introduce Peter, a man deeply infatuated by Ciara, rather than a knight Peter is a Father to the holy church, unable to fall in love and forbidden to marry. Subtle on Peter’s infatuation with Ciara, should really build Peter as a good friend to Ciara,
5. Lux, his trainer, CIara, and her trainer are all out in the forest doing patrol after reports that remnants of “The Order” have picked up their pace in activity in the surrounding areas, raiding small towns and taking young men and women as recruits. Lux and Ciara are separated for a time and grow closer through talk and laughter when they see two knights in armor that is shining silver on almost the entire body though the right arm and pec are a scarlet red, drinking water from a stream. Confirming with each other that is the description of “The Order” Ciara says they should find their trainers though Lux charges. Ciara is close behind, catching the two off guard. Both are quickly overpowered through the use of advanced magic from “The Order” but Ciara’s trainer jumps in, kills one, but is killed by the second. As he turns, Lux throws his dagger and hits the man in the eye, killing him. Lux and Ciara carry her trainers body back to camp. Ciara refuses to speak and when greeted at the gate by Peter, she embraces him and cries into his shoulder. Have both Lux and Ciara attempt healing magic to no avail. Have Lux grow frustrated at feeling the ABILITY to heal, but unable to do so.
6. Lux is punished for charging, while his trainer is taken to a secret meeting where they discuss what to do with Lux, but out of respect for his father, they keep him in “The Brotherhood”. Lux has not seen Ciara since the incident, though he can see her in the crowd when he is being taken to be whipped, and receives 10 lashes, to Peter’s dismay who recommends either banishment or death. After the punishment, he is cut loose from the posts holding him up and Lux’s brother charges the ground, picking his brother up and taking him to his bed. As they pass Lux manages an apology, but is unsure if she accepts it. Lux is informed she will be trained alongside him. Make Peter do some ******* **** idk. Resenting “The Brotherhood” Lux should vent to his brother about his growing distrust of the situation, asking if his brother has felt the growing gap between what they feel they can do, and what they can do.
7. Show training between Lux, Ciara, and brother, distinguish a growing connection between Lux and Ciara, much to Ciara’s surprise and reluctance. Show Lux go into his trainers room while he is absent, and sees a sword on the wall, bearing a strange symbol. Lux trainer will explain that the sword should belong to Lux as it was his fathers, and when it is time he will inherit the blade but for now he must leave the blade alone. Lux asks about the situation behind his father's death. Explain the following: The Brotherhood were not always the knights guarding the royal family, before his birth the royal family was guarded by The Order, who are the reason The Brotherhood practice both swordplay and magic, as the Order are master swordsman and powerful wizards, prolific in blood magic and necromancy. When one member of The Order desired the throne for himself, he split The Order in 2. The Brotherhood worship the Gods, but in his desire and lust for power, the man struck a deal with the old gods, evil barbaric entities who require blood and death as sacrifices for their eternal power. This is Nero, a man that Lux’s father took in and treated as a brother, both being trained as knights for The Order. During the civil war, Nero attacked the Royal Palace and though he was badly defeated, he did **** Lux’s father in the battle. End chapter on this story. This chapter should be shows as Lux is uncertain of The Brotherhood and his trainer, but with the story of his father, he is conflicted. If it is true, then they are just. If it is wrong, how many more lies has he been told?
8. Show Lux becoming prolific with a blade and very intimidating magically. When he, Ciara, and his brother are sent on a mission with no trainers for the first time, Lux naturally takes charge. They track knights of The Order down to a cave, where they are tested both physically and magically. Ciara and Lux both protect brother as much as they can, though brother is able to hold his own. They manage to corner one who instead of being taken prisoner, stabbed himself in the stomach after giving an ominous warning. As Lux approaches the body, he sees on the cave wall a crude drawing of a man with the same symbol on his chest as Lux’s, holding a sword with the same symbol as Lux’s fathers, a figure resembling a large black and red dragon behind the man. Dismissing it, Lux tells Ciara and brother to not bother approaching, and the last of the knights are dead. The report back to base, and Lux informs trainer of what happened, leaving out the symbol.
9. Word carries out on base that more and more caves are being found with members of The Order, all with strange paintings on the walls. Peter speaks with the knights, explaining he has been praying and granted visions of a large scale battle. Have Ciara grab Lux’s arm at the sound of war, which Peter will notice (important for later) and in a hesitation to prepare for a battle that may or may not come, the commander of the camp demands the trainees be knighted, their proper gear be made, and to meet with the main force.
Cut from Lux to Peter alone in a church, praying to the Holy Mother begging for guidance away from the desires of his heart, and in his prayers Peter slowly realizes that he will not give up his desire for Ciara and decides to betray the Brotherhood in hopes Lux may die and he may be able to gain Ciara’s affection. Peter is seen leaving by Lux, though when questioned says he is going for more Fathers to pray and meditate on the matter.
10. Peter tracks down members of The Order, informing them that he wishes to give them valuable information, surrendering to them. Peter is taken to the leader of the knights operating in the area, and in exchange for one thing, is willing to tell The Order where The Brotherhood is, where they are going, their numbers, and anything else that will be of use. All he wants is them to make Ciara fall in love with him./ While Peter is doing this, Lux is kneeling in front of his trainer who knights him with fathers sword. (maybe do a crusader knight knighting, this is oath/this is how you remember it) When Lux is handed his father's sword, the cold metal instantly feels warm and the grip adjusts to his fingers and though it looks heavy, appears just the right weight to Lux. Lux is given armor, though when he takes his shirt off he sees the symbol on his chest glowing, same as the symbol on the sword. Trainer only says “magic is a strange thing, boy” and Lux is put into armor and finally leaves the shed a knight after only 2 months of training./back to Peter who is given a potion, told to have Ciara drink it and leave with her before they make their move. As Peter leaves, the leader barks orders to men who address him as Nero. Perhaps instead of Peter getting the potion straight from Nero, have him get it on a witch in the woods who is secretly affiliated with Nero, have to work out how she gets the information from Peter, but she could use magic to contact Nero after. Perhaps part of the agreement is Peter must turn his back on his abandoned faith and be her student and as a test of loyalty he must tell her everything he knows.
11. As The Order masses its numbers, knights of the Brotherhood are entering the giant city dedicated to The Brotherhood(Remulus? Romulus?) and Lux is in awe as he sees the a giant palace, and near it a graveyard with tombs. The tombs are the resting place of knights of The Order who gave their lives in service to the royal family, and now knights of The Brotherhood join their numbers. A newly marked grave is standing as a monument to Ciara’s trainer. The day is given to them to explore the city, and Lux/Ciara are alone together. Share a kiss. Witnessing the kiss, Peter comes from the shadows and informs them that curfew is near, and they should be heading back to the castle/as Peter watches the two make way to the castle laughing/holding hands, he heads to a monastery. He kneels before a picture of his god, praying asking to be told what to do. He knows he is a man of faith, so why are lust and desire even capable of entering his heart? He begs for pardon from sin as he sets his heart on giving Ciara the potion.
12. Now that the trainees have been knighted and the generals have been informed of Peter’s vision, prepare for war. The inhabitants of the city and many villages around are all pulled into the Castle’s walls, able bodied men and boys are given swords, women and girls find refuge in the newly emptied dungeons (all criminals hung/drafted?) Lux is witness to a battle plan, and overhears that during the last battle at the capitol city, The Order had used dragons to its aid, and though there were no confirmed sightings of dragons now, The Brotherhood should still set up catapults and bastilles on the off chance. Lux finds his brother and Ciara and informs them of what he has heard, though Peter comes and informs them that Lux must just be tired from nerves, and no one has seen a dragon in a generation. End with Ciara stopping a near brawl between the two, and Lux heading to his bed alone, and Peter now with Ciara, when a sound fills the halls. Scouts are reporting a massive army on the outskirts of the city.
