Fabric
Throwing the prosthesis, he jumped for
numericals, refusing to expand,
walk with father of sorrow
the revolutionary.
He wanted to talk as an equal
in interpretation of truth about death
and God, the new incumbent
of faith.
An aptness to spill the blood on
your face, of some recent slaughter,
as a witness of dying for peace,
as soothing law of nature.
He wears the fabric of inspiration:
the city and streets are empty
weaving the welts of pain,
for nothing.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Thirteen Lines
A brain peered through stoic eyes;
Yet all it saw was rendered into
Flawed interpretation –
No honoured contemplation of a
Gluon, muon, quark of any flavour;
Nor a vision or conception of its world
Within a universe anthropic in its physical laws,
Inside a boundless multiverse.
All it gleaned and modelled
Bore parochialism well beyond belief! –
Delusional perhaps.
Survival only matters here on planet Earth –
Evolution saw to that.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
na ture nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature nature nature
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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No Spill Blood
(what is the law? )
(what is the law? )
Animals came from miles around
So tired of walking so close toe the ground
They needed a chance, thats what they said
Life is better walking on two legs
But they were in for a big surprise
cause they didnt know the law!
Chorus
(what is the law)
No spill blood
What is the law
(no spill blood)
(who makes the rules)
Someone else
Who makes the rules
(someone else)
The rules are written in the stone
Break the rules and you get no bones
All you get is ridicule, laughter
And a trip to the house of pain!
Chorus (in reverse order)
We walk on two legs not on four
To walk on four legs breaks the law
What happens when we break the law?
What happens when the rules arent fair?
We all know here we go from there
To the house of pain!
To the house of pain!
(what is the law)
What is the law
(who makes the rules)
Who makes the rules
We walk on two legs not on four
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
To the house of pain
(no spill blood)
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Streets
The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.
They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.
The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.
The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.
Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.
The night shift workers wend their way
towards their work to start their day
on city streets.
The noisy revellers thin out
as one by one the signs go out
on city streets.
The gradually noises abate
and ghostly shadow congregate
on city streets.
For some few hours peace will reign
before the noise will start again
on city streets.
The early morning traffic sounds
start with the milkmen on their rounds
on city streets.
This builds up to an angry roar
as cars and lorries inward pour
on city streets
then when at last rush hour has passed
noise levels will subside at last
on city streets
I thank the lord that I am free
to leave this noise far behind me
on city streets.
I walked my beat the whole night
through exactly as I’m paid to do
on city streets.
I choose to live outside the town
where constant noise won’t get me down
on city streets.
My village is a quiet place
A haven where I need not face
the noisy streets.
8-Jun-07
poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The City Sings the Song of Death
The City sings the song of Death
Death that roams in the streets
Fearless and merciless, its hands smeared with blood
Its clothes drenched, its desire insatiable
It yearns for more bodies, for more and more
And yet more
The City sings the song of Death
A song whose tragic pitch would scare of birds
Were they to listen to its harrowing cadence
A song that makes babies cry and disturbs the old
A song that is sung by every one who lives in the city of Death
In fear, in pain, in terror
For Death itself has come to life
For Death itself, unchained and unchecked, roams around freely
Who shall now question Death?
The City sings the song of Death
My City sings the song of Death
I too sing the song of Death
And so do the millions that live with me
In the City of Death
poem by Abdul Samad
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Peace Came
When peace came,
I showered under streaming light
- Silent, settling -
Effectuating over all -
The reassurance drunk
From Mother Nature's breast.
And rays channeled through
The greys of ancient gloom
That paste the hopelessness of
Dying on the battlefield or
The losing out upon a risk
In love;
Byes to precious life
(A husband, child, a wife) :
Or failure:
Crashed careers; bleak depression,
The fallen - ruined, spurned -
Covered in veneers of rasping blight.
When peace came, a gate begged
A gentle path inviting me to
Stroll through verdant fields of spring,
Bristling with a bouncing life
Of colour; flowers cheering to
The air ‘We have a chance in nature! '
When peace came, my addled head was
Reconciling, airing, ringing true -
The sense of crushing pressure dead;
Instead, I flamed a faith anew!
When peace came, I saw our youth
Inside a multicultural womb; our
Death was pointing to a proud
And glorious tomb engraved with words of
Freedom for the soul that was when
Once a body whence it thrived.
When peace came, there happened you -
A fragrance dancing ‘gainst a new and
Frightened innocence of beauty
- Eyes ready; slender arms of care -
A tender skin to be caressed.
