"vindicate" poems
That's not what I meant to say.
I know my words glide through your flesh like a hot knife through soft butter,
But we both know that muscle only bows to a master outside...
That demon that lies sleeping beneath a cavern of insecurity inside my skull
Pledges loyalty to only one master
And you know I don't like to talk about him.
I speak for redemption.
I can't live my life knowing that everyone knows what I am.
Vindicate me so that I can get a moment of sleep and maybe then I won't hate you so much.
Sure, I'd like to crush your teeth out of your head,
But what would that do but send you into swirling fits,
Speaking blasphemous truths through your gums, beating?
Say you forgive me.
I deserve it.
I need it and you know you need it.
Quid pro quo.
Let me hurt you so you can forgive me.
Vindicate me.
You need to forgive like I need forgiveness.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 12:31 AM UTC
stethoscope to this chest reading one of these "dubs"
as captions to italics sometimes, we lead
too patient lives, one as receptive the second as disruptive
covertly, convertedso to alleviate, vindicate
these dial tones
exchanged -so to compliment- verses in the clarity
of LP vinyl tracks
posture within degrees
to hear a “Hello?”
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 2:14 PM UTC
Indulge me, Sweet lady;
For I know no barrier, could hold me abay.
Indulge me, Kind maiden;
For I am the unfathomable edge you walk upon.
Indulge me, Shy madam;
For I will vindicate all the unjust done upon you.
Indulge me, my Fair child;
For you are my Eve to my serpent infested apple.
And for we are intwinded, twisted and molded.
together locked in a hoop, a circle never ending.
So, inlighten me, sweet lady--
Could you ever indulge me?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 11:56 AM UTC
With a sunset stormed in all the evils
A creeping temptation to abomination
A swirling appeal to haphazardness
Then came a wild night when i let things go
An ordinary aberration from a chaotic junction
An occasional stray from a lost path
An intentional overlook of unscrupulous mischief
A through misjudgment under ruthless predicaments
With a sobering dawn i found myself
A delusional justification for foreseen consequences
An unconscientious injection of fleeting remedies
A deliberate neglect for recurring failures
A self-inflicted blindness to vindicate oneself from misery
Then it is a calm morning
Though i know that it is all in the history
I cannot avoid the reappearing of the serene night
Whose other side awaits the furious storm to shatter me down yet again
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
The walls cry-out as they burn.
A tumult of roars wreathed in the crackle of blazing matter.
Which is louder?
Perspective will tell.
The one who assaults,
Or the one assaulted?
The roar, or the crackle?
The giver, or the receiver?
Pleasure in two forms, two-faced gratification.
One hand for dispensation,
One mouth for sublimation.
And do we not all sublimate?
Base impulses, rank ideas,
On the surface, vindicate?
The residue of consequence
Brusquely scrub and expiate?
Perspective will tell.
We espy hedonism, unbridled delight,
And may envy those who bathe in these muddied pools,
Focusing our most ephemeral sense on dazzling cacophony,
Ignoring the estranged husband of hedonism,
Shunning the divorcée of delight.
Which is truly louder?
Perspective will tell.
In Oscar Wilde’s Salome the moon is thus described:
“She is like a woman who is dead. She moves very slowly.”
Pandemonium in the hall, the howling of wild beasts,
But she remains “a woman who is dead,”
And “she moves very slowly.”
The divorcée of delight,
A pitiful coming-down.
The remnant of misuse,
The scarring of abuse.
One reads on a stone:
The hardly-lovéd daughter of overuse.
And the one who gazes overlong is warned:
“You look at her too much.
It is dangerous to look at people in such fashion.
Something terrible may happen.”
The walls cry-out as they burn,
And they cry in desperation.
What we see is conflagration.
The light: A brilliant exultation.
The crackle: A herald of termination.
But when ash is blown in silence,
It is dangerous to look at what remains:
Scar tissue.
Slow death.
Residue.
The head of John.
The bones of Salome.
Broken glass.
Wilted flowers.
Cracked foundation on hollow cheeks.
Red lips the stain of blood on ivory cloth.
Festering flies.
The beating of vultures’ wings.
The snoring of satiated beasts.
The stumbling home.
Apologies.
Sublimation.
Conflation.
Expiation.
