Truth To A Goodbye
By the flow of a mild winters wind, i could not conjure, the magic of love - I imagine scarlet skies, deep violet shines, the moon as she rise - Clear red petals from the dark maroon of roses, the smell which blooms across the fields - The linger of care - The mirror displays more of him, justified by me - The frame is scratched, the glass is cracked, the ash which burns my blood black - I am veined, by the dead in sin, to be nailed to death, the day i fall my die - My lies will smother all the cries, without the truth to a goodbye
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Related quotes
The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frame
Frame
I could frame my
mind to what my
thoughts become,
"words spoken"
or I could frame the
night to think my
agony is gone.
I can frame almost
anything I quess,
from a heart in grief
looking for some relief,
the mailman,
the milkman,
and everything
that passes by,
A kitten at my doorstep,
is funny isn't it?
you can frame your
way through a
dragons throat.
Anything you want,
even your heart,
your truth your lies and
even the clear skies.
The hymns I sing,
my eyelids to fall asleep,
an ability not yet control.
Everything I long for
has not yet pass through,
so I keep framing
the truth the lies and all
I can think of.
But framing is not my
escape is just a lie
I keep telling myself,
and I can keep doing
it for eons.
But not yet complete,
for I can't frame my
eyes of what I see.
©ElenaToledo2009
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reflection
Reflection
By: Adam M. Snow
The reflection in this cracked mirror shows only two;
my essence, my soul; it's also true.
My soul is tainted, my essence is numb;
my dreams grew dark, this is what I've become.
My reflection is cracked; I'm out of place;
my heart grows cold, I need your grace.
I'm falling apart; I've lost my way;
what else do you want me to say?
The rippling water's a mist how can that be?
Do I exist to be with thee?
I am cracked and so is my reflection;
these wounds, they show my affection.
Though I am but one in a reflection of two;
trying to find my place anew.
So let my reflection show who I am;
someone who was to be damned.
Let me be but one;
so that I may be done.
My reflections strain drops of blood;
just leave me here in the mud.
My eyes are stained, my touch is cold;
all I need is someone to hold.
My mouth is silent, my love breaks;
my body's bound, my soul aches.
I am but one in the mirror's looking glass;
looking upon my modern pass.
When will my reflection show;
the truth I do not dare to know?
My reflection is cracked; I'm out of place;
my heart grows cold, I need your grace.
I'm falling apart; I've lost my way;
I'm waiting here for the day.
My skin grew pale, did I died?
I'm here in this corner trying to hide.
My sight has gone; it's the break of dawn;
I'm going back to where it spawned.
The mirror's shattered, not my reflection;
from what I've done this is my infection.
I've been risen yet I fall;
I can't give up on all.
My reflection's viewing pains;
showing me bound by these chains.
I'm forced to face myself in this state;
the mirror shows, this is my fate.
My reflection is broken yet it's whole;
I'm out in the world searching for my life's role.
I'm reaching out through the dark;
searching for the owner of this black mark.
Nevermore does my reflection show;
I'm lost with no where to go.
The mirror's lust has felled;
this is where I dwelled.
My tears fall upon reflection;
this is my resurrection.
The cracked mirror now shows one;
could it be that it's now done?
My reflection's anew;
it's also true.
I'm not the same:
I ignite my flame.
The mirror's now whole with no crack in sight;
I'm no longer in the dark, but the light.
I only love; I do not hate;
I know now that this is my fate.
I faced myself in the mirror;
now that I can see, it's all so clearer.
My ways I've change from what I've became;
I'm the only one to blame.
My reflection is cracked no more;
my pain is gone just like before.
My future is nearer;
all ‘cause I looked in the mirror.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tearful Eyes
The mirror laughed; it gleaned my thoughts
And saw me cry my want:
Synthetic views - pathetic clues
To how I tick - and now you taunt,
You bleeding mirror, jibe another!
Just because I dream…
To be the mighty hero wise!
And perch atop the sodden hill
Of blood and pungent death,
To lead our race from sure demise.
