I want to acknowledge that the topics mentioned may be triggering. This is a content warning as the following information relates to a convicted pedophile and CSA.
Words can touch and sooth the soul Words can heal others and self Words can do miracles
With the clouds in front, it’s a filthy sky.
dream from dream godly fields of life then lassitude of the shunt of death. Father listens to what I read, Noveau waves in homemade poetry; dream from dream godly fields of life then lassitude of the shunt of death. Father listens to what I read, Noveau waves in homemade poetry;
Story Once upon a time Is how stories usually begin Promising adventures In worlds unknown Even though it’s just paper Markings And ink
Poet Don reporting From the weath bureau Rain is falling up today Thought you’d like to know
asleep, the ice-fields of your memory they go into the throes of the dark ocean floor
lonely, born in the ecstasy
this root of blood;
walk away into
the forbidden, unmade road
split and wounded
On darkened peaks Whose granite walls echo The voices of my heart Joined in constant song And cascade Breaking away impermanence As the only rhythms of the night Washing across synapses branching.
Memory elides into the eyes there
(let it die) in the sloth of dreams, it is
a protest against the ice shadow
of what the fuck were we thinking under
the frail permanence of memory, this
stir dislocated into cracked lilacs red
born as species, the earth moves the rock.
There is only one week left until my poem collaboration closes. The theme concerns of freedom, how it impacts you, and what it means to you. It is a collaborative effort from the WordPress Community to create a poem all together during these trying times and social isolation.
It will end on April 29th, 2020, not accepting any submissions after April 30th, 2020 at midnight (EST).
desire sails the salt winds
in the dark sleep of eternity
within the bloodshed of the sea
Rocks lay before the last thought and solipsism; Inside a frost stillness, decaying by the tree; Forbidden—the serpent’s blood betrays the bone fingers that lay upon stone.
overripe in its practice, abandon abandon Disinherited dark mind walks alone you have nowhere else to go beyond dark shores, there’s a fog that blooms; you can’t go back
A cigarette in a dance, while you never speak
There is silence in a tribe
Scraping to kill each other slowly
Leaving, you’re leaving in the dark archipelago,
The ghost in the isthmus
Pretty little thing with your colorful petals,
I heard a storm was coming- cover up;
Don’t let them all notice the way,
the thunder causes your body to shake.
Or the way your petals snap in two,
when the heavy drops of the rain fall-
and put a damper on the cracked concrete
that you grow in