"wretchedness" poems
With eager eyes and tempting smile, I beckoned 'cross the wharf
And they returned, a sad reply, stating he must morph
into a man -in pieces then- who puts things back together
Whilst I sit here, and wait and wait, and keep on till forever.
Kingdom comes, piggies fly, time churns soft and slow
Every hour, like the other, shuffling to and fro
Mind is racing, heart is beating, must be with him soon...
He is the sun, he is the stars, he is the solstice moon.
But he is full of hatred, and angry, scary things
That I cannot behold because my covered ears will ring.
I will not hear the wretchedness that billows from his mouth
I will not be the victim of intentions headed south.
Now he’s an angel, under God, and all the better creatures
that prize the gentlest, passionate, souls who mirror all their features. They never asked, only assumed, that I would be alright
But Oh! the torture over one who turned away from light.
So here I wait, on endless shores, until they come for me
Or maybe not, really, who knows, what lies beyond the sea
The water holds the untold words of thousands who've passed on
And here I am, scribbling the script, of stories before dawn.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
There was a moment, so unexpected,
When I woke, seeking just ordinary,
Resigned to loneliness, unconnected,
Our encounter—felt imaginary.
Seeking isolation, no need for lust,
Appreciation gone, beauty no more,
Passion burned, with eyes I no longer trust,
You—a seduction I’d not known before.
Pulling back from feeling, and nakedness,
All the beauty, futile, unrequited,
Choosing instead dullness, and wretchedness,
Our spark—an extinguished soul ignited.
Recoiling, fear, cursed sexuality,
Libidinous impulses, uncontrolled,
Bare, on altars of sensuality,
You—inviting love I cannot withhold.
Kiss me, hold me, bring my love in deeper,
Forgive me, embrace me, don’t let me be still,
Touch me, and own me, and be my keeper,
Your look—I resisted, but have lost my will.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,
Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;
Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;
From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.
If Apollo should e’er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be dispos’d from your service to rove,
Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,
And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.
I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;
I court the effusions that spring from the heart,
Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.
Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:
Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;
What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?
Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;
Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.
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There we sit beneath the cherry blossom tree,
You were there, talking to me.
The silence, hearing the trees whispering.
We were spending all afternoon laughing.
I just wonder and I wanted to ask,
“Would I belong to you soon?”
“Would I ever have you?”
I wanted you to know and hear.
My heart brings off with no fear.
I wanted the way we used to be changed,
Not like how we are right now.
I wanted something more if you allow.
Talk to my eyes, do you want it too?
The voices, I heard them in my head.
Talking to myself, forgetting the road ahead.
Every way I take, it leads me back to you.
Your smiles and the way you move are my sunshine.
Being with you makes me feel better than fine.
I forgot how the rain used to cover me.
I was never meant to leave you recklessly.
Until one day, I heard through the grapevines.
I was looking and hoping for a sign.
Fright drove my heartbeat swifter than the time I trusted you.
Why was I not given a cue?
Was I asleep when you told me?
Was I wishing you dreamingly?
Was I looking forward to the future
Of you caring and embracing me back?
You loved someone you believed,
You said she is undeniably stunning...
But, you did not have a chance to know her.
I had the time of loving you, it felt great.
I wondered, “Why did you refuse?”
Still, it was just right to forget right away.
Someday, the colours would slowly fade
Into a beautiful shade of gray.
The wretchedness would be an enduring mark...
To rather let the mark be the end of the world...
Or to look up to the shining sun and restart?
Someday, I would learn to love someone better.
Someday, I would be laughing at myself and say,
“What was the real reason why I loved you?”
Cause all I can think of was your foolishness.
I could have been dumb when I had you.
I used to laugh to our one-liners before.
We were just young naive kids.
(Now, I learned.....)
I was better off giggling with myself.
I was better off being with my friends.
I used to remember that tree,
It was where we used to sit.
Do you remember it too?
I know you had forgotten.
If you ever regret, do not return.
‘Cause you might be hanging your head the next time.
But you had been right, always right.
“Let go of the beautiful memory
When we used to sit beneath the cherry blossom tree.”
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
Teach me, if thou can-forgetfulness!
