Usual Questions 2
the old places of the heart
have grown the trees of
guilt, its roots spread in my
bones
the fungus of nerves
are consuming my flesh
sad consequences now
for which i am left without choice
but take them all
slowly
i vomit them and you see
how i suffer
must you be happy by now?
how cruel too are those vines
of your revenge
choking the visions of your
eyes
green with anger
your tongues on fire
too consuming your hair
and body
who wins? the ashes on my feet?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Limitations Of The Body...
sometimes i forget that i have a body
it is only when i eat that i remember i have one
but most of the times
i am full and so i almost forget all about this body
i am feeding it with wrong things
ideas, more ideas,
i am covering it with mysteries that it cannot relate because
a body is just a body
earthly, mundane
clay,
stick, creepy
skin, hair
sunken eyes,
trembling hands
it is flesh, bones, cartilages,
and
nerves, and when all these nerves take revenge on me
i shall finally lose this body
which i welcome somehow
because i have not experienced it yet
fully
i live in the mind,
my castle is in my imagination,
and i eat nothing for the day
but words
and i drink nothing for the day but ink
and i touch nothing for the day
but keys
the body is forgotten and so are my chains,
my prisons, my
dark rooms,
my body, this fetter,
this
ball and chain that hold me
in hunger and pain and
thirst and
constant urination,
disturbing
defecation
sometimes i like to become nothing but air
so you cannot see me anymore so i can go places and be lost forever
because i am not this body,
and i do not want to be caught in here
a little longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Anger Feeds Upon Itself
Anger is a virus
That needs not even air
To propagate contagion
Whenever it is shared.
Anger can't be placed in quarantine
To contain its vicious spread
For anger feeds upon itself
And burns a flaming red.
Anger is all consuming
Anger does not desist
From destroying sensibilites
In that haze of its red mist.
poem by David Keig
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Catchfire
It's only needs a spark to catch fire
Bone dry and brittle
A dying forest
Deprived of water
Dead trees seem to blanket the
Once healthy, vibrant forest floor
Leaves and yellow grass are like a disease
Slowly consuming all that is green
Fires rage everywhere
Not here, not yet atleast
But,
It only needs a spark to catch fire
poem by Autumn Winds
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The Island That Anger Makes
because the past is rude
and always angry
at me i also learned to be
one like it
it is always the anger that
energizes me
and day by day the anger grows
and spreads to every layer of
my skin
to every nerve
to every cell of my body
i do not look in the mirror
to see my anger that burns me
it will be too
frightening
time knows
it always knows what to do with anger
somehow there is another angle to anger
something that negates it
consuming nature
it makes an island
that is sufficient upon its own resources
it has strong trees
white sandy shores
virginal in its decision for isolation
one day a visitor comes asking to stay
for a while
all it can see is the goodness of the place
the peace of its isolation
the fertility of its
suppression.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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4. Elements – Fire
The element of fire
Constructive, destructive
The bright light of fire
The slight of fire
The all consuming fire
Does not exist
In its natural form
Exists by consuming
Another form
It transforms from one
Form to another form
Fuels our passion
Leaves everything ashen
Duels the darkness
Heaves on compassion
Fire, constructively destructive
Fire, destructively constructive
Fire, living death
Fire, dying life
poem by Anand Dixit
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Fire Element
The element of fire
Constructive, destructive
The bright light of fire
The slight of fire
The all consuming fire
Does not exist
In its natural form
Exists by consuming
Another form
It transforms from one
Form to another form
Fuels our passion
Leaves everything ashen
Duels the darkness
Heaves on compassion
Fire, constructively destructive
Fire, destructively constructive
Fire, living death
Fire, dying life
poem by Ricky Baker
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This Is who I Am
Theres heart-ache where these tears come from. Attached to them a life time of hurts caused by too many hopes gone awry.
Theres heart-ache buried so deep in this heart that its hard to seperate where the heart-ache ends and anger begins.
Anger strong enough to break through any kind of heart-ache.
Anger that paralyzes the heart to stone. Making it unbreakable to any heart-ache. Making it unbreakable for those that cause that heart-ache.
coupled with that anger is regrets and self-pity.
Drowning in them but at sinful piece.
This is what i'm used to.
This is who i am.
This is what i know, understand.