13. Rain. Silence. Lux, Ciara, and his brother are among the numbers at the front gate. Rain hitting the ground. Hitting armor. Men are vomiting. Peter along with other priests are swinging burning incense between the rows of men, chanting prayers and songs of their god. Pounding. Pounding so hard that when it hits the front gate, the rain flies off the door and hits Lux’s face. Lux looks to his brother. The two nod. Lux looks into Ciara’s eyes. The two kiss. Confess love. The gate is broken open and the war begins with a thunderous roar in the sky, a dragon spewing fire on archers perched on castle walls as troops charge. Lux and the other knights hold their positions with a great clash the two armies finally meet. In screaming and fighting, Lux loses his brother, and The Brotherhood are pushed back, further and further. Lux manages to grab Ciara’s arm and the two run to a set of stairs going down to one of the dungeon entrances to warn the others that they are losing, when the dragon knocks over a giant pillar, stones hitting the two. Lux stays conscious from the first hit, and sees Peter approaching an unconscious Ciara with the potion in hand. Stuck beneath rubble, Lux watches as Peter pours it in her mouth and wakes her with a kiss. Begging Ciara for help frantically, she walks away with Peter, and as Lux cries out for his brother, more stones hit, causing him to go unconscious.
14. Lux awakens in an unfamiliar setting, on his knees. His hands shackled to the wall, his armor and sword feet in front of him, a man standing behind them. The man asks if Lux knows who he is. Looking up, Lux can see from the torches a tired face. Shaking his head, the man informs Lux, “I am Nero, commander of The Order, Captain of the Conquered Reaches, and rightful heir to the throne. And you are Lux. My nephew,” Nero smiles, touching Lux’s face. Accusing Nero of killing his father, Nero softens his eyes at Lux and stops moving. A look of sadness. “Your father's mistake is the single most regrettable accident in my life,” tells Lux more and more about his father. Informs Lux why the symbol is on his chest. Its magically bonded to the blade. It makes blood magic more powerful. Nero then informs Lux that his father had found a dragon egg just like Nero did, as Nero pulls the egg from his robes, shiney and black with streaks of scarlet. Nero offers Lux out of this cell, and he will gladly show him the ways of blood magic and make sure that Peter pays for his betrayal of the other knights. “I do not find The Brotherhoods newest members traitors, how can they betray a cause they never were offered? But how do you think we knew you were going to be there when we did? All of this has been for you, Lux.” with a wave of his hand, the shackles fall off Lux’s wrists and he falls forward. Reaching to the egg, Lux hesitates slightly, looking down and seeing his reflection in the water. With a wave of his hand, Nero projects the image of Peter kissing Ciara deeply. “That passion she gives him should be yours. I cannot create love. Only transfer it with a potion. When peter described the man who took his beloved, I should have realized. But together, I can rid the potions course and Peter will pay, Lux,” and as Lux watch Ciara enter Peter’s bed, he firmly grabs the egg, which begins to shake and crack in his hand, emerging a tiny dragon. Nero’s past: Nero will portray his story as such: He discovered that Lux’s mother is the illegitimate daughter of the queen. When Nero went to tell Lux’s father, he was stopped by the queen who attempted to have him killed, for if it was discovered that her late husband had an offspring, she would have a claim to the throne. In the ongoing fight, Nero claims he accidentally killed the queen and was discovered by Lux’s father. The fight was a misunderstanding and he was never able to tell him the truth of his soon to be (pregnant) wife. The split of The Order were those who believed Nero and those horrified at the death of the queen. Nero claims the royals betrayed him and those who followed the truth. Show a refusal to believe at first, though as his imprisonment lasts, and he goes over it again and again in his head, for weeks as Peter gets further away with Ciara, left with visions of Peter and Ciara making love, his Nero pleading with Lux’s father, and the conflict. Ambiguous if this is actually true or just indoctrination.
15. Lux’s training begins immediately. He is placed in the middle of a circle, men attacking from all directions and must fight them off with his blade and newly learned blood magic. Slicing his palm before gripping his blade, the warm metal now burns hot in Lux’s hands, and he drops the blade. Scolded with beatings and lashings, Lux learns how to embrace the pain. Magic flows through him stronger than ever as he adapts. Fire flows from his tips when before he could only manage an ember. He heals fatal wounds when before he could hardly manage a small cuts and broken bones. Lux is routinely beaten and whipped, his dragon growing and watching all the while. Weeks go by. Lux concentrates only on killing Peter and revenge. Pain, anger, and of course blood fuel blood magic to its extremes.
16. Lux’s brother is brought into a small room with other generals who managed to escape the battle of the capitol. He is questioned if he has heard from Lux, Peter, or Ciara as their bodies were never found. All the remaining forces are falling back to the capital, where a final stand will once again be made. Lux’s brother is told he may visit home one last time and must report to the capital in no more than 5 days, and his trainer will accompanying him/Lux is kneeling once again before Nero, though he feels the sword tap either shoulder as he is knighted into the brotherhood. He is given shiney armor and as he puts it on, is instructed to place his sliced palm on the opposite shoulder and watches as his blood flows into the metal, turning that arm and shoulder scarlet red. He is officially in The Order. Lux is tasked with one task to prove his loyalty. **** his stepfather and attempt to convince his mother to come swear loyalty to nero if she refuses, **** her too. If he does that, when he returns his dragon will feed on the personal sacrifice and be ready for battle, and in return Nero will make sure both Peter and Ciara are waiting for him. “It will be done, Lord Nero.” show conflict in Lux if he is truly willing to do all of this, and conflict on loyalty to Nero. The Dragons growth and power is connected to Lux’s ability in blood magic. The more anger, hate, and pain he puts into his abilities, the stronger the dragon will become.
17. Chapter starts with Lux standing outside his old house in the early hours of the morning, the sun peeking out of the mountains but being quickly covered by storm clouds. As darkness settles over the brief light illuminating the house. Lux enters the house. His stepfather enters the room hearing the door open but is grabbed by the throat.during the fighting, Lux manages to strangle his step father and throws his body to the door as his mother is running into the room. As she surveys the situation, there is a cry from the door, and Lux’s brother and trainer are standing in the door, sword in hand. Lux begins to unsheathe his sword but his mother moves between them, talking to the brothers. Lux demands to know from his trainer if what Nero said is true and that his mother is the rightful heir. Confirming Nero’s story partially, though claims that Nero attempted to blackmail the queen with the knowledge of the heir to gain more power. Lux tries to persuade his mother to join him and come be with Nero, that his father would have wanted this. When she refuses, he explains that she would not understand what he HAS to do to end this war, and when he is done the conflict will be resolved and order restored. Argument between lux and brother over oaths broken. Mother approaches Lux, touching his face tenderly speaking softly watching as her son is breaking. She offers him to leave the conflict entirely and to just live home with her, though as she turns to face Lux’s brother, Lux stabs her. Gasping she looks back to Lux, touching his face once more, “You look so much like your father in that armor” Lux , trainer and brother fight, Lux leaves his brother unconscious in the house quickly, though he kills his trainer outside, taking the bodies with him back to Nero.
18.Lux returns to the agreed upon spot to meet Nero, but is instead met by Ciara, who in his confusion and hesitation desperately tries to convince her to leave with him when out steps Peter with a staff in hand, who has now learned the magic of the old gods. When Lux raises his hand, his dragon lands behind him with a mighty roar. With a smirk, peter does the same, and a white and blue dragon lands behind him, a roar just as mighty. The dragons take to the air, circling and roaring, spitting blue and black flames at one another as Lux and Peter fight to the death. Just as Lux manages to defeat Peter after taunting and back and forth, there is a loud crash as Lux’s dragon lands on the other teeth in its neck, ripping its head off entirely. Ciara comes to her senses immediately, seeing Lux in armor of The Order standing over a wounded and ****** Peter, the blood spraying on them. Stepping toward Ciara, Lux is surprised when she steps back in fear. Allowing her to leave, Lux watches as she sprints away. The conversation between Lux and Ciara should be that of both trying to convert the other. When no understanding is made between the two, it is Lux’s love for Ciara that allows her to leave, she sprints to the horses and makes her way back to The Brotherhood. Turning back to a wounded Peter, Lux raises his sword when his eye catches sight of a faint glow on Peter’s chest. Kneeling to rip the man's shirt out of the way, Lux finds the same symbol that is on his sword and own chest. Peter is Lux’s lost twin.
Will add more, unsure how to end the first book. (Have a trilogy in mind)
Cné Aug 2018
The evening's still and quiet
and the katydids abound.
The flag is hanging listlessly
as I listen to their sound.

