You turn the atmosphere ablaze with currents of sweet ethylene when you smile. Your beauty is multiplexed in contemplation of your multidimensional effervescence. May you always have stables of horses to service your needs. All my thoughts are lost to your graceful gaze? In your absence I am forced into finding other forms of amusement while thinking about you. I relentlessly desire cotton candy lollipops. Your layers of absinthe and torsion form concretions of hyper-alimentation. Polished rock candy comes ever to mind when thinking of you. Your reflections bring happiness that rends naked glass. Wood nymphs sprinkle your path with rose petals while you dance and prowl in the sequined moonlight with leftover cupcake sprinkles. The elves that play in the toasters wash their drum sticks in honey and sing strikingly colored anthems in perfect harmonious pleasure. Your cleverness helps me breathe without the need of oxygen. I find your eyes to be a wondrous amusement park filled with neo-plastic pleasures and turkish delights.
Poetry: yours or published.
Débuté par
Dark Lilith
, janv. 07 2010 08:00
-
Ce sujet est fermé
Retour en haut
#127
Posté 28 janvier 2010 - 02:37
Dark Lilith
-
- Members
- 7 094 messages
Apokalyptus wrote...
You turn the atmosphere ablaze with currents of sweet ethylene when you smile. Your beauty is multiplexed in contemplation of your multidimensional effervescence. May you always have stables of horses to service your needs. All my thoughts are lost to your graceful gaze? In your absence I am forced into finding other forms of amusement while thinking about you. I relentlessly desire cotton candy lollipops. Your layers of absinthe and torsion form concretions of hyper-alimentation. Polished rock candy comes ever to mind when thinking of you. Your reflections bring happiness that rends naked glass. Wood nymphs sprinkle your path with rose petals while you dance and prowl in the sequined moonlight with leftover cupcake sprinkles. The elves that play in the toasters wash their drum sticks in honey and sing strikingly colored anthems in perfect harmonious pleasure. Your cleverness helps me breathe without the need of oxygen. I find your eyes to be a wondrous amusement park filled with neo-plastic pleasures and turkish delights.
WOW,this is pure ambrosia
#129
Posté 17 mars 2010 - 11:23
theblackalchemist
-
- Members
- 17 messages
my poem...
Stained Spirits
The darkness looms on the brazen sky,
Death claws its icy hands
Even as the river passes by,
Blood stains remain on the sands.
When the devils, on this earth tread;
When all hopes are shred,
Why for a bubbled pride many a blood is shed?
Why for a matter of religious cries, many a life is bled?
For a moment's glory, nothing mattered,
Except for a mind shattered.
Ruthlessly they slayed,
Spreading Bloody Hate.
Thro' and back from Hell's gates.
Changing lives, altering fates.
Their unholy claws, scar the earth,
Their wings, hold courage's dearth.
Risen from the Blood stained dirt,
Their roots, bleed humanity's heart
And it has bled enough
The sands of time are shifting fast,
Covering our past,
And laying bare the future.
Scars created afresh
One’s that can’t be healed
Destinies created and crushed
Fates always sealed
Old Friendship’s now concealed,
By a bloody veil of mystery.
Yet, foot-steps & songs recall,
Death’s songs
That echo the Martyr’s calls.
Un-breakable bonds, long gone.
After death, forlorn
They return to the same earth
Their spirits reborn
In a land of all dearth
They Marched, through hell,
Against life,
Victims of a silenced strife.
Sowing seeds in their steps,
That Blossom into Shells,
Through which, we should break.
==========================
Wrote this poem after a terror attack,
where many faces i knew,
perished forever to unite ,
with he who made the morning dew.
Please note that this poem is under a CC Liscence,
Regards,
TBA
Stained Spirits
The darkness looms on the brazen sky,
Death claws its icy hands
Even as the river passes by,
Blood stains remain on the sands.
When the devils, on this earth tread;
When all hopes are shred,
Why for a bubbled pride many a blood is shed?
Why for a matter of religious cries, many a life is bled?
For a moment's glory, nothing mattered,
Except for a mind shattered.
Ruthlessly they slayed,
Spreading Bloody Hate.
Thro' and back from Hell's gates.
Changing lives, altering fates.
Their unholy claws, scar the earth,
Their wings, hold courage's dearth.
Risen from the Blood stained dirt,
Their roots, bleed humanity's heart
And it has bled enough
The sands of time are shifting fast,
Covering our past,
And laying bare the future.
Scars created afresh
One’s that can’t be healed
Destinies created and crushed
Fates always sealed
Old Friendship’s now concealed,
By a bloody veil of mystery.
Yet, foot-steps & songs recall,
Death’s songs
That echo the Martyr’s calls.
Un-breakable bonds, long gone.
After death, forlorn
They return to the same earth
Their spirits reborn
In a land of all dearth
They Marched, through hell,
Against life,
Victims of a silenced strife.
Sowing seeds in their steps,
That Blossom into Shells,
Through which, we should break.
==========================
Wrote this poem after a terror attack,
where many faces i knew,
perished forever to unite ,
with he who made the morning dew.
Please note that this poem is under a CC Liscence,
Regards,
TBA
Modifié par theblackalchemist, 17 mars 2010 - 02:15 .