Teach me how to forget thee, for I ain't
worthy of these feelings. I am undeserving of
thy love-for I can only dwell in and cherish it-
I cannot give thee yon pleasure, my love. Pleasure-
and its affectionate satisfaction-t'ose two-o but
amusements, the ones whom thou so dearly adore-
are but a sin to me, a sin so brief and beautiful
but even more ungrateful then the unblinking
foliage-into which I am unwilling to sink. Aye,
forgetfulness shall be a mercy to me. For in
such idiocy have I dreamed-dreamed of being
in thy lovely arms, absorbed in the mist of thy
charms. But I can never be so! Even dreaming
shall I be refrained from-I can never hug
thee-even in my deepest tempestuous fears.
Thou are t'at bizarre light that roam the stones
of my pernicious dreams. But Thou despiseth me-
how thou hate me, thou who shall never glance back
in my last breath, thou who but condemn me-I,
should t'is world be altered, shall still remain
thy sudden wound; I am but a flawed work of
insulting wretchedness. Then teach me-
teach me, my love, invade my heart-and grasp
my veins, rob my of my dearly, dearly affection-
for thee, yes, which was born only for thee-
and leave me loveless, just as no-one flatters me
and endorse my feelings, in t'is very loneliness.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
With wretchedness you
pluk at my heart strings
fray the bow and bend the cords
With haste you
close the clamps upon my side
With brash and anger you
slam the lid
shove me into darkness
With absence
not more then a thought shed
you leave me to rot
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
He was the brightest star the world had ever seen,
but no star can burn bright forever, although that was unforeseen.
He was a man who brought joy to all those around him,
so that he never had to show them how his life was grim.
He made them laugh until their stomachs hurt,
even though inside he was full of despair, sadness and disconcert.
Like a clown, his smile was painted on,
only when he removed it did you see the wretchedness in his deep blue eyes; that’s when it dawned
that he was a slow dying flower,
fading petal by petal and losing power
until the day he’d been poisoned enough by this ghastly world,
and he died once and for all by his own hand – that’s when the truth of his life really unfurled.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
punishment, not fit
for a velvet plaything
treated like lobotomized dogs
vast vivid wilderness of pain
will you ever see through the fog
the wretchedness I adore
in my head, eternal hell
taken for granted our prizes are mounted
the hypocrisy we deplore
punishment not fit for a mangled heart
blisters these hands twitch
to be found, all is lost to start
feel the nervous itch
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Why are people intentionally cruel and malignant?
Are they too blind to mistake their Achilles’s heel for their forte?
Or do they intentionally enjoy obliterating anything that comes their way?
Indubitably, reeling into their self-destruction and collapse as the roof caves.
Repelling any benevolence into their lives,
They will close all doors with their narrow minds.
Atrociousness will prevail and set forth unfathomable tongues of rhyme.
Seeking insatiable supremacy governing in disguise.
Clearly oblivious to the detrimental exploits they expose,
They will lead a life that is solely self-imposed.
Cultivating an environment of animosity is not astute you see,
People will always revolt and eventually be set free.
Unless you morally evolve and realize you have wronged,
You will embark on a journey that will negatively consume your soul.
It begins with your physical state, depleting with every irrational action you make.
Ultimately, deteriorating your body into an anemic vegetable state.
Reeking of insecurities through the infusion of wretchedness and despair,
your life will begin to turn inside out transforming into an eternal torment of misery and hell.
However, it's never too late to change your tyrannical direction.
It's only compassion, empathy, and altruistic love that will be your salvation.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
I remember when we were young,
and the shark fin made by falling water droplets
from the back-and-forth sway of windshield wipers
on our car window would scare you
Because you thought that the spaces we couldn’t reach
would form monsters in their crevices,
and I would laugh and roll my eyes,
like big brothers did.
And I remember how,
on nights when we would sleep over at grandma’s,
the pitter-patter of our puerile feet on hardware floors
was the only sound to be heard.
Shadows formed where the beam of my flashlight hit,
adorned with fading Spiderman stickers and the like-
and you would squeal under my whispered protests
because of the unfurling octopus limbs
that were the leaves of a potted plant.
We grew older, and so did my suspicions,
as you crept out of the realm of childish make-believe
and into a world that even when showcased in daylight was a nightmare.
Demons, from the deep fire that enflamed the world’s core
tried to penetrate the surface, according to you.
But as their hands reached forth out of the earth’s skin,
they curled in agony, the evil of the earth halting their conquest.
They fossilized and shriveled in autumn’s wake,
gray and deadened fingertips just unassuming tree branches,
the perennial reaches just fibrous spindles blurring in the sunlight.
The world held prospects despite your macabre claims,
And as we grew I distanced myself from your melancholic tune.
