Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover
That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.
Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.
All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves
to unknotting surprise.
I am uncovered, thin, bared upon thinner sheets the man-
ripped to many images, torn into, landscaped to former curves.
No longer do I grieve enclosure, touching only myself,
delivered from layers.
Magpie dances.
Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star
and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovered in milk floods.
Touch gently first what has been too long concealed.
Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into
'Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion.'
Wield roughly then through gates too long shut.
When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop.
Magpie, my keeper, is flying.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward
.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate
'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude
This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.
These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.
I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.
And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.
And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.
The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.
I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.
The dreams urge me to let the urine flow, to let the flood waters indeed flood over, to be less self conscious of what I write and say but to have at it all and to say my say. And to let whatever waves there are crest and break upon ever receptive banks and shores whose duty it is to allow what may come from motion without complaint, the more compliant toward as yet to be fully formed purposes as yet to be scored.
Synchronistically, a few days ago I listened to a lecture by poet Allen Ginsberg about Walt Whitman and his imitators, those who were goodly influenced by his effulgent, self indulgent style, his garrulous poems which presumed to express the very expansiveness of the North American continent over-flooded by a plague of itinerant, persistent poachers and prophets from Europe to Eastern disembarkation and then inland and Westward, compelled to overtake land and native peoples in their possessed, pushed wake. Ginsberg imagined himself to be a timely extension of this unruly school, as savage as the projected upon land and justly-resistant, resident humanity stretched beyond known bounds and sounds. Blood drowned and pounded the god-hounded land even now is flooded by unleashed mighty rivers seeking, if rivers seek at all, to undo and renew in horse shoe and other shapes the crimes of consciousness compelled to overtake while leaving it up to human souls to repent and repair, to prepare for more powerful insurgencies of land and Self ever seeking new and nower expressions of dirt and deity. There's enough history beneath layers to support the scarp and scrape of momentary yet monumental motions finally given mouths to utter what lies both beneath and within the heaping huzzahs of here here here full and deep. As in my dream, it is hard to steer in such surpassing tides and currents. Still, I am searching for holy campground that I may lay my burden down.
I have no wish to imitate Whitman nor Ginsberg - though both are easily imitated since they did so themselves, an occupational hazard for writers - but only to be obedient to the daemon, that urgent, emergent, creative force within. It rushes within and against me. No matter whether derived of the grandiose American continent and the even more grandiose sky or not, I have all too successfully braced against it in fear of failure, reprisal or, worse, complete indifference from others. My dreams now urge floods and resultant coagulations, they bring creative splurges to ground from hand to the hard world. And Nature, too, is indifferent but begs none the less and all the more to be given utterance and response.
Respondeo ergo sum. I respond, therefore I am. I respond, therefore the other, earth, all her ants, is as long as there are eyes, ears, and scanning minds to acknowledge and touch, wrestle, caress, shape - some in scansions - outer from inner, inner from outer, landscapes to be all too quickly discarded in time for what is sung just ahead. And seen. Or hoped, all praise to telescopes. We would be they, so addicted to horizons, to bring them close.
Something there is needs completion via coagulation, forming, shaping, and sharing with whomever may be open to clods delivered. If not, rivers will, as they will without reason, continue to overrun their banks and insist upon covering designated previous cultivations. Let then excess of creativity have its say, play out, and leave the critical post-considerations to others. I will surely sit and ponder spent what spills forth, to shape, to edit, to discard. And watch my little yard sink beneath needed and needy floods.
I will have done with deprivation and bring myself, what I have shaped and misshapen, to the world. These things, this burden, have I most loved and felt responsible for, have born the shame of. I have fought and have failed utterly again and again though my attempts have been, and still are, sincere though not blameless. Fear has been my encampment, a longing beneath knowing feet in secret cellars just beyond reach of contracted hands forever spelling hunger. I know open bastion doors and windows to now fling beyond embankments what has been wrung out of my floes and woes though hands wither from too much turning against and inward. What a relief to burst beyond boundaries too long successfully restraining.
I recently wrote a poem about much too too solid bastions of self, of forceful puer energy ramming through and over and into long buried storms and petrified forms, of passion mangling the delusion of 'norms' ignoring too sensitive alarms. Given May Sarton's May revelation this morning I now understand that the poem is about more than eros, it is about that powerful creative/destructive force, the daemon/tyro that ever urges outward intent on making and staking Self in new land and at least one aging man wrenched and rendered from dried and calcified encrustations. I am, to borrow from the insistent dream image, beginning to leak. And to break open.
Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'
That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.
Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.
All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves
to unknotting surprise.
I am uncovered, thin, bared upon thinner sheets the man-
ripped to many images, torn into, landscaped to former curves.
No longer do I grieve enclosure, touching only myself,
delivered from layers.
Magpie dances.
Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star
and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovered in milk floods.
Touch gently first what has been too long concealed.
Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into
'Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion.'
Wield roughly then through gates too long shut.
When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop.
Magpie, my keeper, is flying.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pain (lyrics)
Regret sits heavy in your chest until sometimes it gets so hard to breathe
Sometimes it just wont go away and you start to feel you will never be
And when you think back on those times it seems so close just beyond your reach
Until past vanishes like smoke from a cigarette in the night breeze
Please stop this pain
Hurt for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
I've felt this way for so long
How is it that things turn out this way?
What you hold most dear has come and gone
Seems the time that everything was right
Now it just feels wrong, oh so wrong
And your still dreaming of the time
When the day will come, it was meant to be
And your still dreaming of the way
To reach that place that you've never been
Please stop this pain
Hurt for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
I've felt this way for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
Pain
Hurt for so long
I've felt this way for so long
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Been Away Too Long
Im coming home
Ive been away far too long
Im leaving it up to you
To understand
You may wonder why
When it was me who said
The last goodbye
But cannot change my mind
One more time
Its high time
I cant wait any longer
Its my time to find out
Who I belong to
Its breaking my heart
Waitin for another day
When the time comes
You wont see me around
Ive been patient
Standing my ground
Gotta see ya and hold ya
Hear what you have to say
Do you wake up in the morning
Wantin me
The way I wake up wantin you
And in the same breath
You keep hauntin me
Does it ever occur to you
Ive been in love too long
To stop now, oh
Ive been away too long
Ive been away too long
If youve ever cried
Then youll know the pain
You felt inside
And just like me you pray
Its all untrue
But time alone will tell
If you have learned
Lifes lessons well
And maybe then youll know
What I should do
Been away, Ive been away
Ive been away too long
Ive been away too long
Ive been away too long
Too long, much too long
Much too long
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Kiss Kiss Kiss
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me love
Just one kiss, kiss will do
Kiss ,kiss, kiss, kiss me love
Just one kiss, kiss will do
Why death
Why life
Warm hearts
Cold darts
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me love
Im bleeding inside
Its a long, long story to tell
And I can only show you my hell
Touch, touch, touch, touch me love
Just one touch, touch will do
Touch, touch, touch, touch me love
Just one touch, touch will do
Why me
Why you
Broken mirror
White terror
Touch, touch, touch, touch me love
Im shaking inside
Its that faint, faint sound of the childhood bell
Ringing in my soul
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me love
Just one kiss, kiss will do
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Kiss Kiss Kiss
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me, love,
Just one kiss, kiss will do.
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me, love,
Just one kiss, kiss will do.
Why death?
Why life?
Warm hearts?
Cold darts?
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me, love,
Im bleeding inside.
Its a long, long story to tell
And I can only show you my hell.
Touch, touch, touch, touch me, love,
Just one touch, touch will do.
Touch, touch, touch, touch me, love,
Just one touch, touch will do.
Why me?
Why you?
Broken mirror?
White terror?
Touch, touch, touch, touch me, love,
Im shaking inside.
Its that faint, faint sound of the childhood bell
Ringing in my soul.