Let's regain, collect, and rest
Before the battle slams
Our dauntless nerve. And now to rise!
Come follow me - we'll slay the foe!
See my cloak unfurl.
Through screams and wails, he fails and dies.
Look! he falls across his minions'
Path. I laugh aloud.
My warriors hold me to the skies.
Overhead the clouds recede,
Thinning out the black.
And then I fade in pallid lies.
Returning back to conscious state,
I let the mirror slate me:
Fathoming my remote disguise,
Reflecting back my hopeless lot.
Oh to smash the thing!
If I could see through tearful eyes.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror
mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Shadows are my sun
Ive fallen in a hole
so deep, dark and cold
No one is there
no one to hold
My eyes are bloodstained
tears and they fall to my
lips
My plams are scratched with
blood, it trickles to my
fingertips
My blood is cold and my veins
are ice and my hair is dark
dark like night
I sit in a dark corner
shadows are my sun
I fare myself,
what have i done
I pick up a mirror
but fail to look
I will only see an unknown
place so i put down,
myself i cannot face.
poem by Nicole Buckland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red
Place that bayonet in my hand,
And fill this pouch with lead;
Show me the blood and leave me, and let me
Stand
By my dead.
Cover those staring eyes and go
And stab in the red, red rain.
Show me that blood and leave me. They groan
In the snow.
With the pain.
Cover his head with a scarlet cloak,
And run to your scarlet strife,
Show me that blood and leave me, where white
Snows choke
Out the life.
Turn his face to the sanguine skies,
The skies where the red stars move.
Show me that blood and leave me; a dead man lies
With his love.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All she wants to do is be free mirror
Imprints of bloody hands stain the glass as I look at the mirror
My wounds are deep inside for everyone to see
If they even cared
A girl who cries for no reason
Who knows her anger is rising inside of her
Her soul is tainted
All she wants to do is be free mirror
This is what I see inside the other side of the mirror
As I stand there looking
The blood stains on her run from her heart to waist in the reflection
Tasting the stained blood which turned to the stained un-pure blood
Of the torment, pain, and lies
Her mouth opens up to say something
But bubbles escape only
Trapped inside the mirror as I peer inside
This is what I see on the other side of the mirror
poem by Alyssa Howell
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The Mirror Of Diana
Popular Name for Lake Nemi.
SHE floats into the quiet skies,
Where, in the circle of hills,
Her immemorial mirror fills
With light, as of a Virgin's eyes
When, love a-tremble in their blue,
They glow twin violets dipped in dew.
Mild as a metaphor of Sleep,
Immaculately maiden-white,
The Queen Moon of ancestral night
Beholds her image in the deep:
As if a-gaze she beams above
Lake Nemi's magic glass of love.
White rose, white lily of the vale,
Perfume the even breath of night;
In many a burst of sweet delight
The love throb of the nightingale
Swells through lush flowering woods and fills
The circle of the listening hills.
White rose, white lily of the skies,
The Moon-flower blossoms in the lake;
The nightingale for her fair sake
With hopeless love's impassioned cries
Seems fain to sing till song must kill
Himself with one tumultuous trill.
And all the songs and all the scents,
The light of glowworms and the fires
Of fire-flies in the cypress spires;
And all the wild wind instruments
Of pine and ilex as the breeze
Sweeps out their mystic harmonies;--
All are but Messengers of May
To that white orb of maiden fire
Who fills the moth with mad desire
To die enamoured in her ray,
And turns each dewdrop in the grass
Into a fairy looking-glass.
O Beauty, far and far above
The night moth and the nightingale!
Far, far above life's narrow pale,
O Unattainable! O Love!
Even as the nightingale we cry
For some Ideal set on high.