Trees were trees, and bore fruit at summer’s twilight
and the friends I made were all of the parts most sweet.
I was content with the woman I met, she blonde-haired and lovely
her free-falling locks sparkling gold in every light,
and her personality as rich and as glossy.
I was content with my life of looking away from spaces
where our human hands couldn’t reach,
demons out of eyesight in the beam of glass city buildings.
But as the dusk of one day segued into the dawn of another,
I grew weary,
each routine just a part of this monotonous human noise
to which I, too had voiced.
And I found myself driving one day when thunder roared in the sky,
rain once again pouring into its shark fin mold.
Your voice came into my head,
the demon hands that had had died trying to take us over with their evil
but overwhelmed by our own brand of hellish wretchedness
lined the freshly paved sidewalk,
and with a twist of the wheel one unreachable space met another.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
The man who rightly acts without coercion
Will not be grieved, can never wholly sink in wretchedness;
While the lawless criminal is forcibly dragged under
In the current of time when from the shattered mast
The elements rip down his sails.
He shouts, there is no ear to hear him
Struggling, hopeless, at the maelstrom's center.
Gods laugh at the transgressor now,
Watching him, his pride now wrecked,
Caught in desperation's shackles.
He flees the rocks in vain;
His fortunes smash on retribution's reef
And, unmourned, he is engulfed.
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LEARNING every day
i am a mystery to myself.
endless corridors that seem to never end.
my soul burns bright, thank God,
the wretchedness of my mind does too.
human yes, the love of light and dark energy.
Divine in my unholiness.
KT May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
If my world's a bakery
in an endlessly large country
you descend upon my city
we pass at the stale loaves
eyelashes flutter, aghast
like I'm an insect assailing your glasses
I watch you smile or grimace
Run your tongue, checking for guilt stuck in your teeth
"Oh! Hhey!!"
Your voice surprises us both
it is the same timbre in which I render
words more decadent than your courage
to spit at my living person
when it stands all but 5'6 and breathing in front of you
washing up bottle messaged on the beaches of my awareness
***** jezebel, ******
-her-
See, I've been receiving your cookies
in brown paper parcels
Little birds didn't want me to miss out on the flavor
I see you, small creature
how quickly you frost your hate
with buttercream icing, your loathing is cake
you devour and feed to anyone who'll taste
You have laid your field fallow
and let me assume disgrace
I want to tell you you're wrong
I want to push you with my mind
I want to throw sprinkles at you
I see you, small creature
with scrunched up fists
and I taste your poison
like grand marnier
it spoils everything
The recipe was followed rule for rule
The souffle rose
***** though you may
I'd almost rather hug you
if it would squeeze out your wretchedness
a flouncing whirl cupcake summit
so we could be tin-pan square
and may our pastry never mix again.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
Oh, shrill lark, just breathe. You rage too well.
Seek no comfort in wretchedness.
Renounce the gossamer moon, curse starlight
with a breathless voice - if you must - but let love be.
As the saddest tale fades after telling,
undistinguishable kisses fade like dewdrops.
Seasons alter, you will love again and love better
laughing unabashed, at the memory of this gentle injury.
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 10:09 PM UTC
It all began with Love.
Love beheld our frame;
He looked upon our wretchedness and saw beauty.
He looked upon the hatred in our hearts,
And saw Love.
Said Love, "I will shower my affection upon my beloved";
Then Love gave
His most treasured possession
—His only Son.
So Love humbled Himself;
He minded not the frailty of our frame,
Nor the vainness of our nature.
But He robed Himself in flesh,
And came.
Love sent not an angel,
No, not even a cherub or seraph did He delegate.
He sent the best resource there ever was;
He came Himself.
Then Love took our hurt,
suffered our pain,
experienced our rejection,
endured our death on the Cross,
and paid for our sins.
So Love repaired the breach,
and atoned for our misdeeds;
Himself the Sacrifice,
and Himself the Priest.
Love broke our chains,
that we may experience the Father's Love
—undying, unbridled, and unrestrained.
Then Love returned in the Person of the Holy Spirit;
and Love stayed.
Love taught,
and Love played.
Love sought,
and Love found;
Here is Love
— Love Unbound.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
This is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
No music nor rhythm
But of images
Of farmers exultant
Though they break their backs,
Or their bones creak,
With every slash of their sickles,
The heavy strokes
Wounding light in the fiery heat of noon,
The gaunt-faced sons of earth,
Bringing home harvests of gold
To the people's granary,
Where no greedy landlords are in sight.
