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Best Sin Poems

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New Sin Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Sin poems are below this new poems list.

The Consequence Of Your Sin by McConnell, Gordon
Never Sin or Rules Bend by Horn, James
Vulgar Sin by Love, Jamesa
Sin Separates Us From God by Pemberton, Jim
In sin we sing by Harvey, Aa
what is a sin by Osho, Francis
No Sin In Telling Lies by wahab, wahab
The Subtlety Of Sin And Sandy Shores by Schumacker, Earl
Sin Sorry Sunday by Robertson, Milton
My Greatest Sin by wahab, wahab

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The Best Sin Poems

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Texian Macabre Arena

The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
 
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
One summer afternoon, lying wounded next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction, a land of disgrace
A blood thirst battlefield is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind bleeding hands
Crawlers, render their lives giving grace
 
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing, warm feelings
Summer rain, lungs filled with blood, one last post
Glorious by numbers, screaming blades
Gemstone in touch with the Holy Ghost  
Soldiers come in a little close 
Crawling, missing limbs, 
Twisted nightmare with no ending

Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against the dying wind
Dirt piles of crushed windpipes -- sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle upon the sky

Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on walls, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
Fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, mothers face

Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin
Distant, before Texas and her annexation, 
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!

By: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Dead Men Do Tell Tales

Dead Men Do Tell Tales

 I saw, the rot of sad, deep selfish desires,
 burning endlessly in clever fires
 Piles of cash a tall mountain high
 stolen by those that cleverly steal and lie
 six lying days every week , 
 while they race into church pretending 
 to be ever so mild and meek

 The preacher crying all to give so much more
 while he lives in a mansion with a golden door
 drunks living with no other life
 have sacrificed family and wife
 naked women on the the street,
 selling their pride and body like meat
 hustlers getting rich selling poisonous dope
 as they hang themselves with an evil rope

 I looked for solace and found there was none
 just endless cowards crying on the run
 A world teaching wrong is so damn right
 blind monkeys never seeing the light
 dancing in fruitless trees,
 tree-rats eating with relish their rotting cheese

 Looking for Spring to bring life anew
 I too am blind and without a damn clue
 a fool holding onto a false hope
 on a tight leash and even shorter rope

 Where is the miracle we each think can come
 we see it shining there for some
 A treasure glaring in the glimmering Sun
 gifted not stolen by guile and a gun
 So I finally turned to family for relief
 ease my Soul, winter in my long lost belief
 that Life must give us all a saving line
 other than more food when we sit to dine

R.J. Lindley
Nov 9th, 1984


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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The Poet Warrior

My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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Plea From A Dark Soul

Plea From A Dark Soul


 Weep not in the sun for me
 my wasted life spent in vain
 by death I did flee,
 all but my shadow dwelt in pain

 Utter not proud words for me
 years of drunken whoring feasts
 by death I did flee,
 feeling no love, set loose my beasts

 Deny not the fate I did earn
 in my own just Hell to endure
 by death I so return,
 leaving a black heart so impure

 Cry not over my burial urn
 my deeds harvested bitter fruits
 by death I so return,
 to languish in my dark roots!

 Robert J. Lindley 11-09-2014

 note: Written from a dream, rather a nightmare that I had recently. As the darkness closed in the  screams grew louder, the pain stronger and the heartaches
 shouted for more agony.. Singe this sinner's hide with pain
 that makes the angels cry..
 A voice speaks out, tis only the start , we have ages and ages to increase
 the torment and pain. 
 Time serves us this sweet delight , this lost soul now lives within our eternal night!

Quote for perspective-- 
 Poetry is a bowl of cereal and if you are nice you get to add milk and a spoon.
author,  Robert Lindley


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

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Shadow

I never knew the shadows until I walked in the absence of light,
there I found my feelings bound, wrapped up in darkness tight.
Crossing over to the captured fear, I felt the shivered stroke,
What bumps across my once silent skin did this chill evoke.
The replica of my being, a mirror void of time carved detail,
tells me of my nothingness, my soul complete but body frail.

The shadows stung me like ice dripped glass and beckon me to come,
Into the home of being alone, without the warmth my lips grow numb.
Every lesson I must have learned with open mind drifts far away,
Crying with crimson crossed eyes, forsaken light I beg for a ray.