…
One’s well-mannered pause until the other’s end,
So that the one may pause…
And begin again.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
The Cannibal’s dream and the inverse conclusion
Twist of the seam, sunken scattered illusion
Shouts of the spy fastened tight to the pylon
Sacrifice sweating; bygones can’t just be bygones
Mustard gas moans, whip lashed in the fire
Cunning glass masters burned alive at the pyre
Miscarriage minister delivers the sponge-bath
Alive at the eve of divination, the wrath
Blasphemous cries vindicate putrid powder
Sweet crystal cradling, swaddling sheets on the shrouder
Arcane sessions in the cavern deep
Turbulently righteous ideas to reap
Divine purification at an alchemy flame
A zenith of nostrums, bad medicine, blame
Strip off the layers and chant benediction
A hand, from the mind, reaching out for conviction
Sharp swords of lead, heavy, shifting to gold
Sentient beings search for truth to behold
Excavate, deviate, a stranger to demonstrate
Colloquial séance with panic to elevate
Head leads body, a path of insurrection
The soul and the mind at war for correction
The crotches of branches, slits of the eyes
A crevasse of lonesome; wedged in, we writhe
Anticipating the sting that comes with the change
Of transforming the cave into a mountain range
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
The knife I take down my throat
To vindicate my thoughts
Of ruinous infection,
Deceives all sensation,
All thoughts, and ceases
To exist myself,
Until the blade conceals,
And the only tell
Of even its unsheathing
Is that of the daylight
Pouring in through
Windows of which
I had forgotten,
To strike the flower
I left out alone in the open.
The scent of the previous day
Made aware though permeation
From the bottles
Left open
To fill the air
With their intention,
But lit candles
Will once again
Flush the awful realization,
As the day sheds colors
To the night,
And when the music hits,
And the temperament
Fills veins with built and bottled-up
Stresses, the candles will smell great
As the chaser takes away the sting
From the blade,
And the flower, unconcealed,
Let without any pressures
Or internal guilt,
Finally able to be myself,
If only for one more night.
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 5:42 PM UTC
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
They come prepared
For an all out war,
And they are ready
To fight tooth and nail
Until no man is left standing.
With supplies unceasing and
Weapons of mass destruction,
All of our lines of defense will fall.
We are not capable
Of withstanding the continuous onslaught,
Indisputable is their power,
Unending is their greed,
Unimaginable is their cruelty,
Unwavering is their faith
In complete and utter victory.
Inevitable is our demise,
Inapt are our defenses,
Inexperienced are our allies,
Inexorable is their march to
The beat of our doom.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Passion drives them onwards
To conquer all lands that
Dare to oppose them.
We can not hope to last
Like the Spartans at
The Battle of Thermoplyae
No matter how strongly
Our laconism inspires us.
As mankind’s future dims
And is ultimately vanquished
Before our very own eyes,
We can only hope
That our end is quick
And merciful in execution.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
As I watch the heads of
Friends and family fall,
The decapitation of hope
Is as absolute as the blood
Smeared across the castle walls.
We refused to listen as
They cited holy scripture
To vindicate the necessity
Of our annihilation.
We held strong to our faith
In eternal glory as martyrs
For our philosophies and convictions,
And they bore witness
To our determination,
But we bore witness
To their determination
Only to watch it demolish
Everything we cherished.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
I have uttered my final statement,
To forever be the last
Hoarse whisper of my existence,
“You will see the error of your ways,
And I will not repent for the sins
You claim I have committed.
I will let the all knowing
Judge and condemn you all
For the atrocities committed
By your people.”
Then my blood soaked
The soil of my Earth
As my entrails slid out of me,
And I fervently tried to
Force them back inside,
But it was all in vein.
And my final vision
Before complete oblivion
Was my still beating heart
In the hand of my enemy.
Die Zwergen Armee kam
und Wir starben.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
She was riding me with violence
Then there came this suspect silence,
Our bodies’ short alliance
Had came to a swift end.
Dismounting like a trooper,
She left me in a stupor…
To write on her computer?
I lay there in a daze!
She looked at me with eye of,
The deepest green, they’re kind of,
(you may have caused this rhyme love)
Like a gangrenous dove.
“I’ might continue later…”
I struggled not to hate her,
But it’s not her job to cater
To my seductive gait, or my deviant- like needs.
So I hatched a plan that just might,
Render my plight more trite,
And make my mind-set alright,
To continue through this day.
So I grabbed my **** with vehemence,
and pumped with such experience
that the ceiling’s coat of cream just
might vindicate my mind.
As it was dripping off the ceiling…
I began to get this feeling,
My intent had been revealing
To this cheeky penguin's view
As I looked over to guage her
reaction, I'd ought to savour,
but I was faced with a much stranger
Situation than I’d expect.
She was sitting with a smile...
The umbrella cocked awhile.
She must have seen through my quite vile,
Intentions straight away
She tilted her head slightly,
and with a wink, said quite politely -
"I guess you're done now Riley?
My plan...it worked a treat"
That’s why I like this woman,
She keeps me guessing more than,
a stockmarket versed in Russian,
or a way to end this poem.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
*When i say goodbye
Don't wait for my reawakening
Because i am already dead
My sense can't vindicate
What i am!*
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
116
I had some things that I called mine—
And God, that he called his,
Till, recently a rival Claim
Disturbed these amities.