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss me, love,
Just one kiss, kiss will do.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
X
in this house of mine
there are many rooms and windows and stairs
you are invited
to take your rest and mind each piece
of myself
displayed and open for view
and even for touch
and even
for your tasting
not even for a moment but for a long time
for as long as all these shall last
but there is one door that you cannot open
one window that is closed
one room which is dark
there is nothing there except my secret longing
no one opens it for no one can
no one sees what is inside it for no one can
there is this fruit in my tree of paradise
that you cannot taste
and touch
and even see
it is only for me and i do not really like it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Only Heaven Knows
My intentions are good, my hearts in the right place now
You see I wanna be good to you baby
But sometimes I just dont know how
And the hand of fate, reaches out once more
And pulls me though that gate
Like one hundred times before
Ooh, there are the nights, when things just work out right
No one could be as close as you and me
Then it all breaks down, and we cant find that common ground
Thats not the way, the way it oughta be baby
Why do we laugh, why do we cry
Why do we feel this pain inside
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
In this game of hit and miss
How long can we go on like this
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
But if we threw it all away
Its something wed regret someday
Heaven knows
Why do we do these foolish things
Only heaven knows
My intentions are good, my actions are hard to explain
I get misunderstood sometimes
Theres nobody but me to blame
Ive gotta speak my mind, and deal with the situation
Open the lines
The lines of communication
Ooh there are the nights, we really get it right
Makin love, endlessly
And then there are the days, we go our separate ways
As though theres nothin left of you and me
Why do we laugh, why do we cry
Why do we feel this pain inside
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
In this game of hit and miss
How long can we go on like this
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
But if we threw it all away
Its something wed regret someday
Heaven knows
Why do we laugh, why do we cry
Why do we feel this pain inside
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
In this game of hit and miss
How long can we go on like this
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
But if we threw it all away
Its something wed regret someday
Why do we do these foolish things
Only heaven knows, only heaven knows
I wanna be good to you baby
Heaven knows, etc.
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The River of Blood
It’s the river of blood
Initiated by the enemies of God
And when advised too or told to stop
They just give you the nod
The nod of ignorance and cruelty
The nod of no life and no feel
As they are told about they’re evilness
They believe that none of it is real
It’s the river of blood
That flows down a dark and red stream
And as I dip my hand in, it feels like sour, bitter cream
It’s the river of blood
The river of cruelty and pain
The river of blood
The river that flows in vain
The river that will never end
The river full of the dead
The river where they remain silently hopeless
The river where the majority of them bled
It’s this river of blood where I inject my power and strength from
It’s this river full of blood where my victory will soon come
The river of blood, the river that will soon contain me
It’s this river where my blood has long sought to be
The river of blood that shall soon end with an atrocious fight
The river of blood, the river that will no longer stay at sight.
poem by Marria Attar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Pigeon
I've picked up your name from the floor
and held it for long on the palm of my hand
watching it gently peck its lines
until there remained nothing not a single crumb
and your name well fed slept for a while
in lines of death in lines of life
in lines of the head and lines of the heart
in intricate patterns that sealed me for too long
there was a lullaby I wanted to sing
but I was not able to open my mouth
for fear you'll wake up and disappear
and I promised myself I would never dropp you again
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Four Lyrics from Dunhuang
Tune: “Eternal Longing”
1.
He was a traveler west of the river,
with wealth and eminence rare in this world.
All day long in vermilion towers
...dancing and singing songs.
The cup filled again and again, till he's drunk as mud;
lightly, lightly trading golden goblets,
wearing out the day tasting joys, pursuing pleasures—
Some people are rich and never go home.
2.
He was a traveler west of the river;
only he knew how lonely he was,
dust and dirt covering his face,
all day long being cheated by others.
Morning after morning standing by the west gate of the market,
the wind blowing the tears that came down in two streams,
gazing toward his native land so many roads away—
Some people are poor and never go home.
3.
He was a traveler west of the river,
then he took sick, lay an inch away from death.
Still he stayed on, looking for news,
though as time went by it seemed he'd have to depart.
The villagers dragged him to the west side of the road—
his father and mother knew nothing about it—
tied a tag on his body with his name written on it—
Some people die and never go home.
Tune: “Magpie on the Branch”
4.
I can't stand the wily magpie and all his extravagant stories!
He brings me good news, but what proof does he ever have?
One of these times when he flies by, I'll grab him, capture him live,
shut him up in a golden cage to put a stop to his chatter!
With the best of intentions I went to her, delivered my good news—
who'd have thought she'd shut me up in a golden cage?
I only hope her soldiering husband comes home soon
so she'll lift me up, turn me loose to head for the blue clouds!
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
See, See … I can do it too
Words elevated to a dazzling height
Silently answering perfections plight
Love strung together to make a sentence
Hate molded to become a pen
Time yields to patience
Rage bows to zen
Transcending a mind
A unique voyage just to find
That my pain is not my own
The dark is not for me to own
A star sits in a dark corner weeping
Its light flickering, its tears beckoning
Waiting to be rekindled, be reborn
Its essence weakened, its passion torn
Unable to help, my flame long since extinguished
But her whispering screams need to be relinquished
My history a possible remedy to her heart breaking agony
So I slowly open scars I closed indefinitely
I bleed memories and thoughts, hoping her tears will stop
Synchronized … as her tears and my blood drops
For every memory, a tear is traded, for every thought the corners of her mouth move up a inch
The darkness recedes as her light increases
Her tears slowly transform into pieces, pieces of poetry
Convincingly showing my blood a forgotten beauty
… I smile …
Sometimes the dark holds a star waiting to soar
People see it as scary, but the dark, yes the dark has so much more
poem by Vino Venitas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At a Window
Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,
Shut me out with shame and failure
From your doors of gold and fame,
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!
But leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prince Of Darkness
Your cruel device
Your blood, like ice
One look could kill
My pain, your thrill
I want to love you but I better not
touch (Don't touch)
I want to hold you but my senses
tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too
much (Too much)
I want to taste you but your lips
are venomous poison
You're poison running through my
veins
You're poison, I don't want to
break these chains
Your mouth, so hot
Your web, I'm caught
Your skin, so wet
Black lace on sweat
I hear you calling and it's needles
and pins (And pins)
I want to hurt you just to hear you
screaming my name
Don't want to touch you but
You're under my skin (Deep in)
I want to kiss you but your lips
are venomous poison
You're poison running through my veins
You're poison, I don't wanna
break these chains
Poison
One look could kill
My pain, your thrill
I want to love you but I better not
touch (Don't touch)
I want to hold you but my senses
tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too
much (Too much)
I want to taste you but your lips
are venomous poison
You're poison running through my
veins
You're poison, I don't wanna
break these chains
Poison
I want to love you but I better not
touch (Don't touch)
I want to hold you but my senses
tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too
much (Too much)
I want to taste you but your lips
are venomous poison, yeah
I don't want to break these chains
Poison, oh no
Runnin' deep inside my veins,
Burnin' deep inside my veins
It's poison
I dont't wanna break these chains
Poison
-aca
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Magpie and the Young Dove
On the ground they struck each other
with their wings out stretched.
But the dove was so much smaller
and couldn’t evade the magpie’s pecks.
As feathers flew, it held down the dove
with its powerful grasping claws.
Once, twice, three times, it pecked,
and again several times more.
The tired dove’s resistance vanished
as the magpie took one hop back.
It stood admiring the results of its conflict
before making its final attack.
This brief encounter was nearly over,
the dove turned to face the magpie,
but then a dog approached the scene
and the magpie flew into the sky.
Keeping a close watch over its prey,
it waited in a nearby tree.
The dog lost interest and sauntered away,
giving the magpie opportunity.
One hop then two, it approached for the kill,
but the dog returned to save the day.
This time the magpie didn’t come back,
and the dove recovered to fly away.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Quiero Tu Manos Por Todo Mi Cuerpo
If I could just touch you
Maybe I could breathe
But, because I can't touch you
It's like I can't speak, walk, or see
A look in your eyes-
One like NEVER before
It seems to just haunt me
Until I'm left screaming for more
If only I could feel you
For at least just a moment
Just one touch, one taste-
And, I'd make it mine and just own it
I promise one touch
Is all that I need
I'll then live off of the memory
Of that one touch-I plead...
But, if I do feel you,
I may crumble to the floor
I may extend a hand
And, beg for one more...
It is you that I long for,
As I desperately try to gasp for a breath...
And, I just need to feel YOU...
I now mourn your absence like a death!
And, while they try to bury you
Paralyzed-I fall to the ground!
I try to stand up, I open my mouth,
But, to no surprise-I can't make a sound!
But, I know that you feel it
No words were ever needed...
The memories they haunt me,
Like a button that's stuck, or a show that's repeated-
I can see you and hear you,
I feel the energy lighting the room
The darkness, the light,
A black rose in full bloom
I can practically taste you
It's the Laws of Nature we can't defy
You can't prevent it from happening
It's something that you just can't deny...
I know that you feel me
As I course through your veins
I could be the perfect drug
As I surrender-you hold the reigns!
It's a lust, and a longing
It's DEVOURING need..
It's obsession-I crave you
And, now you feel it, indeed!
So I reach out a hand,
You must embrace this fate
The air, it is thick
And, it IS getting late!
So walk with me,
If only one time...
Because you DO feel my desire...
Yes, we've cross that line.