Shades of sin all around me slither like the serpent in temptation,
I resign a step in a time knowing darkness breeds damnation.
Suffer in the suffocation, resentment is all I loathe and see,
And its unfair as I become aware, I drown in the shadow of me. 


july 06, 2015


Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2015

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Shadow to Shadow Revised

=======================
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
In youth the Eden where I played
was left bereft, destroyed, decayed,
by trusts malignant masquerade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Sweet grass dies in my fallow glade
as opportunist needs invade
and bleed the life from every blade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
First, victims surging song is brayed,
then dirges of the helpless fade
and urges pant their serenade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Agendas I've arranged cascade
to keep my motives undisplayed
and cover cracks in my charade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
I've planted with my soiled spade
slick seeds of doubt in hopes that they'd
conceal the putrid plots I've laid

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
My blighted past will be replayed
and every bloom on whom I've preyed
must lie now in the beds I've made
=======================


Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015

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Upon The Gallows Stands The Condemned

Upon The Gallows Stands The Condemned


Upon the gallows stands the condemned,
the crowd slobbering for his demise.
Preacher and followers begin bible hymn
about fools not so very swift or wise.

There dancing spirits surrounding him,
this dejected and now shaking thief.
His dark, haunting past now so very dim
lost of all hope and steeped in grief.

Beelzebub stands there with wicked grin,
to welcome home the coming of the fruits.
His harvest dark and heaped over in sin,
crowd crying to see his swinging boots!

Soon darkness will bring on its release,
as stiff rope snaps into a sudden drop.
Death shall make this lost soul cease,
when his life and time will forever stop!

Gallows have done their cheering deed,
crowd lurches forth in a collective swoon.
Beelzebub, gathers the fruit of his seed
and gathers the crowd's dark joy as a boon!

Robert J. Lindley, 04-24-2015

Note:  Man's judgment may be a necessary evil but the actions engaged in by 
those that obeyed the carnal desires, lusts and temptations of evil are a sweet harvest for HE that gathers his fruit with a wicked grin...


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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Chained

Winged, winking devils dance
on onyx tinted wings entice
burnt appendages so broken inside rib cage

Unable to fly out of this hell hole
a shadow lifted nevermore
a touch as cold as night lures steel cuts
knees buckle, locked down
nowhere to run from

Rusted chains tighten
each new link pierces,
digs deep the heart's flesh
not enough mercy to shred apart
desire kept it beating just
....this must be what love is
bound in arms
blinded souls cannot escape

Tormented visions
a dark cloud silhouette
spinning around the sun
ravished by chaos
an ancient evil curse arises
within shadows suffering
darkness inside embers burning
with hot pain buried inside ashes

Deeply rooted demonic forces spawn
an evil eye turns
evolving in bad deeds
capturing the innocence of the human
sacrifice
one beast of an unclean spirit
possessing love charms of a snake
coils with lust
putting a heart in chains
attacking with wickedness

Fallen angel filled up inside
hate and pride
cunningly from out of the ashes
remains a demonic lapdog
violating innocence

Soul of impurities
a shadow grows darker
in every love that is taken
unpure vessel when the eyes open
to the dawning light





A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler







Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2016

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Burn This Skin

Help me burn this skin
I can’t believe all the hollow lies I’ve burnt in
 It’s as if there’s a special place in hell
For the sins that I have held
I’ve betrayed the innocence of what I used to be

It’s so funny to realize how perspective changes everything
We keep lying to ourselves and blame it on anything, on anything
Feeding off of drama like a parasite feeds on blood of death
We kill ourselves from the inside just to be like the rest 

Help me burn this skin
I can’t believe all the hollow lies I’ve burnt in
 It’s as if there’s a special place in hell
For the sins that I have held
I’ve betrayed the innocence of what I used to be

Men use love just to get sexual pleasure
Degrading beauty, we slowly lose our treasure
Women giving themselves away to be loved
Yet they still get disposed of
God, what have we done
Please take us back to where we begun

Help me burn this skin
I can’t believe all the hollow lies I’ve burnt in
 It’s as if there’s a special place in hell
For the sins that I have held
I’ve betrayed the innocence of what I used to be

God, I’m screaming out for you
In a world of pain, I thirst for truth
I beg for more, for more than this
I’ve lived life in the worst abyss
I need my Father’s embrace
I need to be saved by grace


Copyright © Zach Mitchell | Year Posted 2016

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It's Never Too Late

His lifeboat drifted aimless; scorching days and chill of night,
with no hope of rescue within his dizzying, blurred sight.

Hunger gripped his belly in long piercing pangs.
Deprived; life giving liquid, his body, now was drained.

 He'd heard stories of both, the devil and Jesus man.
Simply disregarding them; he never took a stand.