And we were blessed by starting fresh
In rhythms of pervading warmth;
Serenity.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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peace peace peace peace
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Walk These Streets Alone
I walk these streets alone why U ask, because that's all i know and the reason i'm so ignorant is because him always on the go
I walk these streets alone meeting customer after customer getting in and out of random cars
I walk these streets alone as if the streets are empty as i go on my devilish duty.
I walk these streets alone clueless to the danger surrounding me, as if him invisible to any danger.
I walk the streets alone as if every person i meet sees me as a stranger.
I walk these streets alone, as sad as it may seem i prefer my own company but at times i still get lonely.
I walk these streets alone but don't feel sorry for me, for i know what i'm getting myself into. and i know the consequences if i get caught
I walk these streets alone regardless of what I've been taught...
poem by Leon Scott
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An Angry Poem, Because So Many Flags Are At Half Staff
The wreaths are piling up on the curb. Coffins line streets swept and stainless. Some one asks why, there are murmurs in the crowd. I am beyond curiosity, tired of the story that begins with Blood and ends in Glory. Glory, worshiped in the streets, feared in our hearts. Glory, bought with sin, greed and the end of innocence. Glory, balm for the living because the dead do not need soothing. Glory, an epithet hammered into gravestones. Glory in death -wrap that lie in a flag and praise it to heaven. We are false prophets and our blessing has cursed the dead with the Blood sacrifice.
Blood is paid for with youth, salvation, faith -everything, all they have and ever will. Blood is given (taken) in our name and we can only offer up sorrow, prayers, songs, statues. Blood should bring guilt, shame, truth, but we deny, deny, deny, and deny the abomination we have become. 2,000 suicides,3,000 dead,130,000 killed,6 million murdered,60 million casualties... the numbers do not lie. And we will go on counting the dead while rain polishes their headstones smooth.
So do not ask me why so many flags are at half staff. I will not give you the answer you want to hear. I will not mock the dead with vainglorious praise, Glory Glory Hallelujah! They are the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters who paid the price of Blood and I will honor them with the truth.
poem by Ronald Shields
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Faith..
Walking in the middle of the night
Because, I didn't know My right
Nor left... As I wandered through
The darkest streets Of Pain
I came Upon this gate called
The Gate of love.... Behind This Gate
Its the City of Love... in which I met
An angle, she was as white
As snow....Shines like a white star in my Galaxy..... She called herself Faith
She took me in and reborn me,
Myself and I with a new soul
She healed every pain I've suffered
From... From love, to sickness and from there to my
My hopelessness..and she restored
My happiness...and removed my sorrow... I
Fell for Faith....I loved Faith
I wanted to keep her forever
I asked God if Faith Loved me and he was yes she does but NOT IN OVE...because...
She was just a messenger from
God to heal me completely and
Rebuild my my strength of loving again
And not never to give up on love........and so I did.....
poem by Joy O' Pateng
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In Death, My Final Part
A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!
Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Own hate - hate growN
Spasms of freedom, build into a gun - Fighting for the land belonging to your father, and his fathers father, yet killed when the field was seized - Daughters without fathers, sons with far less brothers, debt by death to the dictators - The rulers of decay, their way, they know only one way - The war brought forth, the one too civil, against the people of your country - Own hate, hate growN - The land, by which you are to weak, alone to stand - The have to believe, by the suffering of the innocent, the sadness in sorrow, is peace - By the driven machine, the slaughter house of death, the king of war - Victory By The Blood On Your Hands.
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Depression State Of Mind
I would love to slice my leg and watch the blood run down in a stream.
I would love to put a gun to my head and blow my brains out thinking a happy scene.
I would love to rip my heart out of my chest and watch it make its last few throbbing beats.
I'd love to say goodbye and walk the lonely streets.
The lonely streets of death and depression where no one says a word.
The lonely streets of pain and sorrow where no one's voice is heard.
I hate myself from deep with in my core.
In my head i'm bleeding away my life laying on the stone cold floor.
I look in the mirror and see a corpse.
I look inside and notice everything hurts.
I know no one understands me and no one ever will.
I should just overdose on a bunch of pills.
Everyone i've ever trusted has let me down and ripped me apart.
Im left alone crying in the dark.
The tears that fall turn into blood.
The tears that fall are made of pain and unforgiving lust.
There is no light in my life and nor will there ever be.
I'm doomed with this wretched life for eternity.
I'd like to say thankyou to those made me this way.
