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neth jones Mar 27
solve  like ashes                                                  
the moisture  from the living world surround
watching  the days go dry          
               barren witches  upon the season
22/03/25 [notes :earliest versions
Untitled 06/03/25//i resolve like ashes /the moisture from the living world surround
Untitled05/03/25//watching the days go dry /witches on the season /barren]
Karma Sep 2024
The Raven flies,
But just to die,
For the children that it bears,
Bit of the hand that fed them
In a land bereft claimed fair.
A world where god bids all to live
When they say “If we dare”.
A place where all that was is not,
Yet The Raven does not care.

The Raven, dead,
Its children fed,
Its life, long forgotten.
Covered in red,
They laid their heads,
Leftovers, ever rotten.
With its soul fled,
The life it lead,
Its memory now shotten,
The land it left ignored its death,
And upon it grew soft cotton.
Jeremy Betts Jan 2024
This psychosis is flaring up again, most notably with the upper hand
Time after time and once again I find no rhyme or reason
That thought process, seemingly by design, is unfathomably barren
Scared of the transformation I know has already left the station
That's it there, right over yonder, comin' 'round the bend
Resistance is futile, it's a lesson in repetition to keep runnin' with no traction
No huntin' license needed for this "only fools rush in" expedition
The lethal weapon method preferred over the non-lethal stun gun option
As I set up and execute my own personal character assassination
And blame it on what's always been a continuous open season on who I am as a person
Stating it was the residents in my cranium livin' rent free from conception
Leaving out the moment I stepped in and fast forwarded this ****** Doo-Benny Hill situation to the end
You can still see the evidence of the all out mutiny and treason from within
Venomous hospitality, venomous quips, blue lips the reaction to the poison
The exact one found on the jagged edge of the rusty iron driven into broken skin
Just an oh to familiar back stabbing incident, another rerun
A web can be spun but I'm the only common thread...

©2024
My Dear Poet Jan 2024
side by side

           we sit

as far as the east is from the northern sky

we dodge eyes between the distance

          and us

the faded voices climbing hills

turn into the silhouettes of hope

and the holy laughter

of dying

       children
I can’t believe we take sides, on either side of death
Sudzedrebel Jan 2021
i have atom bomb dreams
from the desert
mushroom clouds billowing
the shockwave blow past cacti
and down dirt roads
from the cockpit of a b-29
leveling the ground below
already comprised of craters
as we pummel the earth
we become a might to match the gods
"If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendour of the mighty one” Oppenheimer
Void Sep 2020
This pain
In my chest

Aching
Yearning

Just a spark
Of emotion

In a second,
It'll pass

Before it all
Goes black
Ayesha Jul 2020
I don't remember coming in
my cotton armor melts in the corner
I sit, my arms devouring my bent legs.
my knees embracing my cheeks
I stare, drop after drop running over the tiles
I think of bullets, invincibly unstoppable.
I feel, splash after splash stab my back
I think of bombs, hopelessly inescapable.
But it doesn't matter what I think.

My lashes meet the floor of my eyes,
weighted down by the battle in my skull.
Wish I could say I see dark but I only see a void;
colourless, lifeless clouds over a barren soil-
a few glimpses of my energetic blood vessels.
My shaking fingers curl under my palms,
skin imblankets my jagged nails
I imagine my back splitting asunder,
the blushing water vanishing down the drain
I imagine the cage of my ribs tearing up
with the strain of my sqeezing lungs-
heart leaping out, swriling and whirling with the streams
spiriling down a tight eternal abyss-

I don't remember giving in.
my light dreams wash away with the dandelions
I sit, my naked shivering, trembling body
under a thousand layers of clothes
I stare, day after day running away
I think of incinerating masses of uncountable bodies
I feel, thought after thought piling up
I think of graves feeding in on bygone beings.
But it doesn't matter what I think.

My skin gets clumsy and tired,
The bullets get cold and slow, giving in
Wish I could say I get up, dress up & walk out
this prizon shell that I now call my home-
holding me in, it reads my brain, suffocates my lungs
like a vulture it guards the small of my self.
I sit, I stare at my closed lids, I hear the water
the breathing of something alive and still.
I bolt all my muscles shut, tie up my nerves
-Not a hair dares stir, not a vein speaks
not a tear makes out alive, not a whimper lives.

I don't remember going out,
a part of me turns off the shower,
soaks up the towel, puts on a skin
and walks out the door, breathing.

I part of me never does.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Tillage
by Michael R. Burch

What stirs within me
is no great welling
straining to flood forth,
but an emptiness
waiting to be filled.

I am not an orchard
ready to be harvested,
but a field
rough and barren
waiting to be tilled.

Keywords/Tags: tillage, raw, potential, barren, field, tabula rasa, blank slate, palimpsest
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