This all consuming emotion that builds day-2-day behind blu eyes that smile at every joke that goes bad.
poem by Laterressa Fowler
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That Final Knowledge....
the closest to your heart
was burned, literally, the body into
ashes
from ashes to ashes you screamed against the heavens
and the heavens answered that
it could have been you
but you were spared so that your eyes can see and your ears can hear,
it will only be for a time that
you question all these and find the roots
and perhaps uproot that
tree that caused the madness of revenge
now, look at you
after burying the signals of the times
you are back
in the race of rats
the dogs howl again
and in the darkness you fly again
when the moon is full
another one suffers
from the harshness of your hands
you have forgotten
how is it to be more powerful
in patience
in the tenderness of the human heart
sooner shall the leaves of live bury you
and then perhaps you shall finally know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Anger Is One Letter Short Of Danger
Anger is fire
It burns the soul
Anger is deep sea
Drowns one to death
Anger is a storm
Blows one
Out of the world
Anger is demon
Overpowers the mind
Anger is a virus
Slowly kills a person
Anger is evil
Brings one closer to hell
Anger is madness
Makes one suffer
Anger is an enemy
Destroys one slowly
Turns friendship
Into enmity
Always remember
Anger is
One letter short of
Danger
It takes its toll
Does not spare
A single soul
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness
i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,
girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents
the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room
it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls
it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal
it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen
look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?
who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?
who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?
look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light
roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts
i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs
i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Multi-Personality Disorder
You're in the mind of a deranged person
You caused me to be estranged
Who's rotting at the core
I'm burning on fire, because you put me on a stake,
Declared me a witch
No my bones are rattling in a pit of ashes
My ashes are mistaken of a lonely whore
Who was hated by all whom came to know her
She was gaged and choked, but now i'm her
I'm crawling in the pit of flames
The smel of burning flesh is enough to make you vomit
I make you scream in horror
I degrade you as if you're a whore
You're now my sex slave for eternity
Who i've came to love
This is the saga for my life story! ! !
poem by Brandi Young
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It Is A Daily Routine
waking up
washing a face
and putting on our names
we walk straight
we see other people's eyes
we want to be
just ourselves
in the most honest way
we can
yet we are blocked
by this routine
and she tells you
do you want to tell the truth
and suffer the consequences?
dare or die,
be insignificant
make a difference
and dissolve
like the rest who like fireflies carried
the fire on their backs
one night
they burned the flowers and spread a fire on the trees
the following day
some worms got overfed and slept and then laughed
the hardest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Desire For Revenge
after the rain
the heart mellows down
like a bush
with wet leaves
drenched in the
freshness of
the atmosphere
the fire that burns
this forest
is stopped
the tongues of heat
are shut to the mouths
of enlightened
ash
the head turns to the sky
the arms opens
the fingers spread
revenge is gone
what comes again is peace
freedom from anger
the soul rests beside
the pond of
solitude
it is
because you prayed
it is not you now
but God
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melancholia
Melancholia devastates
It is just life erosion
Drains the spiritual state
Such a consuming depression.
Melancholia negates
The human will to rise
And conquer cruel Fate
Wipe wasted tears from the eyes.
Melancholia is unhealthy
Must be dealt with at the roots
And with Hope as the recovery
That births the Joy as fruit!
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Forgetting The Consequences Of Our Ignoble Actions....
sometimes we forget
about consequences
we advance with our own
motives
that satisfaction
that fire that seemingly is
consuming every
particle of our being
we become the firewood
the grass
the gasoline that must burn
itself
into nothingness
where is our gene
of Prometheus?
it must be missing for now
we advance as armies hungry
for a kill
and we kill anyone that we meet
after
making a war and
killing all
the enemies
then we kill even friends
as we are hungry
for the killing
for the killing's sake
we have forgotten us
and the incoming consequences of our
ignoble actions
what follows next is
unimaginable
it is a planet of fire
where words
do not exist.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Walking Through Fire
When you set a match to your heart
Fueling it with bitterness and doubt
Thats a blaze that once it starts
No amount of tears can put out
I know youre scared
But no ones spared
When you play with matches
Youve got me walking through fire
Youve got me walking through fire
Maybe youve been burned by lovers
Maybe youve been scarred by the pain
But baby Im not like the others
Drawing moths to a flame
Spite is like a spark
Crackling in the dark
Consuming all it catches
And youve got me walking through fire
Youve got me walking through fire to get to you
Youve got me walking through fire
(walking through fire)
Youve got me walking through fire
(walking through fire)
You can see the toll its taking
You can feel the faith its shaking
You can hear the heart its breaking now
Baby Ive burned by the fever
Ive been scorched by desire
But baby Im not your deceiver
Or your eloquent liar
Your jealous heart is tearing us apart
And turning love to ashes
When youve got me walking through fire
Youve got me walking through fire to get to you
Youve got me walking through fire
Youve got me walking through fire
Youve got me walking through fire
(walking through fire)
Youve got me walking through fire
(walking through fire)
As the flames shoot higher
Youve got me walking through fire
(walking through fire)
Walking
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Killing Love (Stream XX)
Love like gentle petals unfurls,
A tender plant killed by harsh words.
