[x]

Dead PassionI am the one
Forever dead.
I hate everything when it comes to this
It rains with blood and hatred.

Crimson thoughts from the same head
Warning you all: run away
Angel on a death bed
I hate you
More than ever.

Sell your soul to the devil
And ally with me.
I will break rules and bones
And eat the night!

I hate you all.

Fear me when you hear me!
Flee me when you see me!
I am dread incarnate!

My passion for lust it is.
My passion for the dead it is
But I love life as it is
I want redemption for hope there is
I long for it.

But I'm still not turned to light to full
Pull the plug, end the pain.
You a

lucidi lie awake
until the back of dawn
unfolds
unto the fore of night,
begging
the chemicals of my anatomy
to release me
to give me
a fucking break--
i am not
vindictive.
instead,
i knead
the bed of bones
beneath my skin,
pour them from the opening
in my chest and
lay them
before the shadows
of the swallowed
stars.

The Dogs of WarAnd Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
with Ate by his side come hot from hell
shall in these confines with a monarch's voice
cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war;
that this foul deed shall smell above the earth
with carrion men, groaning for burial.

They said the fields ran with ink,
but real men bleed black on white,
and young men bleed green,
and women do not bleed at all.
They said vengeance was a worthy cause.

The dogs of war left teeth-marks in their throats.
Caesar gurgled and died, but his spirit was mute.
Havoc ensued without his order,
and the stones of Rome boiled and flowed
in rivers hot as Ate's eyes.

They

My Eternal BelovedIncessant screams echo across weeping graves
On the winds of destiny you shall hear my call
The voice of suffering will caress your spirit,
and into my darkest nightmare, you will fall

Lush is the poison that runs beneath my skin
Your death I will sow, your blood I shall reap
My dark thoughts swoon into a song of decay
In the pitch of iniquity you will gently sleep

I will awaken upon a lattice of bloody shards,
and harvest the resonance of your eternal cries
In a field of black roses you will find my soul,
together we shall walk through bleeding skies

I stand before you in the harbor of madness,
shimmering like a dry beacon of w

Inside OutA warm summer
in prison, late morning

orange on gray.
A forest held behind

barbed wire
leans in, ready to hear

the whispers of
guards and their keys.

Smuggled by the wind
is one low whistle,

then another.

Pierce my KissesOn a bed of nails
I try not to kiss you
While I feel my spine seeping
And the puncture wounds
Beneath me.

I comb my hair
To the right side of my face
So when I wake
It shields my eyes
Against the sunlight.

The colour of my wings
Are white,
A tone I would not associate
With myself,
Though I'm assured
It agrees with me
And so I accept it.

The nails come through
My chest
And like a fool
I kiss you.

Waking from the DeadIt was like waking from a nightmare, an endless dream of fire and blood. Two miles of guns flashed behind my eyelids, six score horses screamed and reared, and men ran. The musket ball ripped through my belly again and again, and another split Jarosław’s head like an over-ripe melon. There was night, many nights, and there were miles and thorns and rocks and the slow easiness that heralded my death.
That was when the pain came, drowning me, searing me, consuming me. There were dreams at first, as though the battle had never ended, but as the pain grew, it blotted out all else, and I had at least a little peace of mind while my body was being torn asunder. There were voices as well, swelling and ebbing wordlessly beneath the roaring in my ears. I heard my brothers, daughters, wife, whispering amidst the death cries of soldiers and students, a low murmur like the echoes in a hallway in a place I had once known, and a few I could not recognize, speaking soft and low as thoug

Insert Title _1We, the petty,
we, the bourgeois,
poring over mirrors of reflected, collected verse,
only we could drown
in the shallow pools of our own desires.
Self-worth and efficacy distort, distend,
dilate.
Our longing sighs inflate
gauzy bladders, diaphanous,
and we fancy them substantial because they are large -
(We say much the same of our philanthropy.)
- seeking no synonyms,
though "bloated" comes to mind.

A pseudonym can shelter
the sodden intellect, emaciated,
denigrated by false modesties.
How quaint.
How deep, the brainy poet
who breathes his own despite
behind alabaster walls,
sherry perched atop whalebone fingers,
slosh

Legends of The Dark PriesthoodIn the dawn of shadow-fire,
a Raven king dreams...

Over solemn ground winds of fate begin to wail;
seduced by the nocturnal rapture of a primeval spell
Acheronian dreams draped over nocuous splendor
— Living nightmares forged in prophecies of hell

Like a black tide they rose up from the netherworld;
a chilling symphony of screams shattering the skies
~ They are the Legends of the Dark Priesthood
Suspended in arrowed-twilight, their fury cries

Whispering shadows bleed upon twisted branches
A chilling fable glistening in an opus of death
Dark priests fuse night's accent with lucid odium
Ravenous apparitions seek thy last brea

SUPERNATURALDeep unto the mist of ages, spirits jewel worlds forsaken
A slither of fire dawns the ethos of my dreams —
for the temptress seeds wind and sea with ancient song
Emerald streams flow thru forests of exile...
Beyond the veil of time, the ravens fly dark n' long
The flesh of trees weep to rise of ebon Moon
— Nocturnal rapture, seek I with whispered lust
Under wanton falls of twilight I hath bled upon magick vine
Beneath midnight tides the Fae stir,
somewhere in the other world, my flesh becomes her wine

~Arthur Crow © 2012

The CatfishThe Catfish

As a child
On a school sponsored holiday to Wales
I saw a catfish in a rock pool
Curved like the crescent moon.
The flesh was more the colour
Of the algae and the stones it grew on.