Desultory the summer air,
as though the world awaits,
"Something evil this way comes."
the foe is at the gates.

A feeling of impending doom
accompanies the air.
Nothing moves.
A stifling presence hovers over there.

Like a blanket, smothering
t'is much too hard to breathe.
And yet, my arms are paralyzed
and sword, I can't unsheathe.

I watch as shadows gather
in miasma up the street.
A harbinger of evil
with an odor, sickly sweet.

I feel it getting nearer
and my heart beats fast with fright.
What imagination ...
on a stifling summer night.
It’s the dog days of summer!
“CAAAAMON-CAAAMON-CAAMON-CAMON. *******. *******, YOU STUPID *******!!!!”  I slam on the brakes as the traffic light turns red, the front end of my car now parked in the middle of the intersection.  

A bunch of headlights begin to move towards me, and I rev the engine, slamming the car into reverse.   Now behind the white line, I lean back and take a few breaths.  I sound like my old man.  That nasty, fat ***** was always screaming at those useless racehorses as his soggy, limp cigar would bounce from his lips, spit landing all over the paid-in-full fakies of whatever blonde ***** was cuddled up next to him for the afternoon.  Having lost everything by the end of the day, he would always plod home and deposit his soiled, checkered pants on the laundry room floor and crawl into bed to make love to my mom.  

Ugh. I need to stop thinking about him.  I already wish I could be one of those old horses who gets shot in the head.  Today was my five-year work anniversary, and on behalf of the entire department, volcano-face Emily bestowed upon me a massive dog bone, which now sits tauntingly on my passenger seat.  As she suppressed that nasty giggle of hers and handed me the bone, the room erupted with laughter, someone shouting from the back corner, “Hey, Ed! Get it?!  You’re always like a dog with a bone!”  Maybe I should go back to work and make that ***** play fetch.

No. I’ll save that for later.  Right now I am going to go get that Philly Cheese Steak sandwich that’s been on my mind all afternoon.  That is if this light ever turns green again.  But ******* is my mouth salivating just thinking about that sandwich.  

What the hell is that?

A Ford Bronco is blazing towards the intersection, directly into oncoming traffic.  It swerves onto the shoulder, speeding past the rows of stopped cars and blasting through the red light.  The driver is leaning out the window, swinging around a sword.  He notices me staring and looks straight into my eyes, solidifying his unspoken threat by pointing his medieval weapon straight at my heart.  

Fine.  If that ******* wants a duel, I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not oblige.  I reach behind the passenger seat and grab the antique cop light that’s been gathering dust on the floor ever since I purchased it at the neighborhood thrift store.  I slap the thing on the top of my car and punch through the red light, cranking the steering wheel to make a quick u-ey.  As I gain some distance, I can just barely make out the license plate.

DR PEPR

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Dr. Pepper ignores the fact that I am only 20 feet behind him and turns up his stereo, blasting a Renaissance dance tune from hell.

I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end it by sticking that sword up that Shakespeare *******’s ***.  

Dr. Pepper slams on his brakes, the sudden jolt causing him to drop his sword.  The passengers in the back of the cab burst into a slow-motion uproar, and I take the opportunity to cut off their escape route.  Now stopped, I pull out my mocha-flavored e-cig from my front pocket and look over at my dog bone as the vapor fills the car.  I snag the bone and step outside, feeling the weight of the rawhide in my hand as I approach the truck. Not stopping to bother with the driver, I head towards the back, kicking the forgotten sword into traffic.  My clothes are bathed in red from the brake lights, and the coked-out frenzy of the Renaissance men reaches a ****** as I stand before them, looking like the devil himself.

Adrenaline is surging through me.  As I take a drag of mocha, I scan the faces of the annoying pukes in the back of the truck and locate the nastiest in the bunch sitting in the middle of his troupe, completely stiff with fear.  I look deep into his eyes and slowly exhale.  I pull one more drag as I raise the massive bone and bring it crashing down, making full contact with the left brake light.  The red shards explode into the sky, and I do not hesitate to follow up with the other break light.  Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t help but swing even harder.  

Wow - what a beautiful explosion.  

“Unsheathe thy sword!  UNSHEATHE THY SWORD!”

Dr. Pepper searches frantically for his sword as I casually approach his door. “Dr. Pepper,” I say calmly. He continues to desperately ***** around the truck, so I lean forward, “DR. PEPPER.” He turns begrudgingly to look at me.  Wanting to bid farewell to my defeated adversary, I raise my right hand into a 90 degree angle and wiggle my fingers “bye-bye” in his direction. His blood-shot, brown eyes widen, and it’s clear that he is terrified that his face will be the source of my next fireworks display.  Lucky for him my stomach growls, reminding me that my quest for a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich remains unfulfilled.

I walk away, the cherry light still flashing on top my car, so I take my bone and take a hard swing, unleashing the last set of fireworks in my perfectly-directed scene.  I get in the car, and as I start the engine, the oldies station is blaring Clarence the Frogman Henry’s song, “Ain’t Got No Home”.  It’s the best part of the song, and without hesitation I begin to tap out the rhythms on my steering wheel and sing along with Clarence in that high-pitched voice of his:

“I ain’t got no sister,
I ain’t got a brother,
I ain’t got a father,
not even a mother,
I’m a lonely boy,
I ain’t got a home.
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-­woo-woo!”
Lora Lee Dec 2018
conquer me
with your words,
for I am a poet
     of soul
my mind as open
as my spread thighs
my lotus aching
to welcome
your sword of gold
Unsheathe.
Come close.

until there is no light
between us
for inside grows
a luminance,
             ever-burning
as sharp as ghost pepper
as soothing as
spilt milk
on petalsilk skin
as nourishing as
the stillness
of secret ponds
let us spin our tongues
into lava flowers
as we call forth courage
from the sunken
mists
   of
       time
RIGAAL Aug 2010
unsheathe your ****
& swing away
slice the scars between
every leg

tears and blood
& latex rubber
get on your knees and bow
my 'lover'