A flower that needs much nurturing
For then it will blossom, grow.
But we, we two,
Having this great gift
Did fritter it away.
Spend thrifts we were,
Misers to its needs.
Gave it no bread.
Fed it no water.
Let the weeds of indifference grow
Choking it with strangling vines.
So that it died in the desert of our neglect.
Killed it stone dead with unkind thoughts
Withered it with cold looks
That chilled and froze the heart.
Turned caresses to sharp words
And used our tongues as swords.
The passion that once burned
Tuned to hot anger.
Destroyed and consumed it.
Now it lies between us ashes.
And we both desolate,
Go our separate ways.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Passion
Oh! this passion I feel for thee
I do believe it's taken me
back to days of younger times
where love is ripe like grapes on vines,
bursting with sweetness in the sun,
waiting to be picked one by one.
Oh! this passion, it does not wane.
Sometimes it drives me quite insane.
For should it not quiet down with age?
Should I not be content to let it rage?
No! I say. It's a life all its own.
It is all consuming from whence it's grown.
Oh! ! this passion.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Inward Burning Fire
It's a dark path now - I don't know where it leads.
I only know you're not on it.
Insufficient light comes from the flame in my heart.
The fire you started.
This flame rages seeking fuel to burn and survive.
Give me some coal dust from your hair.
Just some green driftwood shavings from your eyes.
Your oaken wood hands warming mine - they're so cold now.
Better yet, an answering warmth
from the fire burning in your heart for mine.
Nothing serves to heal a dying flame as that meeting would.
But that's my fire seeking what will not be found on this path.
So, the flame turns inward to die out.
I hide the smoke.
It was always enough for you alone to know of this kindling within.
In the flame's death it must be secret still.
The fire consumes internally,
seeking out each memory hidden away.
Consuming every thought I ever had of you.
No one knows the fire's rage
until it turns to them and touches.
It will burn on inward
until it has devoured every memory, every feeling
with sustenance left in it.
It's a painful death,
but once the fire exists
it can only consume until it dies.
I know this science. I accept.
I accepted long ago.
The fire is so warm when first kindled.
Soon, I hope and fear,
only ash will be left.
The pain will be over.
I know I'll be cold but I'll rest.
As for now, while it's still burning,
I will make one vow.
I will save one tiny ember.
I will try to keep it warm and safe.
Just in case the path turns - and there you are.
And if a spark still remains within you too
this dear and dreaded fire can rise again.
Though more likely I know -
my little ember will serve only to remind me what warmth was
and burn my fingers.
poem by Meli Secret
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Song of the Pilgrims, The
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.)
What light of unremembered skies
Hast thou relumed within our eyes,
Thou whom we seek, whom we shall find? . . .
A certain odour on the wind,
Thy hidden face beyond the west,
These things have called us; on a quest
Older than any road we trod,
More endless than desire. . . .
Far God,
Sigh with thy cruel voice, that fills
The soul with longing for dim hills
And faint horizons! For there come
Grey moments of the antient dumb
Sickness of travel, when no song
Can cheer us; but the way seems long;
And one remembers. . . .
Ah! the beat
Of weary unreturning feet,
And songs of pilgrims unreturning! . . .
The fires we left are always burning
On the old shrines of home. Our kin
Have built them temples, and therein
Pray to the Gods we know; and dwell
In little houses lovable,
Being happy (we remember how!)
And peaceful even to death. . . .
O Thou,
God of all long desirous roaming,
Our hearts are sick of fruitless homing,
And crying after lost desire.
Hearten us onward! as with fire
Consuming dreams of other bliss.
The best Thou givest, giving this
Sufficient thing -- to travel still
Over the plain, beyond the hill,
Unhesitating through the shade,
Amid the silence unafraid,
Till, at some sudden turn, one sees
Against the black and muttering trees
Thine altar, wonderfully white,
Among the Forests of the Night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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