Haunting the deep reflective mind,
You may surprise its perfect Sphere
Glassed like the Moon within her mere,
Who at a puff of alien wind
Melts in innumerable rings,
Elusive in the flux of things.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Petals
Shes the angel on top of the tree
Sugarheart, here she comes
Shes going to fall on me
Innocence was our fire
We told the truth
I miss the sweet boys
In the summer of their youth
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
They will make you so
So cynical
The fire burns, the flesh destorys
The past that made us old
Shes the grace of this world
Shes too pure
For the likes of this world
This world is a whore
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
I wait till mine and
Hey, its all mine
Hey, its all mine
Never knew what I could be
All the darling buds of may
They fall with no sound
They carry you down
They carry you down
Ooooooooo, ooooooh
Ooooooooo
All the lillies bloomed and blossomed
Wilted and theyre shivering
I cant stop their withering,
Oh, this world is a war
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
Tear the petals off of you
Make you tell the truth
Tear the petals off of you
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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x13-The Petals Shall Fall
(I suggest you read first the 'COLD WATERS'.2nd poem of DEAD PETALS)
-Dylan Blayne-
My heart pained the very first moment
that I looked into your eyes.
How I want to take that sorrow away,
to turn it to the skies…
why, the moment I saw you,
how I long to take your heart.
Though I rushed to pluck petals
to wipe away your fears…
you’re gone as though you’re drowned with your tears.
I knocked at your door,
But there was no answer.
I entered as a strange feeling
rushed through me deeper.
I called after you but all I heard
was rushing waters.
And so I looked for it and found you
Dead with tears.
I never had the time to question why…
or wipe your tears with petals by and by.
I saw the words you wrote before your bed…
‘the petals shall fall and the waters shall flow’,
how I wish I’d better be dead!
Blood flowed like water with your tears;
I wonder if I could carry this memory
for all the coming years.
I think you’re right, the petals shall fall…
and I guess I’m too late
to have you after all.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodbye
Far is the way next to the path, i never find anyway - Blood is soaked on my road, i never can turn away - I gather not a twig, i am a vine to the ugliest thorns - Scarred to deep, wounds that bleed shallow, i turn my back, inside the cracks of my mirror - Do you hear my screams, i am calling myself, i fear to be scared of my name - Black does not know the color displayed by my soul, black does not hear an ear to my cries - When i look up to the skies, the only words i have, rains the pain to goodbye
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Villanelle Of Marguerite's
'A little, _passionately, not at all?_'
She casts the snowy petals on the air:
And what care we how many petals fall!
Nay, wherefore seek the seasons to forestall?
It is but playing, and she will not care,
A little, passionately, not at all!
She would not answer us if we should call
Across the years: her visions are too fair;
And what care we how many petals fall!
She knows us not, nor recks if she enthrall
With voice and eyes and fashion of her hair,
A little, passionately, not at all!
Knee-deep she goes in meadow grasses tall,
Kissed by the daisies that her fingers tear:
And what care we how many petals fall!
We pass and go: but she shall not recall
What men we were, nor all she made us bear:
'_A little, passionately, not at all!_'
And what care we how many petals fall!
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Rhythm
When red is black and petals blue
And in my sleepless head our love's been dead a week or two
Sometimes good times are stuck inside of you
And then they're gone. But I don't know why
A lot of things have changed since you said goodbye
There are reasons for you to love me
But I gave you none
So I tap my glass and nod my chin
And wonder who you've been in rhythm with
Sometimes just time, cause can't escape
When clouds are playing close, not often too far away
Blue has no value, power over you
Open skies, relationless
Carelessness is what I miss
And that's how I think of you
Sometimes good times are all we have to do
So I tap my glass and nod my chin
And wonder who you've been in rhythm with
So I tap my glass and nod my chin
And wonder who you've been in rhythm with
[Beautiful]
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter Sunset
Roses in the sky,
Roses in the sea
Bowers of scarlet sky-roses
Take my heart and me.
God was good to make,
This December weather,
All this sky a rose-garden,
Rose and fire together.
To the East are burning
Roses in a garden,
Roses in a rosy field,
Hesper for their warden.
Yonder to the West
Roses all afire,
Mirror now some rare splendid
Rose of their desire.
Pulsing deeper, deeper,
Waves of fire throb on,
Never were such red roses
At sunset or dawn.