© Copyright 2011 Nicole Settimi/Dark Lyric Poetry
Dark Lyric Poetry by The Dark Artist Nicole Settimi
poem by Nicole Settimi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Keeper Of My Heart
For you
I would tattoo me
With lines crossing into a hand
And a heart that would never bleed
With the twilight
And the horse drawn on my arm
Standing for an addiction
Pray we go unharmed
Here is my love and anger
You see now
These are my gods
These are my scars
Here is my love and anger
Well these arms are burning
But theyre open wide
Some things
I hold too tightly
Some things
Ill never
Ill never touch
Oh but Im wearing down the stones
In the river
And you see all my life
Ive painted with angers brush
Now, now could you
Lift me through my love and anger
You see now
These are your gods
These are my scars
Lift me through my love and anger
Ah and my arms are burning
But theyre open wide
Oh
You precious kid
I have a motion
And its just for you
I see a warrior
Barefoot and dancing
Oh with tears of pain and beauty
And all of this is true
For you
Lift me through my love and anger
You see now these are my gods
These are your scars
Lift me through my love and anger
Oh and my arms are burning
And theyre open wide
Pointing out the graveyards
I will be the reaper
If you will be
The keeper of my heart
I will be the reaper
If you will be
The keeper of my heart
You are the keeper of this heart
Of my heart
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Wounded
Lost and broken
Hopeless and lonely
Smiling on the outside
But hurt beneith my skin
My eyes are fading
My soul is bleeding
I'll try to make it seem ok
But my faith is wearing thin
So help me heal these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
That i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me sow them up
I only wanted a magazine
I only wanted a movie screen
I only wanted the life i'd read about and dreamed
And now my mind is an open book
And now my heart is an open wound
And now my life is an open soul for all to see
But help me heal these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
And i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me
So you come along
I push you away
Then kick and scream for you to stay
Cuz i need some one to help me
Oh i need some one to help me
To help me help these wounds
They've been open for way too long
Help me fill this soul
Even though this is not your fault
That i'm open
And i'm bleeding
All over your brand new rug
And i need some one to help me sow them
I need some one to help me fill them
I need some one to help me close them up
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
For Friend Rey
out there
in a foreign land
how long will you hide your face away from all of us?
your shadow is here with us
talking and telling everything about your clothes
and perfume
how you smell like someone else that we have known
beforehand
before you left us
we cannot pretend forever that we do not know
neither can you
it seems that all of us here, your friends and foes
know what we have been up to
admiring the flames and never touching any of its colors
it is sad..it is very sad. we want you to be happy
we want you to fuse with your alienated shadow
we want you to be whole
and be with us
without any fear
we are kind, we know and we understand
our hands are open, our arms are embracing
when you finally come home
please bear with us, we are one with you
touch the flame, we do not really mind
be hurt with so much bliss, we have no reason to stop you
less yourself, we cannot be happier.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Hearing A White Backed Magpie Singing In The Rain
The white backed magpie singing and skies so gloomy gray
And magpie does sound happy on such a gloomy day
But why is magpie happy what reason for his joy
All in the depths of Winter this morning in July? .
The rain come down in torrents and dark clouds o'er the hill
And freshening winds blow colder the breath of winter chill
The raindrops freely running adown the window pane
And still the magpie singing and whistling in the rain.
Why is the magpie singing what reason for his cheer
On this cold day in winter the wettest of the year?
The wettest day of Winter the wind blow cold and strong
And merry magpie singing his distinct happy song.
The white backed magpie piping his happy melody
On wettest day in Winter on rain soaked blackwood tree
And I ponder the question the simple question why?
The magpie feel so happy on wet day in July.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Dying inside
I'm dying inside, crying, bleeding, screaming
but no one can tell because I keep a straight face
on the inside i feel like killing myself
i feel like i have no reason for living
like something is eating my insides
There is a voice in my head telling me to just die
That no one wants me and sometimes I feel like its telling the truth
My inside hurts they're screaming at me because of the pain
I've tried evrything but nothing works
What should I do about the bleeding that I feel inside of me about the screaming about the pain
I cant take the pain the bleeding the screaming
I must do something
I must go somewhere where the pain will go away where everything bad goes away
I know what to do but I'm scared
But the pain the bleeding and the screaming is getting worse
I do what i have to do
I take they knife and put it through my chest
I wake up and the pain the bleeding and the screaming inside me are gone
I have gone to the better place where ther is no pain
Where there is nothing that can hurt me
There is no more dying inside me
The pain the bleeding and the screaming are all gone
poem by Nicki Faith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!