The property, my garden,
Which having sown with care,
He claims the pretty acre,
And sends a Bailiff there.
The station of the parties
Forbids publicity,
But Justice is sublimer
Than arms, or pedigree.
I’ll institute an “Action”—
I’ll vindicate the law—
Jove! Choose your counsel—
I retain “Shaw”!
1.3k
Practically disbelieve prophetic sustenance
Pre exist convince self sacrifice austerity
Lead solitary lonely strife unravel dysfunction
Slowly impede on sanities senses spirit bend
Empath way to escape betray forgive pain
Obey Frey free from Cain disintegrate
Holy guardianship vindicate Lord Lucifer
Emancipate misused divinity behoove
Sacred energy bitterly keep on enlightened
Sorcery face El-light what immaculate forgery
Divine Sphere of influence follow through
Underworld Godspeed enchant exuded kneads
Forbidden prayers left lay Ilahi arrest turn off Sylph
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
I know it's going to be okay
But please, please, please let me be upset and angry
Please do not tell me to calm down and put out the fire inside of me
I will not stop, drop and roll because I want to get burned
Let me rage
For once let me scream at the world and blame it for everything
Let me vindicate myself this time because I'm tired of thinking
that it's all my fault
I want to be on the winning side. I want to be on my side
Let me be selfish and careless because I haven't done that in years
Let me yell and throw things
Let me explode
Because if I delay this explosion, there will be more casualties
Allow me to get hit by the shell fragments of my own anger
Let me get buried under the debris of my failures and regrets
Do not call the firemen
Don't put out my fire
Let me become ash and let me rise from it
Let me self-destruct so I can rebuild myself
I don't want to be rescued
Do not save me
Please do not save me
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
My mistakes do not vindicate your mistakes.
My wrong does not make your right.
My folly does not justify your folly.
Ad hominem all the way down.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
"Someone at school was bullying me."
Well Baha'u'llah says that God loves the sighs of the oppressed more than anything else.
"Why?"
Because it means we are being kind and not trying to take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Rather we forgive and suffer through oppression.
Thus, God will vindicate us either in this world or the next.
For Baha'u'llah also said that the paradise for the patient is the only paradise without limitation.
Thus, we sigh, we wait, we suffer.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 1:00 AM UTC
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
Defending all her reasons
Incredibly illogical
They cycle with the seasons
She’s terrified of listening to anyone who notices her crumbling psyche
That’s why it is likely
She’s in sequence, there is no real defense
I wonder if I’m right will she confess it in the present tense
I wanna know why its so impossible now
That her disorder is actually still lingering around
But when subjective absolution comes into the picture
Its hard to understand why she’d deny the scriptures
Of the cobweb concrete convex cortex
Infinite contraction of the brain mountain vortex
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
I don’t care if James Joyce forged her polygraph
I don’t care if Andy Warhol wrote her epitaph
I don’t care if there is nothing left
She’s the most complete person I have ever met
Living without undeniable evidence
Sleeping on top of mechanical pressure pins
Learning to vindicate absolute evil
I wonder how long it will take to make medicine
There is no cure for diseases like these
Only research that robs the last shred of my sanity
I could be vivid when I sell my sympathy
Argument solid I’ll sell it as therapy
Insanity, closure, illusions confuse her
A buffer for paranoid silent attackers
Sentient fiction a battle with friction
A story redundant with each new rendition
A messianic prophecy a weight upon her shoulders
She’s trying to be with someone who cannot even hold her
She treats me like I’m just another one in lin
She makes me feel like I’m wasting her time
She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases
She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
Prowess, judgment, and bravery
Solitude is a walking hope
Tours of energy, have the world savory
Delighted with peace, a rallying cry of cope?
Delivering the news
Of austerity, the tout of power
Has the future, a fusion of a worlds good
Separate me from a stir of vicinity, baring is how?
Hello since a raging storm, has the voice
A waiting hour, to search forces for voids
Of caring for a wish of simplicity, a unifying choice
To place the service of ourselves, into the light of sorts?
Gifts of love?
Seldom to venture forth, with the arms of fated curiosity
Charisma in a whole ley, of works we dote are us
But a risk of beauty to a chaste, is it virtuosity?
The cloth of voiced persuasion
Halt and eschew the truth, a weary solemnity
Just for peace's argument, is tomorrow a savior's intuition?
Just because willingness has a soul, do we know a nativity?
For the silence of creation, a secret of simplicity
Worthing itself, as a shared host, of what was might
Many and decision, any and intimation, of divine sincerity
Has the moment and the need, of a universal right...
Children grew, with the passion of inclusion...