-you are mine
i am i
rip and ride and
leave you dry

wipe those tears
from your face
open your mouth
as i fire away

swallow down we need not waste

(the system that we breed in is perpetuated by PHALLISCY ! CASTRATE THOSE WHO OPPRESS YOU!)
i have held with
fascination, when i was young,
  all of my toys.

a parallel universe of
  marvels. imperial is the mood
of these ecstasies!

i remember my cheap svelte revolver
  back in 1998 bought from
  the festive bazaar in the marketplace at the dreary heart of Bocaue when i was
consumed by the thought of brutal force and how swiftly, in the hands of men meant for twisting open
   the doors, welcome death
or the metallurgy of it.

i used to run off into the sunset
  toting my gun high with pride
   shunning the Sun, and the
reprise of my carousals is my mother
    soldering in her white hands
a "walis tambo" and summoning me
     homeward with a churlish grin
on my face, triumphantly ecstatic
   over my rendezvous.

now my gun has withstood the
   tatterdemalion of dog days
and in one corner i felt its
  brokenness as it yearns to
  be retired early in the peak
    of my youth. happiness wears down like a chip on the old linoleumed floor and i tinker with
  it to unsheathe the grime
  of the unspoken stucco concrete.

  i placed it in a box, my black revolver, together with the toys
   that i once laughed with
when only bliss is as simple as a juvenile love, or the easy picking
    of a santan over the fields
      where i ran off into
the viridian laughing with the verdure of the world that i once knew as something so beautiful
   and intricate.

i heard my black revolver went
   somewhere behind the macadamized wall where i dreamt of having a basketball ring nailed to.
   only i knew how to play
my revolver, and now that i am
   caught within the heaviness
  of all things that mean greater
  than all other joys,
   no other days could ever
surpass how
  i made
    a hero in myself
mighty with the tales
     that i keep.

good ole black revolver, 1998.
A poem I wrote as a tribute to the simpler forms of happiness and how unmistakably I have made a hero within myself when I was young.
Jade Aug 2019
volume i
A Portrait of My Sixth-Grade Self
___________________­

Eleven-year-old fingers
swollen with baby fat
dig into the gaudy shimmer
of turquoise eyeshadow
encased in its shattered compact.

I apply the pigment,
erratic smudges extending
from my lash line
to just below my untamed brows.

The blue powder accentuates the swirls
of my fingerprints in dizzy figure eights.

But you can't quit your own skin
like you can quit ice skating lessons.

I am in the sixth grade
when the Popular Girls
in my class tell me that,
if I want to get a boy to like me,
I have to change the way I look.

I abide by the rules of the
Unofficial Mean Girl Doctrine:

{no. 1}

I mustn't wear sweat pants,
these sloppy Old Navy rags
that I have owned for three years.

See,
denim is superior to cotton
even though it leaves
cavernous indentations
on my stomach.

Sweat pants forgive
the extra swell of your waist line.

Denim punishes you
for what you don't have,
more specifically
for what you have too much of.

I ask my mom for skinny jeans
because perhaps if I can
shrink all that I am
into this blue, unyielding fabric
I will feel thinner than I actually am.

We buy the skinny jeans from Old Navy.

{no. 2}

My signature high pony tail is
unacceptable.

I should wear my hair down,
they profess.

I am not sure if this is
because of the tufts of frizz
that loom over my scalp
like wasted dandelion seeds

(I wish... I wish... I wish...)

or if this is just a necessary ritual
in the abandonment of my girlhood.  

After I unsheathe my curls
from their rubber-band Bastille,
their trial commences.

My ringlets slither
in hostile circulations,
executing frequent detours away
from anyone who might scoff
at their animalistic bedlam.

If only I could will
my spectators to stone.

Cuz no one ever dared
**** with Medusa
and her curls.

Instead,
I settle for a flat iron.

{no. 3}

Do everything in your power to be
Beautiful
including, but not limited to,
the laws indicated above.

Yet,
despite my grandest efforts,
it is never enough.

I am never enough.

I am the Walmart Edition
of what the Popular Girls
want me to be.

With my gaudy eyeshadow and the
cheap Dollar Store bracelets
that I wear around my wrists,
plastic flowers blooming
upon threaded stems
that nip at the hair on my arms.

One day on the bus ride home,
a boy from my class tells me
I am too hairy.

"Huh?" I ask,
pretending I haven't heard him.

"Nothing," he mumbles back to me.

See,
little girls are supposed to play with
jump ropes and Barbie Dolls.

They are not supposed to
play with razors as they strip away
every misplaced hair on their body
or consult Teen Vogue
for the latest beauty hacks
like they are Gospel.

This year of 2011/2012
has been engraved  into
the historical road map
of my every insecurity.
The legend of this map,
depicted in smeared globules
of sugar cookie lipgloss,
deliver me to my destination:

self hatred.

Mascara stains the
topography of my flesh
in inky, dotted lines

I follow.

I plummet
like the eternal run
in my stockings.

One way plane ride
non-stop
never to return
from this perception of ugliness
and then--

flight


down.
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Jonathan Noble Oct 2014
We turn away from the wink and handshake with nothing said,
Flee from the decrepit, starving man as if we had no bread,
Pretend we don’t notice the beautiful girl the monster has eyed;
So unsheathe the silver sword; once again, we pierce His side.

Merchant tyrants laugh and brag and swag at suave cocktail deals,
While babies die, bombs explode, whole families look for meals;
Churches with groomed pastors naively sing and never play their part;
So unsheathe the silver sword; once again, we pierce His heart.

Where are my children, my boy and girl; do I hear their silent cries?
Does the sound rise above the nooks, crooks and preachers of lies?
Or have they been deadened already, never the chance to start?
So should their father take the sword to again pierce His heart?
Lee Janes Jan 2013
So once more he appears before my eyes,
And I am well aware he is no friend
Of mine, but a companion that I do not wish
To view; a companion that hovers around
In a reluctant mist; although never fails
To reveal his foul breath, his harsh whispers,
Together with his depressing stench of odour.
For I did not summon his deeds;
Never sought his favour; nor offered prayers
Nor burnt incense; nor gave from out
My own batch, the warm gift
Of wine to his altar; never in song
Have I praised his pale face,
His rotten black teeth; never bathed
My bare ankles, nor quenched my thirst,
In his poisoned waters. Yet he found weakness
Within a humble heart, an equally willing mind;
For he latched upon my soul, bearing
Fierce claws; and now, with his stealth clasp,
Arm in arm refuses to grant me space;
Feverously denies release.

Oh! How I do pray I could banish him
From my daily thoughts, my woeful strife;
For he seems present more recently
Than ever I can recall from drifting memory.
Be sure, he does not reside
On one of heavens branches; he would,
With all his deceit, be not allowed
To even graft upon the blissful airs
Most lowly of roots. His dulled stare,
Adamantly pierces through any desire
I have for the light ahead. A grey
Dusty cloak, that he wears draped
From his shoulders, like bitter winters
Shortened sun which shrouds the heavy leaded clouds,
And plunges the sky into deep sodden colour;
Saps any inspiration, which my dreams,
With kindness, revamp anew in sweet slumber.