#131
Posté 17 mars 2010 - 02:15
Panderfringe
-
- Members
- 408 messages
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I AIN'T GOT TIME TO BLEED.
Violets are blue
I AIN'T GOT TIME TO BLEED.
#132
Posté 18 mars 2010 - 07:05
theblackalchemist
-
- Members
- 17 messages
My poem depicting the victory of treason in a battle, and the aftermath which is bleak.
When two worlds collide
The dust rests on the red sand,
The wind blows through white bones,
When the river is filled with steel,
When Peace is sealed.
Darkness Revealed.
The clash of steel,
awakening scars,
Pride not healed
Treason unvieled
When Deception caused rage,
When Wars were waged
Blood awakens the aged
And voices engage
the shrill silence.
Though the gorges
Souls Sing
Battle songs that rings
Livid the barren earth,
To be made fertile.
A Spirit that weilds,
the Hand of Time
From death steals,
Bubbled pride
For a matter of Life.
A ray shone,
through the Iron heart,
The back which destines bourne,
Lay apart
Upon the Sifting sands.
A loyal limb,
Trotted around,
The baked grass,
oer' the brazen ground.
Under the Copper sky,
For a red dawn.
White flowers adore,
the Man's Head
Given not by a single soul
But by nature bred,
The tears of the stone,
Moves not the drunk.
Upon the fall of Morn'
The young vanquished
all things eternal
Through the dark mist
Over the clay annals.
Blood doth run down,
the temple of the pure
Spirits strewn
By the hands azure
As a nighted colour,
Spreads across the land.
With darkness at his strings,
Scars does he bring,
To the wretched souls,
Who have on their brows,
fear.
Fear of the dead,
fear of the breathing,
Fear of hearts bled,
Fear of minds led,
By the Master of Puppets.
Hands on the helm,
Hands on Destiny
Hands unforgiven
A new finality,
Moulded by the weak.
A lone light,
does the truth seek,
Justice withheld,
In a black shell,
Out above in the sun.
As a soul,
Leads on,
History repeats itself,
Refreshing memories long gone.
Regards,
TBA
Please note that this poem is under a CC Liscence,
When two worlds collide
The dust rests on the red sand,
The wind blows through white bones,
When the river is filled with steel,
When Peace is sealed.
Darkness Revealed.
The clash of steel,
awakening scars,
Pride not healed
Treason unvieled
When Deception caused rage,
When Wars were waged
Blood awakens the aged
And voices engage
the shrill silence.
Though the gorges
Souls Sing
Battle songs that rings
Livid the barren earth,
To be made fertile.
A Spirit that weilds,
the Hand of Time
From death steals,
Bubbled pride
For a matter of Life.
A ray shone,
through the Iron heart,
The back which destines bourne,
Lay apart
Upon the Sifting sands.
A loyal limb,
Trotted around,
The baked grass,
oer' the brazen ground.
Under the Copper sky,
For a red dawn.
White flowers adore,
the Man's Head
Given not by a single soul
But by nature bred,
The tears of the stone,
Moves not the drunk.
Upon the fall of Morn'
The young vanquished
all things eternal
Through the dark mist
Over the clay annals.
Blood doth run down,
the temple of the pure
Spirits strewn
By the hands azure
As a nighted colour,
Spreads across the land.
With darkness at his strings,
Scars does he bring,
To the wretched souls,
Who have on their brows,
fear.
Fear of the dead,
fear of the breathing,
Fear of hearts bled,
Fear of minds led,
By the Master of Puppets.
Hands on the helm,
Hands on Destiny
Hands unforgiven
A new finality,
Moulded by the weak.
A lone light,
does the truth seek,
Justice withheld,
In a black shell,
Out above in the sun.
As a soul,
Leads on,
History repeats itself,
Refreshing memories long gone.
Regards,
TBA
Please note that this poem is under a CC Liscence,
Modifié par theblackalchemist, 18 mars 2010 - 11:05 .
#134
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 03:32
Dark Lilith
-
- Members
- 7 094 messages
Self,as one,
self,as two,
shall I drop
the other shoe?
Self, as two
so hard to
find.
Gemini the twin
wrestles in my
mind.
Self, as one,
so insecure,
Self, as two
life becomes just
a blur.
Self atonement's lay
at my feet,
yet my spirit
move me to
a different beat.
Be I'm one,
or be I'm
two,
Is life meant
to be all
askew?
One is alone
and two are
one,
and yet my
life has just
begun.
Self,as one,
Self,as two
my existence has
begun anew!
self,as two,
shall I drop
the other shoe?
Self, as two
so hard to
find.
Gemini the twin
wrestles in my
mind.
Self, as one,
so insecure,
Self, as two
life becomes just
a blur.
Self atonement's lay
at my feet,
yet my spirit
move me to
a different beat.
Be I'm one,
or be I'm
two,
Is life meant
to be all
askew?
One is alone
and two are
one,
and yet my
life has just
begun.
Self,as one,
Self,as two
my existence has
begun anew!
#135
Guest_Celrath_*
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 07:29
Guest_Celrath_*
Guest_Celrath_*
-
- Guests
So far, this is what I have.
There once was a man from Nantucket
There once was a man from Nantucket
#136
Posté 19 mars 2010 - 07:31
Busomjack
-
- Members
- 4 131 messages
Poetry is boring. My blade and brawn are all I need to make my point.
