Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Emma May 2019
Time prickles its victims
Death spikes out families and
Life gives no retries
Another poem for my final project for art journaling class
Emma May 2019
Itsy bitsy spider
Her heart is breaking inside her
Chandeliers turn into webbed hanging rope
Inflicting toxins that destroy hope
Eight eyes eight years two parents one parent
Stings from his death are still inherent
Restricts bruise brown skin with black lashes
Knives give out desires to mark with red slashes
Eight legs eight birthdays two paths one destiny
The memories make her head go really spinny
Poison has covered her whole shaking yet still body
And now she is set to succumb to what she has embody
Something for my final art project that I decided to upload here. For someone who doesn't like spiders, I sure make a lot of poems with them. This is self-reflective..."His death" is not referring to anything romantic, btw. Sadly referring to my dad. RIP 3/2/11 :(
  May 2019 Emma
Dominique
I know the toothless women
Who crumple on the streets
The rain bleeds through their cardboard,
The cold drips through their feet

I know the dying children
With anaesthetic arms
The angels crowd around them
With time that burns their palms

I've hugged the brainwashed gangsters
With money drenched in blood
I've heard their broken weeping
While digging up the mud

I've seen the starving faces
Of the tired girls at home
The broken, hectic psyches
That eat them to the bone

I know the burning poets
With a desperate thirst for life
The need for finding soulmates
That pierces like a knife

There's weary public servants
Who risk their lives for good
And prove compassion every day
Yet stay misunderstood

Human love is buried
Beneath the plastic weight
Of angry allegations
And a world that feeds off hate

These people may be messy,
But they're beautiful and real
With hidden dreams and secrets
And ability to feel

We have a place to run to
With lights of peach and gold
Where all the weight is lifted
And all our tales are told

We live in total freedom
So safe beneath the moon
And though it seems ambitious
Our dreams will save us soon
The night brings comfort to those who need it most
  May 2019 Emma
OpenWorldView
The canary died last spring,
but we didn’t heed the warning.
And without enough light and air
we morphed into monstrous things.
Devouring each other’s souls.
Next page