My mission I do know sincerely, to be
Holy honest, is not entirely a struggle;
And shown before my sight appears
Respectively clear, is however, weighed
Toward the earth with added pressure
By his ****** presence alone. A strategy formation,
Delved from battlefields past, is a want
That seems out my grasp. Shall I
Soothe him with tender lyre strokes,
And with kind words may he leave my side
Willingly, at his own leisurely pace,
In unhurt peace? Why does he have such
Effect on me? How do I relinquish
Him from my sight? Shall I guide him
With me to fresh slopes of pastures green,
Showing his cruel appetite, the beauteous feast
Which bountiful Nature banquets? Do I
Attack him with all force at my disposal?
Unsheathe the sword? Balm protection
Around my clench fists? Do I ignore
His embrace which rivals a death-grip
Engineered from a lioness’ jaw, breathing
Smoke from her nostrils, clasping down
On her prey- unyielding, prey essential
To subdue pains that torment her hungry cubs?
Shall I believe him foe? How do I proceed?

I do realise with no barren shadow,
That he must be nursed into a corner,
Trapped, and halted, for if continuation occurs;
I fear Happiness, a fleeting sense,
Will never approach with ease, nor greet me
With a wave of her snowy hand, nor ever
Blush her lovely pout lips, and settle
Her most welcome custom, within my heart again;
And though my pathway be tedious,
Raised to the brim within a golden goblet
Of questioning; let my last task be this:
With a calm prayer to relight fading embers
From my *****. Kind souls, delicate muses,
Come to me, come to my aid,
Help relieve me of his burden.
Heap upon him glittering song,
Bow his cowardly head further down
From whence it came, and place
The dying mournful strains of the Swan within;
May dark unveil an ebbing stream
Of wondrous hue; let summer sun
Break through thick woods; may no shade
Shield me from intense light; let notes
Resound aloft upon high peaks;
May you pour nectar down my throat,
Place fragrant rich petals from perfumed flowers
On my tender tongue; and therefore,
Knelt before you, sister maids,
With submissive eyes gazing the hallowed ground
Beneath your feet; bathe me in tuneful grace
Once more; assist a humble servant,
Hear one solemn slave voice; for you
Will be praised within my lily-scented verse;
Forever will you be fed on my gentle honey-dew
Measure; if I only be granted solace
Within your flowing spring, deep
Between your sacred gardens fruitful caress.
Connor Hanratty May 2013
It never has occurred to me that people do not care.
I understand their reasoning and know it isn't fair
that no-one really wants a thing except things for one’s own,
that no-one wants to please you til you please them to the bone.
From this fact comes the heartache that we all must face sometimes,
though no one quite believes they’re not alone when anguish climbs.
There are, however, no-ones better than most ones out there,
who'll fain and fake a reason to assist and sooth despair.
It’s those who make the lonely world a worthwhile waste of age,
the ones who, when you’re insecure, give strength to turn the page.
This family, I've heard them called,
related or attained,
are those who wouldn’t be appalled
when your hands, red, were stained.
Contrariwise, some no-ones are much worse of ones than most,
they build up all your ego and they give you strength to boast.
Although you'll surely fancy them for giving such a gift,
they do so with malicious goals to set your mind adrift.
And once they’ve hooked your heart with hooks as sharp as hornets’ teeth,
they'll draw you closer with their charms and cunningly unsheathe.
It’s not a blade of iron or a blade to cut your skin,
but a blade made of desire that will pierce you from within;
a pin-point ***** that gives rise to a sudden heart-attack,
an ache inside that sets your mind and spirit far aback.
Love is how I’ve heard it said,
Unanswered, star-crossed, true;
they all exist to fill with dread
a slowly dying you.
I got the call at eleven o’clock,
‘They want you to dig a grave!’
It wasn’t such a terrible shock,
The message came by a knave.
A serving man from the House of Gull,
That mansion up on the hill,
Where Baron Downz kept his hunting hounds
And the beautiful Grace de Ville.

They often sent me a midnight call
To dig them a grave or two,
Whenever there was a duel fought,
For graves, well, that’s what I do!
I dig them deep in the dead of night
At the edge of the Forest Clare,
They pay me a hundred and fifty crowns
You wouldn’t know they were there.

For only I know the resting place
Of the Lords that fell by his sword,
Of every man that has tried his will
Each one that questioned his word.
The Baron’s known for his ****** mind
And revenge is his only skill,
He gets them drunk on his German wine
And then moves in for the ****.

He murdered the father of Grace de Ville
Then kept her there as his prize,
The night that he tried to have his will
She almost scratched out his eyes,
He keeps her bound by a silver chain
With a lock that tethers her wrist,
And swears she’ll only be free again
When her maidenhead is his.

The servants told me he paced the hall
With his patience growing thin,
He’d rage and roar when she locked the door
To prevent him getting in,
There was tumult up in the hall that night
So I knew that there may be blood,
I took my shovel and lantern out
And began to dig by the wood.

At three o’clock in the morning they
Arrived in the horse-drawn hearse,
Slid a coffin out of the back
And laid it down on the turf.
The Baron Downz rode his horse around
And peered in the empty grave,
‘A fitting place for the maidenhead
Milady’s so keen to save!’

I felt the chill running up my spine,
It raised the hairs on my neck,
Surely he couldn’t be so unkind,
But the coffin lay on the deck,
The Baron motioned them all away
And they left with the coal black hearse,
He watched me lower the coffin in
Then turned away with a curse.

‘Be sure to cover that coffin well,’
He snarled as he turned to go,
Tossed me a hundred and fifty crowns
Then ambled off, real slow.
I heard a thump in the coffin then
And my heart jumped into my throat,
A muffled whimper, down in the ground
And a scream on a rising note.

I knew my life would hang by a thread
If the Baron came back around,
But still I thought, I’d rather be dead
Than bury de Ville in the ground.
I clambered into that terrible grave
And prised off the coffin lid,
She gasped, and thanked the lord she was saved,
But then came a note of dread.

‘You play me false, you’ll pay with your life,’
The Baron stood looking down,
And then he began to unsheathe his sword,
The shovel was still in the ground,
I turned the shovel blade side up
And ****** it under his chin
We clambered out of that open grave
And swiftly tumbled him in.

I work for the Lady Grace de Ville
In her livery, red and gold,
I’ve not been asked for a single grave,
Nor ever will be, I’m told,
I take her out in the coach and four
To ride by the Forest Clare,
And run right over the Baron’s grave
Whenever we’re passing there.

David Lewis Paget
My emblem is the Lion, and I breathe
The breath of Libyan deserts o’er the land;
My sickle as a sabre I unsheathe,
And bent before me the pale harvests stand.
The lakes and rivers shrink at my command,
And there is thirst and fever in the air;
The sky is changed to brass, the earth to sand;
I am the Emperor whose name I bear.
Pallavi Jan 2019
Come out of the mirror,
Come out of the blues,
Come to the real world,
It belongs to you.
Take a deep breathe,
Unsheathe the wreath,
Beneath the barren heath,
A new life is going to meet.
Zemyachis Jul 2012
Tyger, Tyger,
            burning bright
Like a lantern in the night
Who prowls slowly in the dark
Leaving not a single mark
He growls gently in the deep
Sighs to entertain some sleep
Shape and silhouette undefined
But are doubtless in my mind
To belong to that one creature
With strip-ed face and whiskered feature
Eyes that pulse and glow untold
Simmering with melted gold
As they stare and scrutinize
From mighty haunches he does rise
His massive paws and gleaming teeth
His dark lips will soon unsheathe
Like gleaming daggers polished white
Smiling bold in deep delight
Of finding company this late hour
Some small snack soon to devour
His body tense with animation,
Tail flickering with agitation
A coiled trap that’s set to spring
With a jolt and sudden fling
He jumps and runs past in a slur
Former countenance in a blur
Sprinting round with crazed emotion
Faster he spins in frenzied motion
‘Till the Tyger seems to vanish
As if some unseen force did banish
And all that remains is golden honey
Smooth and sweet, the color sunny
I gasp at this mysterious change
A curious sight, awing and strange
I ponder, profound in meditation
Wondering of next morning’s salutation
If this is all that it will take…
To drizzle on my next pancake
02/08/11
axr Dec 2014
No, I am not fighting back any remorse
It's my soul he needs to hunt
before I collapse on the floor

She is not damaged
just a little hurt
I could live with her on any planet
or under a curse.

