[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

XXXXXEven now,
part of me
(my hands)
want to
pull out
that glass
she lodged
in her neck.

Pull it out
and drop it
into pieces,
or keep it
in the back seat
of my car.

Where it can
lay a while
and stare at me.
Part of me
(my chest)
is not afraid
of demons.

It is far less
dangerous
than girls with
haphazard knives
and other
monsters.

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

HollowHollow
Is her chest.

She feels around for emotions;
Sadness and anger is what she has mastered the best.

World moves around her
In top-speed rate,

While she stands still or get maneuvered around
Like a dense grey stone in the rapids of fate.

Erosion shapes her outsides
As a rough unapproachable being;

It builds up the pressure inside
Where she's really quite more softer than what you're seeing.

But don't expect for there to be a heart,
It's already shattered to pieces and is reformed from charred coals;

Even now and again it is crumbling apart;
Life has filled it with so many holes....

Hollow
Is her chest.

She feels no emotion,
Exce

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

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slipping into ashes...Congregating under my skin are the transparent appendages that twist
and gnaw at my convulsions of life. They become the silhouettes of my
suffocation, the rotting demons that can only be cleansed by the maggots
that sit and wait for murmured speeches of my despair.

I can scream without sound, but it will not quiet them. I can stroke
the violation that throbs within my walls, that hammers at the storm
that threatens the sanctuary that I have just found, but still i will slip
slowly into nothing.

I cannot allow these viscid layers of my insanity to be enticed into
the beckoning cracks of ghost light, yet there will be no satisfact

empty skyif wishes were trees
&
square pegs
were caressed by round holes
then heroes that stood upon bloodied corners
could create smoke ringed fossils   of broken tears
they could demand       that their apocalypse     would never come

but she

She
is different

she is salt brine  without a trick
an angel
lost  in secrets
she's drowning in a storm
that she can't crawl out from
and
her hands
fragile
and
trembling
burn    with match sticks and heaven


she has become

Stardust pleading.. .…she died in your arms…

translucent and crisp from the flames of a parasitic world
she had drenched herself in the gutter poisons of living
soaking up endless sheets of scars with
vials of darkness and depression..
she needed refraction
a deviation from the elite pustules of self-absorbed addictions

so she turned herself away
becoming a tendril of air
fading
losing the curl
slowly.. .disintegrating

smudging out her hell
like the ink of a type written letter
basted and massaged in the "all you can eat" diner's
grease bin of medication…

…she butchered

A Love StoryA fortress
A wall crumbling
Breached
Penetrated
Its strength to protect is faltering as
brick by ancient brick
becomes dust removed and forgotten

Is that the goal?

To know what no one has ever touched
To hover and caress with compassion
To make human the monster that others
molded with the love of a mother's hand

You see through these scars and empty spaces
wrapping bones together with ribbons of light
Excavating encapsulated nightmares of time
Setting free the echoes of a bird caged heart

You break yourself over me
Becoming a window to the legend held in Camelot
Filling me…with hope and desire…
…with an ul

death of the glow wormdestiny has brought me full stride

bound in a perfect armor of testicular smatterings
a logic of hungry eyes that burn a body into the cracks of the ravens humor
how can i be saved if even rosewater cannot bless me free from torment

paint me black in the catacombs of abandonment
gasping...
ebbing in flow...

let me love the scabs of my being
allow me to be swallowed whole
to fall quiet into semi-consciousness

i am consumed
breathing blood
craving the mutiny of the hourglass

i love...with a suit of colors

...that have already died.. .

We dream alone.. .I breathe him.. .

Drenched and raw
like heartbeats skipping upon the breeze
As the feathered dragonfly
wandering through untouched souls of the lake

He bends...towards me
languid, poisonous in rapture
hunting within me for the reasons
to remember his kiss

He loves...to give me sight
So that I might be the stars
that speak to untuck the wings that he heals
So that I might tumble blissfully within his heavens

...if only to be the witness...
to the revelations of his lips
to make of heather my heart and roses my soul
to burst forth as the berries on the vine
full and succulent

I breathe in...the throes of his horizons
aw

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Submitted: September 25, 2011
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Obedience and Supplication

by *CrimzonRose, Sep 25, 2011, 9:23:55 AM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Mommy dearest…
Who is this neighbor that stalks my forest?
That feeds from my bones
As the bloated enraptured snake.
The silence has fallen.
Reverting to the necromancer of my sins,
While spewing dependent frailties
to bid a soul with guilt and torment.

This cross burns endlessly,
wasting moonlight in clouds of grey
burning between words and wars
while weeping life of thunder.
Only to replace it with the engorgement
of selfishness and pitiless glorification.

Can you hear the tears of this darkness?

Listen!

They rattle the roost of this empty soul.

Obedience and Supplicationby *CrimzonRose

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

"You're keeping in step in the line
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine
'Cause you do what you're told
But inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold"

The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails

*RepairsInProgress Oct 6, 2011

It speaks to me of inner corruption, an inner decomposition but I find also hints of neglect in it as if it is the neglect that really needs to be addressed. Beautiful writing, it put me into such a contemplative place.

*CrimzonRose Oct 22, 2011 Writer

Yes, Paul a lot of inner corruption and frailty and neglect. I hope that your "contemplative place" was fruitful because of it. Thank you for reading it and for the fave. It means a lot to me when 'you' see something worthwhile in my writing.

*RepairsInProgress Nov 1, 2011

The contemplative place was interesting. Fruitful I cannot claim, lately all passages of thought lead to obstructions, stagnation is my common mode but it will pass eventually. Thank you though for the thoughts.

~Sapient-Butterfly Sep 26, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Beautifully written.

*CrimzonRose Sep 27, 2011 Writer

Thank you so much

~SoraIsMyHomeboy Sep 25, 2011 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

wow. absolutely stunningw word choice. this is so chilling

*CrimzonRose Sep 27, 2011 Writer

Thank you so much for your kind words.

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Obedience and Supplication

Obedience and Supplicationby *CrimzonRose

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