Dead God In Me
To slit the grinning wounds
from childhood's seven moons
the palette stained with the ejaculated passions
(of forbidden, hedonistic colors...)
Strike from omnipotence; all-seer, all-deemer
and haunt my severed country with your
dripping, secret games
You pick the unripe lilies
deflored and peeled the bleeding petals
made known to me
the grainy stains, the crimson lotus
of the Black-Ash Inheritance,
the semen feed of gods and masters
The worms still in me,
still a part of me,
racing out from leaking rooms,
swoop from broken lungs to block the transmission
to put an end to the nomad years
Father
you are the
dead god in me
song performed by by In Flames
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Bleeding Rose
red streaks run along the
edges of the white petals
like the ones that run down her arms
trickling slowly down the stem
and to the floor
like the tears she sheds every
second of the day
the red stains upon the
leaves unwashed
the red stains upon her fingers
untouched
red stained carpet and
red stained cloths
a jacket worn at all times
a black jacket covering the scars
red puddles left behind
and a Bleeding Rose
poem by Chessney Ferguson
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The Howler
There is blood
dripping, dripping
off snow white paws,
ice perfection,
caeser beauty.
You howl, dark, blood stained muzzle
piercing the air
the cold, cold broken air
that shatters soul and
thought and prose.
Your hackles raised your amber sockets
your fire-light eyes
dancing, grinning, lolling jaws
gasping
Lungs shattering-frozen glass.
You are a blizzard,
tearing across the
frozen tundra
confidence in essence,
you alone- the world your
enemy, your
arena, your solace.
You are cold, an ice sculpture-
somehow melting, but ever slow
you howl again,
for luck.
poem by Alice Miller
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The Nomad
Like a mirage riding on the desert sand
Like a vision floating with the desert winds
Know the secret of the ancient desert lands
you're the keeper of the mystery in your hands
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
Undercover of the veil of your disguise
The men that fear you are the ones that you despise
No one's certain what your future will behold
You're a legend your own history will be told
Nomad rider of the ancient east
Nomad rider that men know the least
Nomad where you come from no one knows
Nomad where you go to no one tells
No one dares to even look or glance your way
Your reputation goes before you they all say
Like a spirit that can disappear at will
Many claim of things but no one's seen you kill
Nomad
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Burning Scars
I can not paint, the saint to colors - In the skies of the butterflies - I am lost in a field, i am standing in corn - I feed my blood to the spoils on the battleground, i am dead to the unborn - I see silver in the moon, i am black to her back - I lookout of my window, i am in lifes prison without bars - My arms are bound, my wrists are bleeding. although my wounds are healed, i am burning with scars - My world on fire in the tornado of rain, my turmoil of thunder is the depth of my pain
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Black Hooves, White Snow
black hooves, white snow
candlewax dripping,
water from a rusted spicket.
brass doorknobs,
forbidden rooms,
where spider webs cover
forgotten books.
and the chant of the ancients
rolls like thunder!
strike the bell, mountains quiver!
somewhere the gods of old
walk deserted streets,
while the shepherd kings
raise their flutes and play.
and the old mad monk
walks into the hills,
never to be seen,
or heard again.
black hooves, white snow
the taste of blood,
the smell of need.
bows drawn tight,
the archers wait
for the sun to rise
in a blackened sky.
the wheel turns
in the desert sand
(nothing ever stays the same)
water wears down stone
until it finds it's way.
while trees fall in
a desolate forest,
and the hawk flies alone
down through the gorge.
black hooves, white snow
till we find our way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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We Gather.....
i go to the place
where dead people pray...
i walk the stark streets,
struck dumb by poverty's tongue.
i follow voices into alleys
clothed in broken glass.
i lick the scars off buildings
where rats gather to dance.
ghosts never chant, 'i am black, i am white'...
they moan and simmer with calloused hands.
there are no heroes, no martys, no priests...
only the small boy in the doorstep,
with a broken kite.
who are we, who are we?
the sweat stained pelvis thrusts.
while armies gather to feed the crows.
and gods shatter into pulse and need,
orphans walk the womb lost without sight.
the heroin needle, the nuclear strike,
at the crossroads of hell,
just past the end of time.
we gather neath oil rigs
and lift unholy hands...
eating the flesh of our children,
in the name of god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Only One
Broken this fragile thing now
And I can't, I can't pick up the pieces
And I've thrown my words all around
But I can't, I can't give you a reason
I feel so broken up (so broken up)
And I give up (I give up)
I just want to tell you so you know
Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there's just no one that gets me like you do
You are my only, my only one
Made my mistakes, let you down
And I can't, I can't hold on for too long
Ran my whole life in the ground
And I can't, I can't get up when you're gone
And something's breaking up (breaking up)
I feel like giving up (like giving up)
I won't walk out until you know
Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there's just no one who gets me like you do
You are my only my only one
Here I go so dishonestly
Leave a note for you my only one
And I know you can see right through me
So let me go and you will find someone
Here I go, scream my lungs out and try to get to you
You are my only one
I let go, there's just no one, no one like you
You are my only, my only one
My only one
My only one
My only one
You are my only, my only one
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hammers (A trilogy)
Hammered
The hammer is inside my head,
it's a never ending drum beat
that is my husband, berating me.
As he his key turns in the lock
my blood pressure
rises.
He'll check the wallpaper
for marks that the children
may have made.
He'll demand I keep them quiet,
take them away,
control them.
They are only toddlers
and I have only
one pair of hands
but he'll moan about it
until he goes to bed at
12 o'clock
As he gets into bed
his moaning will stop
but my head still aches
then at 7 while he shaves,
he'll continue to remonstrate
he won't stop
and I'm sure he's still talking
as he walks to the station.
It's the hammering,
the constant hammering
and it's driving me insane -
one day the hammer will fall.
Bad Fit
How many nails do I have to have
hammered into my brain to realise
we don't fit?
This liaison has always been flawed.
Gel, we never did, but we had passion.
A wealth of it.
Should I take this hammer
and strike the final blow?
I don't know.
Hammers strike memories,
as though they're all piano keys
and the sound is harsh..
They have me re-visiting old war wounds
that I should have buried years ago.
They are awakening.
They've been dormant for so long.
Maybe I should have had one final strike
and put them to rest.
The trouble is, if I pick up the hammer
and strike the first blow,
I may never stop.
Broken heart.
She took a hammer to the mirror,
the paintings, the vase, the table
and battered them to death.
She took a hammer to the car,
its bonnet, its boot and its roof
and made dents.
She took a hammer to her heart,
hit it hard, tried to gouge it out
with its claw
and then she realised -
it was already dying; bleeding,
all over the floor.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Dead And Broken
Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forbidden Fruit
all the forbidden fruit I ever
dreamt of--or was taught to
resist and fear--ripens and
blossoms under the palms of my
hands as they uncover and explore
you--and in the most secret
corners of my heart as it discovers
and adores you--the forbidden fruit
of forgiveness--the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn't deserve--
the forbidden fruit of my life's labor
--the just payment I have avoided
since my father taught me how--
the forbidden fruit of the secret
language of our survivors' souls as
they unfold each others secret
ballots--the ones where we voted
for our first secret desires to come
true--there's so much more
I want to say to you--but for
the first time in my life I'm at
a loss for words--because
(I understand at last)
I don't need them
to be heard by you.
Submitted by Venus
poem by Michael Lally
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In My Childhood Days I Pick Lilies In The Marsh
In my childhood days I pick lilies in the marsh,
I pick lilies, the most beautiful that I can find
in colours of red, yellow and white
but now a tar road cuts past.
The highway runs almost to eternity,
I wonder where the dilapidation did start
see no coots, plovers calling
broken lies the marshland that I love
and I have to search into the bright blue
to cling to the untouched
while smoke clouds of white, yellow and grey hang
like a blanket that is folding over everything
while wealth increases, nature becomes distorted,
and the plain has offices that is encroaching it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dripping Water
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the horizon of heaven,
on the land, on the sand,
makes me happy, and so elated,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the dark black clouds,
on the leaves, on the tress,
gives them a slow quick bath,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the thunderstruck light,
on the eyes, on the cheeks,
makes everyone to turn the face up!
