Walking though winded
In a world unwanted while
Stripped of undeniable desires.
Not here. Not now. Just not.
Zombie styled steps
Disguised as Dalkhai
Are ever these actions.
Circuitous reflexes and
So grand that they hand
A midwinter blanket
To wrap this piteous pride.
Until, briefly born again,
Bountiful breath returns.
Sweet. No longer stale.
Please. Just a little longer.
For passion will pale
After the sun breaks and
Bathes the broken night.
To want for tomorrow
While walking though winded
© Brandewulf 2018
You can read more of Brandewulf’s work at Brandewijn Words.
Sing it loud
Sing it clear
From the rooftops
Through the tears
Lift your voice
Let it roar
The heavens shake
Still no more
Scream your name
Let it sound
Like thundered skies
Loud as love
Cry it loud
Let it ring
The love you have
To make me sing.
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018
If you enjoyed this, thank you! To read more please visit chrisnelson61
History void of sapience
I am the spectre
of regurgitated fallacy
I carve the crevice
in impregnable absolutes
The blood-spatter in the crevasse
of your ice sculpture
Where i birth postmodernism
and cut off the crimson springs
Children raised by the idiot box
extinction of libraries
words replaced by letters
A climate change
bonfire of trees
A nation impeached
acclimation to a blue bird’s speech
Hubris draped in white cloth
the sloth that doth not protest
Robots dictate pedestrians
look to your alt-left
look to your alt-right
I know where i left my keys
can you help me find
my fucking mind?
people are busy doing chores and doing harm
running into and over
vacuuming and sweeping their lives
under the carpet
devouring the world’s resources and
their prey in one bite
hurting their children
losing their sense of duty, weight and battles
dragging their voids like wounded animals
diving in the shallow waters
raping my brain
wasting my time
I have been here before
I have seen
I have done
I know this man, his cat, his wife’s lover, their neighbor’s gun.
I know this life. This world. This moment. Frozen in time.
This overlapping of events. Repetition of sounds.
I am already gone
empty spaces echo with my shouts.
*You can read more of Bojana’s work at Blogging with Bojana
Rose-gold sunbeams set the autumn trees ablaze
under skies consumed by the pouring rain,
mind obscured in a silver haze.
I search for glimpses in the rearview mirror
and hold open the palms of my hand out the window
hoping to catch drops of nostalgia
that quench my soul like water.
I see drive by memories
strewn apart by the wind
and buried deep in muddy waters.
They swirl apart the tattered pages in my mind
but dissipate quickly on the tongue.
I try to capture phantoms in a glass bottle
but memories are not wine,
they don’t get richer as they age.
They haunt me,
and as seasons die
I try to dig up their bodies –
© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018
You can catch more of Samantha existing at her blog, Existential Poetry.
You appear the harlequin herald.
Trance bound, held and wound
Around your own reflection.
Diamond dusted to ward the wary
With gilded glances and nary
A second thought for the fallout.
Call out and fall in for the next audition
Painting them with practiced praises,
Positioning pieces like dominoes.
Rows upon rows that you lined up,
Get up and set up to take the blame
And knock each other down to drown.
Victimless victor to the camera eye
Blocking view of the broken bodies.
Wine soaked revelry became reality,
Twisting the conscience to turn blind.
No choice and no voice for the only,
But lonely no more they scream as one.
© Brandewulf 2018
Originally posted on BrandewijnWords