I stroked the scales with a finger,
It tried to escape from
The fist-divot in sand.
The tide was too far out
For me to save and take it
Into the ocean.

Blessed Bedroom (Re-Write)I'll pull the sin out from your body heat with a single whispered wet confession.

I'll stroke Him off your blossomed lips; my rosary. You can be my chanted verse.

The rest is just one
silent
fervent
sweat-stained prayer,
left to sigh among the sheets.

Amen.

Dancing With SculptureDancing With Sculpture

Her last lover was a sculptor
And except for the feeling behind his pieces
He was as rigid as the scrap and steel
He crafted people from.
They broke up and divided their items
Before a planned engagement
And a honeymoon in Africa
Came to pass.

It has been a year since the split
And cleaning the blood stain off her jeans
As he gave a loose critique of each piece
Hung on the kitchen-diner wall.
There was no embarrassment as she stripped
And ran a sink of water.
As she applied stain remover he had seen
Her unconditional university offer in an open drawer.

With the look in his eye and the technique
Of hi

To Tolerate the SubmissiveTo Tolerate the Submissive

After the class had been dismissed
He stayed to clean his brushes
Before he packed away his folder and the work inside it.
Julie missed her bus and so she stayed with him
And busied herself sketching the mannequin
In the middle of the room.

"I like your paintings," she said to him
In the quiet of the classroom. He wondered why women
Always used that same line on him;
It wasn't what he wanted to hear,
He was content with hearing
He was shit and always would be.
Her eye-liner was too thick, her lips too pink;
She tried too hard to look bohemian
And looked like a gypsy instead.

He expected a

RiotThe children have broken into riot,
They see a frivolous thing on a political shelve
And are demanding that their parents buy it—
Unaware of the blood-price of dreams half-understood
They lash out in mass, so no one is to blame
And claim that they are just "misunderstood"
As they set the world aflame.

Every cent James earned he put into that store
Its windows now smashed, its inventory gone
He stands in a frame, the door now on the floor
And wonders on the time spent to build his little dream…
How will he provide for the family he adores?
When every cent James earned he put into that store.

There is a little blue banda

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Memory

by =QuiEstInLiteris, Apr 24, 2012, 10:22:59 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

I remember you, quiet man,
plaidly relieved against a backdrop
spangled with motes of starry dust.
I remember you, blue eyes,
all black socks and white sweater,
and the way you used to eat mayonnaise.
I made fun of you for that.
I remember you smiling,
no tubes, no pumps.

And in the blue room, I played a game,
pretending I could keep you here
as long as I stayed awake, imagining
my breath sustaining you-
   in and out
      in and out
         in and out
      and once more.
But my heart cramps,
and my eyes are sore,
and this is not so much a poem
as a thinly veiled prayer
that you still guard me as I sleep,
though open eyes did not save you.

Memoryby =QuiEstInLiteris

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Sorry.

love 1 1

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 4 4

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

=EveFromLove Oct 4, 2012 Professional Writer

Touching.

=QuiEstInLiteris Oct 9, 2012 Professional Writer

<3 Thanks.

=Gnewi Sep 6, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I'm so sorry! I lost two grandparents in the last few years. I miss them both so very much! I can definitely understand....

=QuiEstInLiteris Oct 9, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you. It sucks, truly. It drives me nuts when people say that it gets better. It doesn't get better; you just learn to work around it.

=Gnewi Oct 11, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

So true!

~culexknight Aug 29, 2012

always thinly veiled prayers

~Panthershade May 23, 2012 Student Writer

I know how you feel.

I'll leave that at that and I am very sorry for your loss...

Beautiful and very sweet, touching and emotional. I nearly cried, not a bad thing at all however, I've been repressing a lot and this really helped.

It's good to get your emotions out through words on paper isn't it?

=QuiEstInLiteris May 24, 2012 Professional Writer

Thanks, love.
And yes, it does help. Not much, but it does, and every little bit helps.

~Panthershade May 24, 2012 Student Writer

You're welcome

~Cyarna May 22, 2012

This has uncovered a lot of repressed emotion in me.
This is really beautiful beyond words, I don't know how to express how this has stopped me completely in my tracks and made me think, not only of that which I have lost but all that I still have and cherish. Thank you, really.

I'm also very sorry for your loss. This is a breathtaking poem.

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