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the beauty of sky,
onthe mud, on the rivers,
makes musical splashes when gets strike,
Dripping water, dripping water,
everywhere!
from the love of vast scream,
to the beautiful murmors of land,
makes me sing, and dance.
poem by Tayyeba Mustafa
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The Indian Upon God
I PASSED along the water's edge below the humid trees,
My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,
My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace
All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase
Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak:
Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak
Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky.
The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye.
I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk:
Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk,
For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide
Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide.
A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes
Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies,
He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He
Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?
I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say:
Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay,
He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night
His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Bad Fit
How many nails do I have to have
hammered into my brain to realise
we don't fit?
This liaison has always been flawed.
Gel, we never did, but we had passion.
A wealth of it.
Should I take this hammer
and strike the final blow?
I don't know.
Hammers strike memories,
as though they're all piano keys
and the sound is harsh..
They have me re-visiting old war wounds
that I should have buried years ago.
They are awakening.
They've been dormant for so long.
Maybe I should have one final strike
and put them to rest.
The trouble is, if I pick up the hammer
and strike the first blow,
I may never stop
poem by Ruth Walters
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Summer Dying Fast
Through acrid clouds of summer flies
the garden swells with a thousand more wise
Forever flung to celestial dreams
clawing at the grave of the dead nazarene
I watch the storm approaching
the darkness calls my name
the trees are growing restless
they feel the season change
their fruit has putrified
forbidden once and bound to die
the thread of life lies severed
on the brink of paradise
Grinning winds of hate unfurled
dash towers tall that grip the sun
talons stretch her veil
reclamation
song performed by by Cradle Of Filth from The Principle Of Evil Made Flesh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Childhood Memories Sung to the Tune of Shawnee West Franklin Bison Blues
Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with green and growing things
Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with purple peonies
Mine is sere
Throughout the year
Nothing grows here
Some people have a childhood rainbow
A sea of colors all aglow
Some people have a childhood rainbow
Red to violet in a row
Mine is gray
Bow of clay
Without a ray
Some people have a childhood temple
Covered with a million treasured dreams
Some people have a childhood temple
A sunny Wat of Gods and kings
Mine is plain
Squats in the rain
Functional 'n sane
Where childhood memories abound
Life flows vividly around
Where childhood memories have fled
Hearts lie dead
Two Thousand Years Later
I am over 2000 years old, and I am still honored today
People still call me as they kneel down to pray.
I have not changed in all that time
I can still cure the sick, the lame, the blind.
Faith can go a very long way, and I will listen when you pray.
When you think that the devils got a hold on you
I’ll be there, I know just what to do.
Everyone has a destiny that they must fulfill
It is in the masters book, it is GODS will.
Every life must touch another for us to be whole
It’s part of our destinies, and part of our goal.
We all have a cross that we must bear
But with my father I was able to share.
He gave me the strength that I needed most
It came from THE FATHER, THE SON, THE HOLY GHOST.
I spread the words that he had given to me
And it has lasted thru this eternity.
I called out to my FATHER, before I took my last breath
And the skies above became black as can be
That was when I filled my destiny.
Thousands upon thousands have died in my name
Was their lives worth it, or was it in vain?
They was put here to spread the word
Words that on deaf ears were not heard.
For all did not believe that I died that day
But yet in my tomb, I did lay.
Now I leave this question to you: if I did not exist,
who would you turn to?
poem by Louis Rams
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Dead & Broken
Too many things Ive never spoken
Im not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
Thatll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
How many faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
Im dying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Sorry to see that youre underestimated lately
Id rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sees With A Desire Sought
Like my father.
And his father before him...
I was the eldest.
And made quick to grow.
With a teaching of life early.
And many times angry,
I had to let my childhood go.
Used to set examples.
And enforced to do chores I had to do...
Did not sit well with me at all,
As I saw other children playing games...
With a loving to do it too!
But as I grew older with skills I had been taught,
I still observe those 'children'...
Playing the same games with those teachings.
The very same games they have handed to their children...
With beliefs a maturity comes to one automatically.
Yet...
One does not achieve the meaning of responsibility,
Unless there is an influence one sees with a desire sought.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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