A habit of vice, to vindicate a victory
That has the voice of dependency, a filial cause to win
The marvel of understanding what will, a patience in history
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 6:09 PM UTC
From the bottom of my heart i hate thee,
I wish you're dead so in peace may rest we. -
Like a fox perfidious you are,
my hateful sight on your face,will leave a scar.
The perfection of thy duplicity
doth not relinquishes my mind in serenity.
That mockery in voice of thine,
cannot vindicate -not even a ewer of wine.
In my eyes,you wear the gown of blame
and no God will divest from thy face the shame.
It is not placebo,this hate of mine
it will-towards you-forever shine.
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 7:06 AM UTC
The morbidity of life is exhumed
everyday of our awaking breath.
For when will this ceaseless existence
grant upon my eyes the closure,
that will vindicate that its fully proven.
Will I ever be a portrait of death,
hanging silently beyond my view.
But alas I still sense the ambiance
of every pilgrimage. This cradle
that I need to decline into oblivion.
I never asked to be exhumed from
the ruination of silence. I was embedded
beyond peace, but then entombed
within this mortal coil,
collecting more pain than ever in death.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC
He nothing common did or mean
Upon that memorable scene,
But with his keener eye
The axe’s edge did try;
Nor call’d the gods with ****** spite
To vindicate his helpless right,
But bowed his comely head
Down as upon a bed.
This was that memorable hour
Which first assur’d the forced pow’r.
So when they did design
The Capitol’s first line,
A bleeding head, where they begun,
Did fright the architects to run;
And yet in that the state
Foresaw its happy fate.
from:
An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland
by Andrew Marvell, 1651
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 7:47 AM UTC
You look sad
Your smirk is kind of displaced
It makes me feel bad
Because frowns are just such a waste
Won’t you crack a smile and open your eyes
Just once stay locked in reality
Forget about turning time counterclockwise
Is your hobby watching false normality?
I want your smile to cross this distance
Past tattered heart and pain
Break through the resistance
Let only love remain
Vindicate to me about life
Every scattered thoughts persistence
Details of all your strife
We’ll slowly break your hearts resistance
Let the air adventure through you and breath in the sun
Let me fill your glass half full
Let me disintegrate away your fear like arson
Let me push and you can pull
Live in this very moment
Allow the sky to be your ceiling and the stars to be your light
There is no judgment
Not today or tonight
And although I can’t write a simple haiku
I’m certain there is one thing I can do
I can always be there for you
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 10, 2011 at 11:22 PM UTC
Awake! this is life
Be not ungrateful for its toll
Cultivate an aura of contentment
Delve deeply for that thing they call a soul
Examine all your motives and intentions
Fling aside delusion in your path
Glimpse through tiny keyhole possibility
Harness all resistance with your wrath
Imitate great ones who came before you
Jeopard not the love within your heart
Karma cannot limit your ability to
Lacerate each falsehood all apart
Mingle with the angels out among us
Never rest until you need the sleep
Obviate the demons which cling to us
Perforate what makes you feel cheap
Querulous we walk the road to happy
Rutted as it is with mire and muck
Spare your energies and sweet entreaties
To walking ghosts who just don't give a ****
Upend all ideas that forestall you
Vindicate what you know to be true
Windmills of illusion won't enthrall you
Xcept when you opt to allow them to
Yesterday may blind us with her memory
Zelos might appreciate our idolatry
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
Sleepless nights lost to wonder,
Melancholic operettas to vindicate
the fallen.
Bury your love in words,
Silence the beating heart of boredom.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Come back on blue smoke.
Bring the eagles feather.
A cactus potion. But come back
with shrill announcement and rusted dagger
your pound of flesh awaits.
The gargoyle sits and holds your place
Come back on smokey wings.
I know you hear me in your dark and dusty hide.
Where you huddle in your iron grave.come
Vindicate your rage
Give me back my mo jo then
You turn the page.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
above the city
contemplating the ideation of love
drinkin brews on the skyline
cradling the universe in my palm
I'm not home but I am worldly
as this is mine
what I love about traveling
is that there is the option
an option to question life
that pondering on how forgiveness takes time
that resentment and irresponsibility
may not ever be forgiven
it is unfortunately untimely
that in all honesty,
not all can heal according
to ones hourglass
be patient
this world is all we get
there is not reset button
the chances- we get one
so if we question the potential of the world
why not question ourselves?
are we accountable?
have we already assumed our problems
our mistakes that vindicate who we are?
are we love?
do we use love as self defense instead of
a weapon as we wish?
how do we save each other knowing
that love is not a weakness
but the strength within us to reveal
our darkest secrets and our
lightest atonements
how do we tell the world that we want it?
and that we want the world to want us?
like, we the people
want the world wants us
like we
want the world.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC