Decayed Century
One by one kites were alighting on the roof top.
Door were banging and a smell was rising
like the anger of a house.
It was sobbing morning in frenzy
before the sunrise, when every instrument
was asleep and god was shut in the shrine.
Splinters had pierced the innocent chests
and blood ran on the stones.
A beautiful day for the suicide bomber.
Pain wore an illuminated crown.
On tower of violence and brutal death
birds are waiting for a feast of tender flesh
from the shattered limbs.
Quietly rises the sun on a decayed century.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lazarus Heart
He looked beneath his shirt today
There was a wound in his flesh so deep and wide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
He turned around to face his mother
To show her the wound in his breast that burned like a brand
But the sword that cut him open
Was the sword in his mothers hand
Every day another miracle
Only death will tear us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Though the sword was his protection
The wound itself would give him power
The power to remake himself at the time of his darkest hour
She said the wound would give him courage and pain
The kind of pain that you cant hide
From the wound a lovely flower grew
From somewhere deep inside
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Ive no stones that chase them away
Birds on the roof of my mothers house
Will sit on my roof some day
They fly at the window, they fly at the door
Where does she get the strength to fight them anymore
She counts all her children as a shield against the pain
Lifts her eyes to the sky like a flower in the rain
Every day another miracle
Only death will keep us apart
To sacrifice a life for yours
Id be the blood of the lazarus heart
The blood of the lazarus heart
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Mothers
Israeli and Palestine conflict
Prostrate with grief
Rachel weeps for a dead son
Killed by a suicide bomber.
Prostrate with grief
Sarah weeps for a dead son -the suicide bomber
Who believed blood would set his people free.
Blood begets blood
Reprisal follows reprisal.
And there is no honour in death
Only tears of mothers for dead children.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For The Sunrise
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can take your hand and stroll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go on the streets and see the people smile.
Give me your hand,
So I could tell you that things will be alright.
The rooms still dark,
But it wont be so long,
And I can take you outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the park and roll about.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So we can go to the docks and watch the boats go by.
Come on, love, give me your hand,
And things will be alright.
The rooms still cold,
But it wont be so long,
That we can go outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I could see your hair shining in the air.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
So I can see the sky reflected in your eyes.
Come on, love, dont be depressed,
Things will be alright.
The rooms too low,
But it wont be so long,
That we can be outside.
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise,
Waiting for the sunrise.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When They Call You, You Must Go
do not refuse a chance to be a hero,
so on this day,
or tonight, when they call your name
go,
do not tarry, be ready with the raincoat
and the flashlight
you just do not know what happens next
they will take you to the place
a house on the side of the forest
at the foot of the mountain
there is no fire there
no smoke
nothing is cooked for supper
there is a bleeding man
and he is groaning in pain
and they open the door and you enter
with your black leather bag
and they call you
doctor
there is no ideology here
nothing to talk about
and you begin to take away the bullet
that pierced his strong flesh in the arm
and on his belly
there is no anesthesia and so you put
a red cloth on his mouth
until he faints and then there is silence
no song for the dead even
you cannot sleep over this calling
until you find light
penetrating the holes of the roof
it is already morning
and they all left and you do not know
where they are going
a child with sharp eyes calls your name again
he lead you to the exit point
back to your
old house in the subdivision where you live
where your wife is waiting
your breakfast is ready, your coffee cold.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Bliss
Death is in the flower's heart –
Why to cry for life of any petal?
Death in purple ink of weary pens
Betrays the written yearnings
On her scented paper.
Death is laughing in her cry;
Her broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve.
Death ignores the plight of any purity –
He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of
What her dewy eye desires,
For Death beckoned:
'Embrace the jar! '
And yes, she did –
For Death, of course.
After all, no other man would
Open up her hand and bid her with a kiss,
So Death became her bliss.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide
suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide
suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide
suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide suicide
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Democracy
To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.
The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.
Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.
Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dilemma
There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.
The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.
Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Brothers
Two brothers on their way
Two brothers on their way
Two brothers on their way
One wore blue
And one wore grey
One wore blue and one wore grey
As they marched along the way
A fife and drum began to play
All on a beautiful morning
One was gentle, one was kind
One was gentle, one was kind
One came home, one stayed behind
A cannonball don't pay no mind
A cannonball don't pay no mind
Though you're gentle or you're kind
It don't think of the folks behind
All on a beautiful morning
Two girls waiting by the railroad track
Two girls waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
One wore blue, and one wore black
One wore blue, and one wore black
Waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
All on a beautiful morning
One wore blue, and one wore black
Waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
All on a beautiful morning
All on a beautiful morning
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scarlet Cloak
ONE may go a-many leagues a-questing yon and hither;
One may look on queens and kings, and think the vision bliss;
But he who has the wholesome heart, as lightsome as a feather,
Can find a joy in everything, no matter what it is.
Golden Miles to Burrawang, when the morn was tender! —
How your memory rises up, how it haunts and smiles!
Back again, and back it comes — all the early splendour —
All your length made beautiful, O you Golden Miles!
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the pearly morning,
When the sun came up the East, and through the heavens strode
Like a prince of great account, cloud and mist-wreath scorning —
What was in the heart of you, waiting by the road?
Birds of all the bush around were at their greeting matins,
Some with little twitterings, and some with loud acclaim;
Cloth-of-gold is fine wear, and fine are silks and satins —
Finer was the scarlet cloak that wrapped you like a flame.
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the early morning,
When the leaves were dancing all, and the dewdrops glowed,
Like a flower — a flower of flowers, the dewy way adorning —
Love was in the heart of you, waiting by the road!
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never
Suddenly, desperately
I thought, "No, never
In millions of minutes
Can I for one second
Calm-leaving my own self
Like clothes on a chair-back
And quietly opening
The door of one house
(No, not one of all millions)
Of blood, flesh and brain,
Climb the nerve-stair and look
From the tower, from the windows
Of eyes not my own: ...
No, never, no, never!"
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living in a House of Blue
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for a girl I knew
Living in a house of pain
Waiting for her purple shoes
To cross the threshold to my door
Like she did a thousand times or more
Looking for a perfect rhyme
To entice her back to the scene of the crime
Living in a house of blue
Waiting for I girl I know
She likes to go to the picture show
And watch the wicked witch cast her spell
She cries for the princess all night long
And falls asleep in my arms
When she sound asleep
I take off her purple shoes
And lock up our house of blue
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Prize
The father giveth, and the father taketh away
Johanna prays in her bed
He drinks his beer to the tv chatter
Thinks dark thoughts in his head
When the house that he keeps with his hard won pay
Is finally asleep after his brutal day
He turns his eyes on his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her door open just a crack
And a hand that once held her runs down the length of her back
Her fallen angel lies down on her bed
So much confusion in her beautiful head
Johanna closes her eyes
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
Johanna buries her shame and dreams of redemption
They just scatter, she grows numb to the pain
She cant remember how it was before
And she doesnt know who she is anymore
Shes in disguise as his beautiful prize
Johanna watches her life from the outside
And she dreams that one day shell fly free from this mess
Shes a hawk trying to soar with a broken wing
And she doesnt talk anymore about anything
She just closes her eyes
She just cant stand his anger, she just cant bear his heat
She takes a long hard look at life on the street, yeah
In a house full of secrets the truth doesnt matter
And any dreams of salvation, they just shatter
Johanna watches the world from the outside,
And she dreams of the day shell fly free from this mess
She doesnt know what shes waiting for
Cause theres nothing left in this house anymore
And in his eyes shes just a beautiful prize
Oh, johanna just a beautiful prize...
Yeah, johanna...
Oh, hanna...
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Home Is Where My Heart Is
my home is where my heart is.
the white furniture are the veranda
the black umbrella at the side of the door
the green grass the lush trees
the pathway filled with pebbles
the ceiling with a fan
the stairs without dust
the railings with shellac
mahogany smell of walls
the well at the backyard
the smell of bacon at the kitchen
scrambled eggs and fresh milk
every morning
the smoke rising to the roof
of white steam rice
mother calling us all
and father waiting
praying for grace
and then this hearty meal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Suicide Bomber
A suicide bomber (1)
I am suicide bomber
Here is my tale
-
You often say
I am for sale
With just money
You can avail
And hire my services
For destruction and to derail
-
Smooth running matter
Make my soul rattle
They always batter
Me like a battle
I kill human
As Butcher cattle
-
Who is at back?
That makes me rake
The rocks I slake
White and black
Men of god
I kill and track
-
Do such harm
As have been never done
I eat people
As you eat bun
I know I
Will be no more
But you also can not run
A suicide bomber (2)
Why I choose the evil side
Why can I not choose to avoid
In my mind and in my eyes
There are many what’s and many whys
Make me importune to at once rise
-
One word exploitation I say
Even in the words of your pray
Hypocrisy deep in your heart lay
-
Why I am poor and devoid
Of even bread and am deride
By those people who have cried
-
Do you not know why a hen
Become bold and fight then
A cat snatches a chick when
-
My siblings died for reason what
And their breaths why were shut
Why cat caught and why they gut
-
Among my people happy I was
Unjust dealings and undue laws
Became the effect and its cause
-
My dear now you should decide
Am I right or false way reside
Is it easy to commit suicide?
poem by Akram Saqib
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Dear suicide
Dear suicide
Why I ‘am alive?