I can send him on a quest
to unravel my soul.
For years, I can watch his green eyes
turn to gold.
I don't sense anything sinister
Maybe for once, I can unsheathe myself
to this patient listener

Stars are strung through my soul
as I try to keep myself in the corner of my eye.
This bus maybe going downtown
but I couldn't feel any closer to heaven

Look me in the eye, won't you?
Or just give me a faint smile
Let me discover all of you
even if it takes me a lifetime
In this bus, I see only the two of us
Inch your hand closer to mine
I promise I am not a Succubus
Let me take off this veil
from my heart.
Hold it. It was beating for you anyway
If you're my true love;
we shall never part
You're no angel yet I can see your halo.
We are not trapped in the dark.
Together,we can chase rainbows.

Now that we have our hands intertwined
could the same be done for our hearts?
Believe me, it won't disturb the Ma'at.
Just two hearts beating together
connected by the truth's feather
just stay there, let green meld into brown
let me turn that frown upside down

I wait for when a second outweighs the day,
so that we'll have the wishes we hoped we may
Like dancing in the rain with fiery hearts
that connect be put out,or torn apart
An unbridled joy that forever interlocks
the fibres of our souls, as we forget of clocks.
Ma'at : Egyptian personification of Balance. Feather of truth:it was often worn by Ma'at

Aerial: Male voice.most of it is written by Frank,just a few sentences by me.
Italic: Female voice. I don't even remember who wrote what so I'll leave it to you to guess!
final part of my collab 'Solumate boulevard' with Frank! He is so sweet and talented *virtually high-fives him*
Go,stalk him! I meant go high-five him...
http://hellopoetry.com/frank-ruland/
mark john junor Feb 2014
no more than a boy trying to be a man
i once had come a crusader down from a far country
proud and strong with a sword swift and sure
wrote my name in the battles and beerhalls
but as my years travelled i began to wonder until
in the failing embers of a nights snowstorm
i came to this place to her
where i had come a crusader to this the last mystery
where i had come a warrior
set to do battle with some dire foe
only to surrender with willing hand
in the chapel of her soft face
in the sunset birthplace of all mans deepest desires
in the fragile breath she leaves upon the very air
i dare not breath lest i disturb its soft flight
she tells me of a love that had forsaken
she tells me of a land from which she has fled
her eyes a dark fire like ancient pools of magic's
her lips supple like heaven creased with tender folds
in the chapel of her tender face
i did waste away my former days
wandering in the starlight musings of her soft laugh
dazed by the intricate dance of her deep words
she romanced me into the quiet of a man forgotten of himself
laid aside my sword and took up the ploughshare
laid aside my warring nature for the robes of a gentle man
now on this far distant night
with the crisp winter eve
a deep snow leaving a heavy silence all round us
the sound comes to me from a far land
the drums of war calling all true sons to defend hearth and home
i came to this place a young man
crusader to this mysterious place
where such dark fires burn in the eyes in such beautiful women
now old i pull on my armour
and unsheathe my sword and sharpen the arrows to fly true and swift
for even the chapel of her tender face cannot undo
even this the fairest of women
cannot deny
what dark wind has laid at our door
come a crusader with his stallion and steel
come a crusader to reap the careworn and the strong
come a crusader seeking his glory in the sun
i must go out to meet him
i must stop his plunder before he reaches her
i must slay what i once had become
a crusader no-more
this marauding dark.
  a bleak behemoth ---
  the head of the chimera.

  integer by
  blind integer,
  life's
  absolute emptiness.
  a sidereal zero.
  caught in the web
  of a relentless
   tarantula.
  this
    dead end
      or this ***** in
   the armor.

  life's what you make it.
  i make it like this:
  intractable like a fiend,
  these words unsheathe like
  rusting swords in old scabbards.
  i astonish death with smallness.
Karla Mueller Apr 2013
hold on,
just for a single
moment.
minutes fly by like seconds
& you fly out of my mind like a cannonball,
puncturing my ship of dreams in
slow-motion
all the way from one side
to the other,
shattering every structured thought I've ever had,
slowly flooding the decks with memories that would've been,
that have been,
that will be.
I hear the stained glass windows of
heaven
explode as splinters of hope
fly
past my head,
threatening to rip my feathered fantasies to shreds as I adjust the brim swiftly
& unsheathe my silver offense,
forged out of
hatred,
longing,
lust;
already dripping with foreshadowed revenge.
the captain's coat hangs
heavy
on my weak shoulders
as I drag my soaked guilt to the bow,
boots
slowly sloshing
through the blood & terror on my deck.
I feel my tortured breath,
in & out,
mixed with the harsh taste of salty rejection,
hear myself shouting orders even I cannot understand
above my men's screams of hopelessness.
I turn back & look at my ship,
eyes wide,
open to the world,
like a child who still has much to learn.
yet I fear I have taught myself too much as I look back on the chaos that is the sea.
Daniel A Russ Jul 2010
Peering up from the precipice, a cyclops! – a
Many-fanged and mono-eyed beast,
Flesh a sickly sea-shell and putrid yellow as a
Series of pustules pulse rivulets of green-black blood,
Staining scarred surfaces and shadowing engorged strength.

Reaffirmed grip on haft,
I plunge the sticked-spike a shade-shy of horizontal,
Missing the mark obvious but finding purchase,
Shattering clavicle and spraying sinew in a perverse sort
Of macabre rainbow arc, yet met with instant,
Abject terror: spear now not merely stuck but gripped
By mine beholden nemesis, and he shifts, twists the
Leverage and I, trained in the art of never-surrender-never,
Have not his primitive power to resist and thus fall,
Giving way to laws of momentum – and the world shudders.

Eyes-wide as fist-eclipses-sun, a quick scramble,
Desperate-probing-reflexive grab for the half-arm length stabber,
Unsheathe, roll, aim and ******:
A scoring glance, slicing more pox and pus than
Bone or gristle, but desired effect achieved:
Nemesis rails, howling, orb clenched and pointing skyward,
Arms guarding reflexive at bloodied torso, leaving precious,
Glorious goal unguarded:
A backwards roll, leaning into the earth like Atlas,
I push, spring, and the world gleams in high-contrast
Blood-red and silvered-steel-sword as I’m propelled skyward –
Blade-and-hand acting in concert, a conductor in a symphony
Of prospective gore seeking to punish the cyclopean’s dissonance,
I plunge deep, scoring a bassonic rumble from
His jugular and cacophonic crackings as his cerebral
Column gives way to the superior song.

His shuttered eye now open as he slumps, falling to the
Ground ilke a dead god, it develops a strange sort of calm,
As if he’s hearing his own song of slaying – but that
Sizzling, that pig-eating-slop sound, that wasn’t my song –
That must be his, and awareness dawns as adrenal sets –
Blinded by blood and battle, I’d neglected to heed
The refuse of the beast’s bilious eruptions,
Blown back from the force of my blade, and now, immersed
By the nauseating, liquid-green mass, I am devoured from
Without.