For centuries, the land robbers
Had squeezed their souls dry
In constant toil.
It may be that their time is up.
But this is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
But of history
Of workers milling around a lingering twilight.
Pounding their hammers with their might,
Ecstatic at the thought of freedom,
Yet battling still, long dreaded ills
Of feudal ******* barratry,
Imperialism
Storing up for the people’s cause,
Building a new commune in the new place
Freed from the landlord-minded President
From the imperialist ogres
Of IMF-World Bank and Uncle Sam,
The warmongers,
From oppression
And poverty and wretchedness
That, like a python, had wound
Around them to the end.
But this is no love poem
No love, no art work, no poem
No fictive tale but of radiant truth.
As throngs of men
And women march
Out of their homes
With new-found hope,
Gathering strength
As from a blasting storm,
Defiant now of lying saints or heroes
Or of murderer Presidents
Who speak with forked tongues,
As the throng march out into the streets
Flooding the cities,
Ready to offer their lives for freedom
To them would come such happiness,
Such love
No poem would express,
No art suffice to render.
This is no love poem
No piece of art, no song
Only a sense
Of how it is to tell of battles won,
Of folding in to feel the surge of triumph
Though brief perhaps,
Within this flashpoint moment
Of the people's war.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
Hers were the beautiful blue eyes and the black long hair,
She watched her blood dropp freezing to burn in the air.
Her pale lips were keeping the mark of her love's glow,
She wanted a child having the skin as white as the snow,
The hair as black as ebony and the lips as red as the blood.
That red on that white looked as beautiful as a flower bud.
She was sewing and watching the ebony of her window's frame.
An angel became visible in the air to tell her the child's name.
''Light up this love, my Lord, and give me this child of light
Unbearable is this pain of mine, light up my soul and my sight.''
Coming up the stairs, the king saw this and he told his queen,
'This white angel is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen! ''
The queen's heart used to be like a little book being unread,
But in front of her husband, it has become an open thread.
He tenderly kissed her, ''Your broken heart is no longer dead,
Because for Snow White on the snow your secret has bled.''
When she gave birth to her child, the sun rose to be so bright
And everything in the castle could be seen in the holy light,
But when the king came to see them, he heard only the sighs.
When he saw his dead queen, sad tears flooded his black eyes.
While he was living with his child being a lonely sad father,
The king thought to bring to little Snow White a new mother.
''Light up this life, my Lord, because I have only fears and sighs,
Change my fate, because I need a new morn in my sad eyes! ''
He married again, but the queen's heart was mercilessly beating.
She was like a dangerous snake and poisoned was her greeting.
Her sarcastic lips were always keeping the mark of her hatred,
Her powers were hidden, because for her the devil was sacred.
She kept her frozen air, although the snow was melting in Spring,
Her words could remain suspended in the air to freeze everything.
‘'Mirror, dear Mirror on the wall, who in this land is fairest of all?
‘'You, my queen, are fairest of all'', echoed the mirror in the hall.
The Snow White grew up becoming more beautiful than the queen,
The king told her, 'You're the most beautiful child I have ever seen! ''
When the mirror told the queen, ‘'You, my queen, are fair; it is true.
She added, ''Little Snow-White is still a thousand times fairer than you.''
The king started seriously to think of the passion they had known
‘Cause the queen's self-satisfaction and insensibility have grown.
He realized that it's a wretchedness to continue sharing their bed.
He wanted to open a dialog with her, but the words left all unsaid.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
I write this not from a lofty place of judgement or from frantic paranoia, but instead I would much rather you learn from any and all of my mistakes before subjecting yourself to future pain.
First and most importantly: you are lovable, you are loved, and you are truly worthy of love and appreciation. This is a resolute fact, an immutable truth that you have absolutely no chance of changing. Remember this in your darkest moments- just because you may feel “less than” your normal self does not mean that you have lost your self worth. If you learn anything from me, please let this one thing be it.
Second, and more lengthy: as well-adjusted as I may come off, know that I have these horrid insecurities and vices about me that I have the hardest time shaking off, even on my best days. I have spent most of my life wondering if I would ever find love, because people keep telling me that you need to first love yourself in order to love someone else; there have been days where I truly don’t love myself. However, I think there’s something to be said about feeling love for someone else amidst all of this wretchedness- I give my love unabashedly, with an earnest conviction that I think comes from knowing what feeling lonely truly means, and never wishing that feeling upon someone else.