Suicide suicide
Why is so sad?
A lot of pain in my life
Suicide suicide
My heart is so black
Full of pain and sadness
Suicide suicide
My thoughts were so nice
But now I’m so sad
Suicide suicide
I always cry, don’t hurt me again
I just want to be free and fly
Suicide suicide
I don’t want to cry anymore
All I want is fly in the sky
Suicide suicide
The end is coming for me
The beginning of the end of my life
Suicide suicide
Just let me rest in peace
And never come back
Suicide suicide
Time to go
I say goodbye
Suicide suicide
Thanks for listened to me
I’ll see you in my new life
Suicide suicide
Adios
Ciao
Goodbye.
poem by Alex Rodriguez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Montsgur
I stand alone in this desolate space
In death they are truly alive
Massacred innocence, evil took place
The angels were burning inside
Centuries later I wonder why
What secret that they took to their grave
Still burning heretics under our skies
Religion's still burning inside
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
As we kill them all so god will know his own
The innocents died for the pope on his throne
Catholic greed and its paranoid zeal
Curse of the grail and the blood of the cross
Templar believers with blood on their hands
Joined in the choruse to kill on demand
Burned at the stake for their soul's liberty
To stand with the cathars to die and be free
The book of old testament crippled and black
Satan his weapon is lust
Living this evil damnation of flesh
Back to the torture of life
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
As we kill them all so god know his own
Laugh at the darkness and in god we trust
The eye of the triangle smiling with sin
No passover feast for the cursed within
Facing the sun as they went to their grave
Burn like a dog or you live like a slave
Death is the price for your soul's liberty
To stand with the cathars and to die and be free
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
At the gates and the walls of Montsgur
Blood on the stones of the citadel
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suicide! !
Suicide
It's all i think about
Suicide
Can't get it out
Suicide
So hard to resist
Suicide
resist the urge to slit my wrist
Suicide
wishing i had a gun
Suicide
all i have is a small razor
Suicide
so i drag the blade across my legs and arms
Suicide
wishing to do myself much more harm
Suicide
and i wake soaked in blood
Suicide
cuts all over my body
Suicide
and im still somehow alive
Suicide
deep and long so much blood lost
Suicide
how am i still here?
Suicide
I really need a gun
Suicide
one day... one day
Suicide
poem by Kaliaha Hogue
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A man knocked at my door
One morning a man knocked at my door,
Ask me to eat is flesh and drink is blood.
To believe is cross.
A languor reflects in my eyes, like a glowing ray.
I shut the door, repenting of what I sow.
Was him?
Outside my door, piece of rods gold, the wind blowing myrrh
And incense burning slow.
Infirmity which I suffer now, sorrowfully.
Cover me in grave.
That man, come in flash of my descendents.
Reckoning the years, when the people refused to obey.
And always that snake -vicious temptations.
Reason of our pain, misleading our believe with doubt & confusion.
We lost the Eden; we trade our soul, never console our forgive.
Of God love.
He would be the king, a righteous one; I will praise him,
With all my heart,
Please come back at my door step.
Is Easter now, your resurrection is loud heard around,
Prove of courage your word sound, of righteous one.
We all come from God, and to God, we will be back.
With no more sorrow, with not more pain
Waiting until this coming day.
poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What a beautiful suicide
What a beautiful suicide
The night skies so dark
The stars shine brightly
Tonight I’ll make a mark
What a beautiful suicide
With a knife next to me
Alone in a room
How good will this be
What a beautiful suicide
I’d already planned
Alone in silence
Nothing could be more grand
What a beautiful suicide
I’ll have to no longer life a life
No hurt or pain
All it takes is a knife
What a beautiful suicide
I don’t think I could die
Come to think of it
It’ll make others cry
What a beautiful suicide
I’ll no longer commit
I’ll just mend what’s wrong
That was stupid I admit
Like it? Leave a comment =D
poem by Lisa French
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Is suicide really suicide
Is suicide really suicide or death with a cause
I mean were not breaking any laws
You hate us because we’re different and we dress in black
Because we’re filled with emotion but in conversation we lack
These scar’s we make heal our pain
And stop us going insane
Better to make our blood drip then to spill the lot
Dying happy is fine but living depressed is not
But in the end the choice is yours
Is suicide really suicide or death with a cause
poem by Lil Jam Jam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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