I lay now, eyes alternating skies, and weep that I
Am sapped entirely of strength enough for noble suicide:
I shall die here, propped astern like a failed Atlas, a
Boneless, gibbering mash of grit, guts, and warm, soupy glory,
muted and deafened to the howlsong from above of vultures.
Ayeshah May 2010
I can't....

Can't help these feeling

consuming me as

you assume about me,

presume to understand.

Listen sweetie -


I never had a choice

I wasn't right in my thinking.

In my reasonings left us both with

unrequested guilt.

Unanswered questions , doubted,  

misguided-  non-understanding,

abandoned-  my un- abandoned disgust,

regretfully  mistaken stolen moments,

regret  deeply for not being there,

being  not there even now....


Left a ache inside

for so long-  I still cry,

I cry for myself  too though.

It hurts to loose so much

to have nothing but questions,

doubt

wondering

wonderful  bliss,  mind erased...

blissfully  -

no more thinking,

shaking crying,

blissful aint blessed when I had to forget.

don't speak or talk.. keep it in

deep inside

no one

tell no one.....

I was trapped,

taken,

thrown,


beaten & shaking.....

In my mind....

In my head- i felt no pain...

Lied to myself...  lied about you.... about me....  about "it"......  about US.

******,

*******!!!

Lying to me,  lying to you,

lying   lying    lying  

so much lying....

lying,  drowning,  dying,  lying,   crying,  lying.......

PLEASE!!!!


how can they have lied- liars lying as i laid dreaming....

demons, screaming.....

I cried, screamed, dreamed & longed for this day

Fought & still fight for this day

A day where you'd know!

Where you unsheathe that sword-

Placed-  deep in my heart, deep into my soul...

Did you know?  

Did they tell you-

who I was?  

Couldn't you of guessed?


Your eyes- my eyes


Your hand's - my hands


Your smile - my smile


Your laugh - its me!!!


I'm you

Your blood

My blood.

Didn't you notice  

didn't you see


all me in you?


I knew from the moment your face
looked deep into my face


your shape

my shape

my mirror

your mirror.

Twin yet not  - -  

Mother╰♥•♥╮ Daughter

finally:

One -  Whole

and

Together !


I Always Loved & Love You!

Dear child of mine  -

╰♥•♥╮JANNELL  ╰♥•♥╮

Always Me Ayeshah
Copyrights ©1977-2009 Ayeshah(A.K.K.C.L.N)
All rights reserved.
Mary K May 2015
The nebulas danced a twisted waltz, leaving a dusting of themselves behind after every step. White painted onto black, and then green, and purple, and all the colors of the rainbow into the sky, and the ballad wailed out its long notes as the song crescendoed into oblivion. Notes jumped up, adding brush strokes of stardust onto the azure of the absent canvas. A celestial battle was beginning, varnishing the open vault with beautifully broken carcasses and fingerprints forever to be seen. Each movement, every fractional breath, leaving a trail of stars and color and galaxies for worlds to gaze upon in wonder. Swords unsheathe and blood is finally drawn, dripping into elliptical formations, and hardening over stars. Asteroids are hurtled through the expanse in a way of symphony, in a way of ballet. The horrifying back and forth blending to something magical, creating an order from chaos, forming patterns in the dark. And suddenly the anthem comes to a ****** and stars are expanding and dissipating, leaving nothing in its place. And instead of new cruel masterpieces being added to what was once there, everything around gets pulled in, into the nothing until nothing becomes everything. The symphony swirls around in circles, adding bits of blackness between the blinding light, and soon the universe is following suit. As the closing notes ring out, the cosmos revolve and whirl and dance, they simply dance to the crestfallen fantasia as it cries out its call for help one final time.
sorta prose poetry we got going here
In the enrolling darkness
I awake to life once more
Healing after you last left
Regrowing my heart you ripped out

I see you as you are now
The happiness and life in your eyes
The joy my suffering has brought
The remains of my heart filling your empty one

No more, life is now mine to command
To appear before you, the person you made me
While celebrating my pain with your demons
You stand shocked, the thought of me horrid

I stare into your eyes
Once a portal to paradise
Neither say a word, mutter a sound
A moment conflicted with history

I unsheathe my sword
A sword meant for the death of the devil
I drive it through your rib cage,
Puncturing your lonely heart

You stare once more at me
Blood filling your lungs
I reluct to shed a tear
Not for what was, but for what wasn't

I pull my sword out
Your blood now decorating it with honor
I step over your corpse
Warmer now then it ever was

A few places forward
Lies your new lover, a newer specimen
Around him your demons praising
I walk to him, waking him purposefully

He sees me, his last sight
A ghost from a distant past
I leave him to Hela, a ritual for her
The blood angel marks his fate

The demons I slaughter
Their words not but poison
Lies that fuelled an old life
Their corpse the foundation of a new life
The conquering of all the heavens and hells would not bring back that which I've lost.
oft the blade is unsheathed
and given its nasty lead
to jab the unprotected back

with no vision to the rear
and bleeding most severe
who could do such a deed

office hypocrites
are capable of it
so called friends
imbibe in it

to your face they'll play a charade
then with no scruples
they'll unsheathe the blade
suppose words
are water and our bodies, wells—

flat on our bellies, our unsuspecting laughter supersedes their suddenness.

too late to unsay the space they occupy.
they arrive not with wind galloping
through trees.
they continually commit a nuisance
to us here in this decrepit home,
christening us with depthless sleep.

— what transpires beyond these shadowed moments unlearn the hairbreadth syntax of their perilous measures:

even the morning has no promise of May.
i say that in wide-flung hours of April when leaves begin to smoulder a cluster of red in the brindled breast of foliages, and rushed like lions to a slaughter, paring the flesh from the bone, these words unsheathe us more than the Earth shedding its skin — a dull synonym of how we are pressed against walls, our bones outstretched to breaking, ourselves displaced somewhere where the air of rescue does not wholly kiss us.

there is no image fainter than what was painted. no machinery can outlast the weight that is carried —

persisting lovelessly, a ragged meadow.
clambering ceaselessly, the warmest of bodies recoiled in melee.

suppose words
are such black-red thorns becoming petals and stems merely lovelorn, joyful to the eye
and hands are moons the bedfellows uninvited, you hiding behind shadows
    of changeless flowers:

so much the quiet way of this fate
reduced to hair-trigger.

thighed and pried lilies, dew slips frightened to a mist of trouble;
morning sleighs its brilliant face,
  such a luminous beginning to a dislimned end — far less touchingly than
a lullaby, this hot water music scaldingly
  presses on naked and whispers to them
  a new name without forgetfulness.

the weight is immense — anchored down, full of something in excess. there are doors that wish to commence oblivion, windows yearn to squint at the Earth so timidly muted in the body.