I wouldn't be surprised if todays my dying day.
poem by Jean Pullman
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Empirical Adaptation
Elderly,
Incumbent,
Better than others;
But, with an empirical adaptation!
Which is combined with a decision tool that is,
Very close to your lovely car.
Elderly,
Incumbent;
This love is based on your muse and,
This argument is based of your works! !
And like your recent victory with the peace of your mind;
But, you can't jump the gun this time around.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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That's Death
There are bodies laying on the floor
Blood seeping from the room
Covering their wounds
But that’s death
A sound of consequence
Echoing through existence
Finding a deaf ear
But that’s death
People walk away to their lives
Leaving those behind
Forgetting us
But that’s death
We walk the crowded streets
Looking for our salvation
Never getting redemption
But that’s death
A sad existence of life
Once lived vibrantly
Forgotten the same
But that’s death
Twenty-Seven years lived strong
Fighting for what is right
Dying for what is true
But that’s death
poem by C.R. Ebowski
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Dear Sorrow, Death Awaits Your Acquaintance
The rain keeps Falling
And the Pain goes on
Your name I try calling
But the words just pass on by
The air
Bitter and cold
The shivers now suddenly unfold
I start to lose my breath
And once again see death
Face to Face we see
That life for me, isn't supposed to be
'She is Not important,
Shes lost in the shadows..
Drowning in grief and pain
There will be no tomorrow,
For she is all Sorrow'
'She is all sorrow'
There shall be no Tomorrow for Dear Sweet Sorrow.
Sorrow, Sorrow In the air
Death Has come so stay prepared.
poem by Sorrow Lynn
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Country Walking
I walked a league and o'er the moor;
I walked and walked as ne’er before,
And on to walk from dale to hill
And on again to claim the thrill.
Behold! that walking does for me:
The senses heightened, mind of glee,
While rolling vistas pass me by
To swell the heart, enthrall the eye.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
nature nature nature nature
nature nature lovely creature
nature nature nature nature
nature nature lovely feature
nature nature nature
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Build For Pain
DEATH IS WIND AND I BREATH IT IF SOMEONE FORCES ME 2 OR IF IM TIRED OF LIFE MYSELF.
PAIN + PAIN IS DEATH
MISERY + UNHAPPINESS IS SORROW
SORROW + PAIN IS TEARS
AND I SHED SO MANY FOR PEERS
THAT GOES DOWN THE PATH TO
WHEN DEATH THEY DODGE
TO WHERE SOME STRIKES WITH
VENGENCE AND LEAVE US DEAD IN THE
STREETS OF OUR HEARTS
DEATH SHED NO TEARS OF ITS OWN
BUT IF I HAVE TO HOLD MY BREATH TO KEEP
DEATH AWAY FROM ME I WONT BECAUSE
IM ALREADY BUILT FOR PAIN
poem by Used2Pain mopbfnl2d
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Deviance
I embrace the darkness within
Forever serve beneath its hand
Horrid thoughts that surface to me
Ceremony bloods command
I will live through this forever
I have done the things you grieve
As you kneel before its evil
Death is here deep inside your
Skinned alive now naked
Terrorized no humanity
Seek salvation from an mia god
Empty vessels chanting for your death
Walk the streets beneath the shadows
Searching for a cryptic bride
Eat alive the conscience I hate
Without pain I watch you die
I will live through this forever
I have done the things you grieve
As you kneel before its evil
My face is the last you'll see
Soaked in blood the mask you wear
Haunting cries the dead scream for me
Staring eyes invoke no guilt
I can taste your mind your lifeless
Face the dead and dying
Feel your life drain
Through your soul
Seek salvation from an mia god
Empty vessels chanting for the dead
Death is yours
Your veins have dried
Staring eyes of glass now empty
Still you speak with lips so cold
In my head I hear you cry
God is dead can't save me
Taking lives with impunity
Resurrection of a deviant Christ
Feeding hate to capacity - deviance
song performed by by Slayer from God Hates Us All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death, My Friend
Death, my friend - so good to see you!
Stand aloft and view my soul!
I have to say you’re looking frightful -
Bony chum, you affable ghoul.
Death, my friend, so charmed I’m sure!
State your case and tell me straight -
Am I worthy of reward, so
Venture I to Heaven’s Gate?
Death, my friend, a new acquaintance!
You're always welcome in my home -
Though the stare from empty sockets
Indicates to Hell we roam!
Death, my friend - my bosom buddy.
My! your finger points at me!
Be you tired of my frivolity?
Aha, I see - Oblivion, we!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
Death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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