Roses on the hills,
Roses in the hollow,
Roses on the wet hedges,
In the shining fallow.
West wind, blow and blow!
That has blown ajar
Gates of God's great rose-garden,
Where His Angels are,
Gathering up the rose-leaves
For a shower of roses
On the night the Lord Babe
His sweet eye uncloses.
All the sky is scarlet
Flaming on the azure.
O, there's fire in Heaven
My heart aches with pleasure.
Leagues of rose and scarlet,
Roses red as blood:
All the world's a rose-garden.
God is good, is good.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Undertaker
Hes cold-hearted and stoic to a fault-
He oft' appears at ones front door...!
Dressed in black for hidden attack...!
'Tis evil to his very core;
He always leaves his calling card...
Its printed in blood tinged red...! !
Hes the Undertaker with blue-veined wired hands...
Complete with 'delusions of grandeur' in his head;
To say that he is cruel or sinister---
Well, honestly that would be speculation---
But you know there are hints of his malice and maddness...
In words-cleverly buried in sublimation;
For its told he will curse the ground that you walk on...! ! !
Set spells of his magic deemed ever so black...
Seems death 'tis his most fervent destination--
Found in the morbitity of much garnered fact;
The graveyard 'tis his home away from home...! !
Where headstones share many a grotesque tale...
For hes the Undertaker with the blue-veined wired hands...! ! !
And oft' the very last in the coffins final nail;
For in the deep maddness of his cerebrum---
Lies a deep-rooted tendency towards 'blood-lust'...! ! !
He is an ego-centric-dangerous psychopathic deviant...
Spawned 'neath the center of the Earths most hardened crust;
June 5,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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Venetian Life
1
The meaning of somber and barren
Venetian life is clear to me:
Now she looks into a decrepit blue glass
With a cool smile.
2
Refined air. Blue veins of skin.
White snow. Green brocade.
They are all placed on cypress stretchers,
Taken warm and drowsy from a cape.
3
And the candles burn, burn in baskets,
As if a pigeon had flown into the shrine.
At the theater and the solemn council,
A man is dying.
4
Because there is no salvation from love and fear,
Saturn's ring is heavier than platinum,
The block draped with black velvet,
And a beautiful face.
5
Your headdress is heavy, Venezia,
In the cypress mirror frame.
Your air is faceted. In the bedroom,
The blue mountains of decrepit glass dissolve.
6
Only in her hands are the rose and the hourglass --
Green Adriatic, forgive me.
Why are you silent, Venetienne,
How can I escape this solemn death.
7
Black Hesper glimmers in the mirror.
Everything passes, the truth is dark.
A man is born, a pearl dies.
And Susannah has to wait for the elders.
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is the cloud to the sun?
For what is the cloud to the sun,
It is nothing. The wind has always
Driven it away and the sun does not
Care. For want of love and care, the
Cloud plays with the fields and the
River and the sea. Impregnated it
Has conceived, and gives
Birth to the rain. The fields and the
Sea and the rivers feasted. The fields
Grow the grass and the flowers.
The sea and the rivers have
Seeded its waters with more fish.
The cloud does not like it. It has
Always dreamt of the sun but the
Wind has always blown it away.
At night the cloud talks to the moon.
And seeing the likeness of its light
To the sun that it loves, the cloud
Makes love with the shining moon.
It has given birth to the stars.
The following morning, the cloud
Is exhausted. It floats with the
Chastisements of the wind. There
Is no more direction. It still dreams
Of the sun. It dies and becomes
Taken as part of the wind. The
Cloud has become a white, clear
Sky. It is nothing. It is what you
See, when love is unrequited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aurora Borealis
A crystallization of color spreads from the upper regions of the dark sky towards the trembling nipples of the waves. The feathering fringes of clouds fade behind pillars of green light. Transparent curtains tremble every-where. In the arctic temple, the hidden Samson of light shakes the moon-green pillars of the night.