suppose your body is a home and the night subtly the wind that blows,
topples the roof-beam —

may your sleep be still and unshaken,
  your unperturbed garden slouches with a bounty of emerging flowers;
may your windows to the soul
  be always ready for birds that secretly
move in virulent strings of melody,

  something the world sings screaming
of life, something the stone of a fool
  so supple in hearing, something
the heavens hold together with the
  purest hand, something we precisely
    dream, such that we

        suppose you angels
  and us, the witnesses.
This poem was written for the victims of all kinds of abuse. Also, this piece was supposed to be read tonight at a poetry reading after being invited to read there, but then due to unfavourable circumstances, I was forced to opt out of the reading. Anyway, this was written in complete faith that words can also heal.
Silver Wolf Nov 2013
When I was younger
I used fists
Instead of words
Pummeling
Pounding
Breaking
To show how I feel
I continued this
As days
Melted into weeks
Blending into months
Years
Until I stumbled upon
The pen
The perfect conduit of expression
In my personal opinion
Refined
Polished
Not sharp
But sharper
Gliding with grace
Drawing conclusions
Imaginary lines across
Your face
Stabbing you
Not inadvertently
But injecting the truth
In a convenient little vial
Only enough
But not enough
To keep you wondering
Watching
Mesmerized
Sitting at the edge of your chair
Alert
Anticipation
Coursing through your veins
Don’t look away
You never know when
I will pull the trigger
Unsheathe my knife
And glide tainted rivers
Spelling out everything
And nothing  
The worst’s still yet to come
Who knew something so innocent
Could prove so lethal?
Arpit Jain Apr 2010
Open the windows,
Let the sunshine breath.
Sea has come to wish u morning,
With the heart warming breeze.
Wish your soul when u wake up,
Bath in the morning sun’s heat.
Open your heart once more,
Enjoy the nature’s treat.
Feel  the beauty in yourself,
Nothing is so cute and sweet.
Follow the sun As it rises,
And the distant horizons meet.
Open your arms to take the power,
Oh God has made you to lead.
Set your goals cherish your desire,
You have the strength to achieve.
Hold the sun in your palms,
Don’t be the one to retreat.
Open your eyes,
Let the success unsheathe.
You did it once you can do it again,
Trust your heart’s regime.
Sun is down to the horizon,
To have a good night’s sleep.
Open the windows,
Let the moon light breath.
Birds have come to bid good night,
With the twinkling stars as dreams.
Wish your soul before sleeping,
When you see the first of your dreams.
I seek the land of Solace.
Where the sea is blue, like my love's eyes.
It relaxes when boats sail.
Where trees are left to be.
So they product the necessity we indulge in.
And stand tall like guardians.
Where flowers conjure up a choir,
To greet the orange flaming ball that appears.
Where birds unsheathe their wings without fear.
Soaring freely as intended to.
Where blue skies dominate the land.
Clouds bring rain only to renew the land.
Where people of all kinds,
Laugh, dance, love, and enjoy life.
Where music reins supreme.

This is where I flee to.
This is where fate takes me.
I ask you my love.
Join me and forever,
Forget your woes.
Where I wish to be :)
Unsheathe the darkness from your eyes.
Begin the endless search.
Take in the pleasures you adore.
Explore into your mind.
Submerge with your thoughts and dreams.
Rampage through the nightmares and fears.
Catapult your way through the endless voids.
Remove the walls of the abyss.
Redeem your soul from which you sacrificed it to.
Watch in full force, your life.
The first of my Eternal poems :)
Jules Jun 2016
she is a child on the streets in the light of day.
dancing.
she has made a world of her own, here,
in tattered clothes and still-bright eyes.
she,
who lives in fear and smiles still—
braveheart.

this is the life she lives:
a fight for freedom even now,
a thirst for better days,
a kindness that remains.

this girl—she is a child.
and she is fury.
(beneath the worn-out dress there is a knife.
this child—she has been a fighter in so many lives.)


this lady—she reclaims her royal right.
for far too long she has been dealt too much dirt;
my child. she hurts.

generous child; sometimes I think she has been far too kind.
she has been cheated too many times.
good lady, take back all that they have taken.
I want it back; I want it back. we will take it back.

(this is a shout, a hope, a full demand.)

good lady, you deserve far more than what you have been given.
my lady, dear child,
still you smile.
my goddess,
stay bright.
unsheathe your knife;
raise your voice, speak honest words—
let battle cries be battle cries.

old heart of mine,
old heart of this land I love:
stay bright, stay bright.
we will take it back and more.
heal her.

(6/12/16. maligayang araw ng kalayaan, pilipinas.)
Rob Sandman Feb 2018
Berserker
=========

I'm a deviant heathen leaving villagers grieving.
Dilligently pillaging, killing and reaving.
Something wicked this way comes.
I herald the battle with the sound of pounding drums.
Deep tones. Hit with thigh bones ripped from foes.
Limbless, skinless. Endless woes.
Death throes of those who rose to me throne.
Now exquisite corpses frozen in repose.
I'm insane. Mansbane.
Scarlet rain. Too late you found..
..there's more to the story. I'm bound in gore and glory.
Visceral imagery, belligerent allegories.
Demon of death.
Diabolical deeds, ***** streamin', hard and wet.
Wargasm. I shudder and fall.
Into the chasm of chaos and now I'm ******' for all.
All hail the ever prevalent assailant
I wassail and tell tall tales of the violence.
Raucous ribaldry amid the misery.
Me axe cracks backs, hack it out. Now you're spineless.


Chorus 1
------
Ber-ser-ker ! A terror on the battlefield.
Come see.
Ber-ser-ker ! A maniac in the killing fields.
You don't wanna battle me.
Ber-ser-ker ! A terror on the battlefield.
That's me.
I'm a Ber-ser-ker ! A maniac in the killing fields.
Pray you don't meet me.

I've been swathed in every form of armour made,
from rags and ragtag leather-to Mail and Plate,
My Bearskin Cloak always warms my back,
til my blades unsheathe-then even Kin Stay back...
Skilled in every Weapon from Claimh Mor to Cleaver
Been called a Chief, a Thief-and a Reaver,
Fought to the top of a slippery *****,
Steamin' with Blood and intestinal rope,
Madness infectious wraps me like Mist,
me giggle tickles and Trickles through skulls til britches get ******
don't Run Son-you'll only Die Tired,
Sun-Day comes I light a Church on fire,
Step back enjoy the Pyre-eyes Dreamin,
Souls pour from Holy Spires Screamin',
Drink 'em in Flesh burning is my Oxygen,
Bathed in Blasphemy-Scars Criss Cross my Skin,
til even my Tattoo's Writhe in silent pain,
Morose til the Battle gets Close-then erase the Stain
Of a Former life-Former Son and Wife,
Hack their Names in your Skin with me Butcher Knife


Chorus 2

Ber-Ser-Ker burnin' Monks out of Round Towers,
til the Stones Bleed Gold
Ber-Ser-ker-throw the Cash to the paymaster,
I'm paid Souls,
Ber-Ser-Ker Breast fed by the Morrigan,
Lap the Blood from your Chest,
I'm a Ber-Ser-ker-the Terror of your Campfire
Born(e) on a Shield on the Field of Death!
The First Verse and Idea are from my Bandmate and sometime Berserker Jay Byrne,
the second from myself,
more to come...watch your backs!
PK Wakefield Mar 2010
unsheathe
your soul
show me
your heart

i'm gasping
for air
as i
drown
in your art
r Dec 2020
Some nights
I crack a window
to let out the stink
of darkness

unsheathe my knife
and think of carving
free my eyes

tossing them high
into a pine
so that they can see
all that isn’t going on
around me

instead I let the sharp
hard winter winds
of black starlight in

to fan the flames
of lonesome desire.
Emily Nieberding Nov 2014
We recklessly
Unsheathe our arrows,
Their tips dripping
With an elixir
Of toxic affection.

I string my bow,
Aiming for the depths
Of your heart,
Only to be pierced
Fatally
Myself
PK Wakefield Apr 2010
an i said
to this day,
"unsheathe yourself of this gray raiment and shed your glory upon my skin,"
alas
the sky's azure lips
remain in that state
we call:

silent

— The End —