Love is something I have fallen into and am currently falling out of, it is something that has kept me up for hours at night but kept me in bed long after the sun has risen; it has brought me to my knees and it once had lifted me up. Love has grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me if I was worth anything- knowing that I would never answer affirmatively. Love has made me sing and scream the loudest my lungs could possibly take, and it has rendered me silent for days at a time. It has fogged my vision and my mind and left me bereft of any sense of clarity. I have lived my longest seconds and my shortest days when in love.
Loving someone can truly be terrifying- you will never be quite so unmade and disassembled as you are when in love. You will have handed someone the pieces of yourself and know that they could very easily unravel the threads of your being you have so tediously strung together; take comfort in the fact that they could very well hold your pieces together when you feel strung out.
*Signed without wax,
Someone Whose Heart
Is Learning To Hope Again*
P.S. I urge you to be careful, and to be safe. There is not a world in which you can have done something and I will not be there to support you unconditionally. I will be here in your corner, ready to listen to your story, ready to congratulate or to console, ready to remind you of your worth.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
There we sit beneath the cherry blossom tree,
You were there, talking to me.
The silence, hearing the trees whispering.
We were spending all afternoon laughing.
I just wonder and I wanted to ask,
“Would I belong to you soon?”
“Would I ever have you?”
I wanted you to know and hear.
My heart brings off with no fear.
I wanted the way we used to be changed,
Not like how we are right now.
I wanted something more if you allow.
Talk to my eyes, do you want it too?
The voices, I heard them in my head.
Talking to myself, forgetting the road ahead.
Every way I take, it leads me back to you.
Your smiles and the way you move are my sunshine.
Being with you makes me feel better than fine.
I forgot how the rain used to cover me.
I was never meant to leave you recklessly.
Until one day, I heard through the grapevines.
I was looking and hoping for a sign.
Fright drove my heartbeat swifter than the time I trusted you.
Why was I not given a cue?
Was I asleep when you told me?
Was I wishing you dreamingly?
Was I looking forward to the future
Of you caring and embracing me back?
You loved someone you believed,
You said she is undeniably stunning...
But, you did not have a chance to know her.
I had the time of loving you, it felt great.
I wondered, “Why did you refuse?”
Still, it was just right to forget right away.
Someday, the colours would slowly fade
Into a beautiful shade of gray.
The wretchedness would be an enduring mark...
To rather let the mark be the end of the world...
Or to look up to the shining sun and restart?
Someday, I would learn to love someone better.
Someday, I would be laughing at myself and say,
“What was the real reason why I loved you?”
Cause all I can think of was your foolishness.
I could have been dumb when I had you.
I used to laugh to our one-liners before.
We were just young naive kids.
(Now, I learned.....)
I was better off giggling with myself.
I was better off being with my friends.
I used to remember that tree,
It was where we used to sit.
Do you remember it too?
I know you had forgotten.
If you ever regret, do not return.
‘Cause you might be hanging your head the next time.
But you had been right, always right.
“Let go of the beautiful memory
When we used to sit beneath the cherry blossom tree.”
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
THIS IS GOING TO BE A WORK COMPOSED BY ALL OF US. POETRY CAN BRING US TOGETHER. Comment the next lyric and I will post it with your name in parentheses.
Here I sit in this bitter cold(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into existence and dawn shall be upon us soon. (aesha nisar)
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
There she plays in a twisted mind
bombarded with such torturous remarks, and a dark witty retort
don't fall victim to the spoon
once again observe the phoenix taking flight (L.K.)
Here I sit in the bitter cold,
Watching the sunshine fold,
Down beyond the horizon,
Along with it's shimmering gold(Arlen)
were I wept no one knows
Beautiful sunset pink, and yellow
even in the bitter cold
light shines in the darkest soul (L.K.)
for this is the place to be? I'm told
Shall I add a line, should I be so bold?
Or just sit here alone in the bitter cold(Terence James Potter)
alone in the bitter cold (L.K.)
There she plays in a twisted mind(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into(aesha nisar)
broken womb destined to the tomb
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
As the paint peels off the moss ridden eaves
Watching The violent clouds sailing by(Nirali Shah)
just like the passing of the autumn leaves
moving your puppet strings, so sly(L.K.)