Color these crystals with sudden blood; it is dawn, or else the last consumptive saliva of the dying day. Heartless hard light!
In the crisp light of the frozen tinkling stars, no waters flow. The ice-stars are icebergs in this black ocean. When the green glass cathedrals crash, the light and the pillars of light and the green pillars of moon-green crystallized light are reflected through space and finally settle like sharp blades above the trembling nipples of the waves.
Samson moves in the glass cathedrals. Samson and the bull and Samson and the sun and the sun is the bull and Samson is the sun and is the bull.
Let crackling twigs of green-white light weave fantastic tree-patterns on the mirror of the sea. Let the deceptive sky celebrate the fall of its ice-cathedrals and its icebergs and its ice-stars when darkness hardens the black waters into the sullen black ice-pack of night.
Red Samson the arctic red sun is moving in the groves of green pillars. There is the red tinge of consumptive blood flickering behind the moon-green glass pillars of light. Blood of red Samson, red blood of Samson, the red thief is sprinkling blood on the slanting pillars of the falling sanctuary of light that is doomed to succumb soon to the black ice-pack of night. Then there will be night and, suddenly thrust into dark night, the red sex of the Samson-sun must later rise out of eastern whiteness and destroy the night.
Then the pillars of the black shattered temple of night glow with a white light and a red light of consumptive blood, but again later comes night then again the same Samson as the temples crash each time when the red thief scatters blood on the pillars of the light or the pillars of the night. And the thief is Samson and the red sun is Samson and Samson is the thief and Samson is the sun.
poem by Edouard Roditi
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A Forsaken Garden
IN a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of a garden fronts the sea.
A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses
Now lie dead.
The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge of the long lone land.
If a step should sound or a word be spoken,
Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand?
So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless,
Through branches and briars if a man make way,
He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless
Night and day.
The dense hard passage is blind and stifled
That crawls by a track none turn to climb
To the strait waste place that the years have rifled
Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time.
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;
The rocks are left when he wastes the plain.
The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken,
These remain.
Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not;
As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry;
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not,
Could she call, there were never a rose to reply.
Over the meadows that blossom and wither
Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song;
Only the sun and the rain come hither
All year long.
The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath.
Only the wind here hovers and revels
In a round where life seems barren as death.
Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping,
Haply, of lovers none ever will know,
Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping
Years ago.
Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look thither,"
Did he whisper? "look forth from the flowers to the sea;
For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither,
And men that love lightly may die---but we?"
And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,
And or ever the garden's last petals were shed,
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,
Love was dead.
Or they loved their life through, and then went whither?
And were one to the endÑbut what end who knows?
Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither,
As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose.
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ?
What love was ever as deep as a grave ?
They are loveless now as the grass above them
Or the wave.
All are at one now, roses and lovers,
Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea.
Not a breath of the time that has been hovers
In the air now soft with a summer to be.
Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter
Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep,
When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter
We shall sleep.
Here death may deal not again for ever;
Here change may come not till all change end.
From the graves they have made they shall rise up never,
Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.
Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,
While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;
Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing
Roll the sea.
Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,
Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,
Here now in his triumph where all things falter,
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seconds
It takes a second to say goodbye,
Say goodbye.
It takes a second to say goodbye,
Say goodbye, say bye bye where are you going to now?
Fall, rise and . . . fall, rise and . . .
Lightning flashes across the sky,
]from east to west you do or die.
Like a thief in the night,
You see the world by candlelight.
Fall, rise and . . . fall, rise and . . .
In an apartment on times square,
You can assemble them anywhere.
Held to ransom, hell to pay,
A revolution everyday.
U.s.s.r., d.d.r., london, new york, peking.
Its the puppets, its the puppets who pull the strings.
Say goodbye, say goodbye.
It takes a second to say goodbye,
Push the button and pull the plug, say goodbye.
Fall, rise and . . . fall, rise and . . .
Theyre doing the atomic bomb,
Do they know where the dance comes from?
Yes theyre doing the atomic bomb,
They want you to sing along.
Say goodbye, say goodbye.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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