»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #26
»
Burn
| Open Poetry #26 |
|
Burn |
|
|
Exodus New Member
since 2003-04-14
Posts 5Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada |
And I have been changed by this night's rain... grown so estranged I drag weary down the haunted sands of time; for this is my life's end When the synchronistic cliches seem too surreal to see clearly I have tried christianity, bhuddism, even Islam... But when finding all my necromantic sacrifices -- their blood has been diluted Such milky veins wash, a rushing run -- i cry as they seep insanely draining throughout my mind. Riverrapids of bright bluewhite in my pitchblack thoughts flood my brain; the ink of my thoughts Yet even this chaotic delirium which I live seems somewhat estranged Yes... I seek a heart's blood -- with a desire pure and undeluded Into which I will etch my legacy, with the scalpel I hold... And slice open this crimson muscle; perform this task of damned fate Now I have seen armageddons rage ablaze, which are grill-barbecues with Black iron ash alters of carcoal briquette gods burning in summer-lawn-chairs... apocalypse Mesquite smoke entrails -- drip and sizzle -- (And what a tasty treat it shall be!) Surburban saturdays fresh-mowed dwellings stare deranged From the glow of television labotomies -- a darkness -- tinpan-brainfried idiots Skip a jumpdance slaghterhouse shuffle, in ever-deepening credit-line masses; trapped in doom. Under confusion's weight, I wander and wander as a drunken court jester... I wonder at wonders in the still crimson stagnate pools of glow and THIS! ...ridiculous! With this god's blind eye I wander astray on a path of anarchy. I live to have read the pages -- and scribed a thousand and one more -- of my morbid brain, And to remember each; for one reason, for all time; and it's deranged. Always weeping, always weeping, I hold my own heart... with distrust in my body. Good lord... open guts spill forth before me, and in each sickly wet fold I read; death. After which pours forth the milksblood of Christ... with a bitter loving smile. I try and shake this shadow you fear, ... Why am I so deranged? And one more modern miracle each day becomes useless But I'm not surprised, nor do i grow weary of every evening's apocalypse I feel the groove of each judgement day in this new heart So I walk on this life, like the spine of a fine occult tome Reflecting my past judgement, and past conciousness Inscribe these secret words I took, and title my satanic book 'Apocalypse' Yet dreaming still of a hope... Smile. Skip a jumpdance slaughterhouse shuffle. |
||
| © Copyright 2003 Jeremy Skibicki - All Rights Reserved | |||
Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
In order to submit this for the book you need to check the submission box. If not then the open forum #26 is the proper place for new posts. Welcome to Passions and hope you like it as much as I have.  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
||
|
QjQ Member Elite
since 2003-04-18
Posts 3756U.S.A. |
i enjoyied this very much, kept my attention "one needs not challenge all the players to win the game" |
||
|
Justbleu Member Elite
since 1999-08-31
Posts 3329Oregon, Originally From Alaska :) |
Intense piece of poetry..... Enjoyed!!!! Bridgette  "Somewhere, somehow, it should be possible to touch someone and never let go again. To hold someone, not for a moment but forever." Unknown |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