I'm not sure what to fill so I'll sit by this window sill(Chimera)
looking at the ****** of crows, and their fresh ****
sitting here solemn, and every so very still
do what thou wilt, let that be your will(L.K)
And the daylight still creeps coldly across the floor(Evelyn Ash)
wretched images of decaying bodies there like zombies
laying on cold steal floors, what is human anymore
even in the wretchedness I will endure (L.K.)
writing words on someone's soul(Cristina)
The one who stole mine, I've been told(Michael Wysocki)
I put my own name in parentheses(Joshua Amos Graff / J.M.G.)
so no one truly knows me(L.K.)
dysfunctional pull grasping the life out of me(patty m)
as I am chocking, hoping I begin to breath(L.K.)
with coffee stained teeth chattering and frosted skin vibrating( J.M.G)
I can't understand what you prophets are saying(L.K.)
Remembering the past of a life untold(Brandon K Stephenson)
Watching darkness as it takes a hold(L.K.)
This darkness has got a hold of me(Jaishree Kumar)
Remember that life will set you free(L.K.)
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:59 AM UTC
Trees and the menace of night;
Then a long, lonely, leaden mere
Backed by a desolate fell,
As by a spectral battlement; and then,
Low-brooding, interpenetrating all,
A vast, gray, listless, inexpressive sky,
So beggared, so incredibly bereft
Of starlight and the song of racing worlds,
It might have bellied down upon the Void
Where as in terror Light was beginning to be.
Hist! In the trees fulfilled of night
(Night and the wretchedness of the sky)
Is it the hurry of the rain?
Or the noise of a drive of the Dead,
Streaming before the irresistible Will
Through the strange dusk of this, the Debateable Land
Between their place and ours?
Like the forgetfulness
Of the work-a-day world made visible,
A mist falls from the melancholy sky.
A messenger from some lost and loving soul,
Hopeless, far wandered, dazed
Here in the provinces of life,
A great white moth fades miserably past.
Thro' the trees in the strange dead night,
Under the vast dead sky,
Forgetting and forgot, a drift of Dead
Sets to the mystic mere, the phantom fell,
And the unimagined vastitudes beyond.
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On this soil where grows struggle, I hawk my sweat,
Investing my sufferings on the stench of wretchedness;
Can these green leaves bring me beacons of wealth?
I'd build my hope on the ants and termites from this train,
Its train track attracts multitude of bees with honey;
Aside this soil full of thorns, I've no other place to hawk my sweat.
Is there any hope for hope, when I am stripped of my gain by tax locusts?
All my hope is invested in the honey of bees who buy my sweat,
I fear not the tempting sun, for her smiles has become my hope;
But how can I survive the scorching economy, when I barely earn?
Even the spot on which I tread my sweat, is become an empty sea,
Aside this spot where the rain molests me, I've no hope of survival.
Beside this rusty train, where hunger steals the day, I hawk my sweat,
If I don't pressure my struggles, how can I survive the rainy days?
The sun feasts on me, cause I made her the hope of my gain,
No matter how hard I am molested, I'll never give up on my hope;
Though I hawk my sweat for living, I'll never forget my dreams,
Aside this raggy soil, where suffering is bred, I've no hope of survival.
Can I really continue hoping on hope, for not even my profit is fair,
The bees who bred honey on my sweat are now richly penniless;
Is there still hope left, as I tirelessly tread my hawking sweat?
The burden of life rests on my shoulders, for I must struggle to live,
Despite all my investment in suffering, I still can't save a penny;
Aside this soil, where I hawk my cheap sweat, I've no hope of living.
On this hardened soil where hardship is sweet, I hawk my sweat,
If I invest in my thoughts of trashing my retired cheap items,
How then will I survive the night when hungers knocks at my door?
Though I'm hawking my sweat, but I can't even feed my mouth,
Despite all my investment in suffering, I still can barely survive,
Is there still hope for me, as I solely depend on hawking my sweat?
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
Carried by the noxious scent of unbridled wretchedness,
The thoughts of the masses corrode, upon impact, the ill-prepared,
Summoning the martyrdom of a thousand misguided sheep.
Inside that womb of madness, the absolutes rule,
And the governing law is Us vs Them.
Enlightenment unravels ... piece by ethereal piece,
And the true victims emerge as civility and patience.
In a moment of revelation, laws become clear,
As we meek and meager exchange freedom for protection.
A hive-mind of revolutionaries under the influence, perhaps.
And I can only wonder ...
Where is the queen amid these hapless drones?
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 9:32 AM UTC