"God help me"; empty words repeated in desperation.
No manna dropped from heaven, nor miracle hydration.

Feeling shunned by the one, he called upon the other,
" I'd give my soul for a crumb and a thimble of fresh water."

Parting the curtain of fog, stretched an ancient taloned hand.
"Give yourself to me, and I'll gladly meet your demands."

The devil's seductive voice; at first music to his ears.
We'll feast on souls of nonbelievers, and drink their desperate tears.

Beckoning him from port side, slowly starboard his head turned.
The devil's real, then so is Jesus; his latest lesson learned.

Squeezing his last drop of strength, he managed to his knees.
Through blood stained lips, the sinners prayer; "Father, forgive me, please."

These dying words, barely uttered, he stood at heaven's gate.
My God is a merciful God... Repent... It's never too late.... 



Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014

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Atonement

A branch breaks dried by the sun
withers and dies thrown on the fire
burning remains sweet pearls silver sparkling

a terrible sadness enters the window
a willow weeps pitter patter knocking
sins came to visit last night
blowing against the wind
drooping heavy darkness
putting right the wrongs 
was more than one could bare

grey clouds rains burning
trails of hurt shadows of reality
a dream snatched away
by judgement
scratches on chamber walls

weeps the willow entwines in limbs
an inescapable embrace
in one's own heart
a sanctum darkened
by wrong's lament

mind's rumblings tells tales
clouded thoughts chase the wind
shadows shifting dark and light
reality pays a visit
in moon's grey glow
seeking soul's atonement
for what was done
a heavy price reaped
for burnt ashes and dusty remains

impossible sleep
rain's lullaby hush
pitter patters against the pane
a calming rage gives way
to sweet nightmares of relief



Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler







Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Unthankful

All that I had, just yesterday
Has suddenly, been taken away
Me yes me, a foolish man of clay
Suddenly I have so much to say
When instead, I'd be wise to pray
 
Why oh why, me oh my
Take me now I want to die
I liked it better, when I was perched on high
My wings were strong, I loved to fly

I was given much, I gave no thanks
I sat upon lush river banks
My ship majestic, I watched as it sank
Now this world seems cold and dank

My cup was full it over flowed
Yet gratitude I barely showed
Instead of narrow, I chose wider road
My love of self it barely slowed

If only I had seen more clear
I wonder if I'd now be here
Feeling alone and filled with fear
Oh please dear God, I need you near

I heard him say, I'm sorry son
Your life is over, now it's done
You chose your god, I wasn't the one
Love of plenty and pleasured fun!

So down to Hell my soul is brought
A place of pain both cold and hot
My insides squeezed inside a knot
Now what I treasured doesn't mean a lot

From this nightmare, I thankfully awake 
My soul and being begin to shake
Please Lord forgive me, my mistake
Help me learn to give, instead of take!

I try to be thankful every day
With God's help, stay on the narrow way
It's not about me and that's okay
Vision much clearer, when to Jesus I pray.


This poem was inspired by my brother Roy. 
He sent an email that asked "What if you only woke up with what you said 
thanks for yesterday?" what a great question!


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

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BiPartisan Dissonance

When oppositional cognitive dissonance deflects focus,
it tends to go back to when I deflected focus from her.
She sends me passive-aggressive messages,
bread crumbs leading back in time 
to where she began to feel alone,
marginalized,
siloed,
anxious.

If you don't want a sopping wet tile bathroom floor
because I have thrown all my naked Barbie and Ken parts,
especially their water-filled hollow insides,
and the five saturated pools of stained white washcloths
I took out of that drawer just like you said not to,
and the nice sudsy soft bar of soap,
then you might want to reconsider leaving the bathroom
during my bath.
You might want to think of telling a story
or imagining with my behavioral lectures
I so mercilessly inflict
on the shattered heads of my daughters,
oops,
I mean dolls.

Perhaps oppositional cognitive dissonance 
is what Republicans have about Democrats.

If you folks would be so kind as to return to cooperative civic and civil discussion,
about my intrinsic dignity, royalty perhaps,
sense of anthrocentric entitlement,
immaculate integrity as a permacultured Orthodox Tradition,
utterly necessary to optimize sustainable and resilient health
for All Americans,
(although perhaps not quite sufficient),
including those who happen to have become embarrassed
by their unhealthy wealth and extravagant disregard
for undercommodified values,
like caring and nurturing, loving and therapeutic
mentoring relationships and trees of life, and economic
and eco-logical environ-mental (0)-sum cooperative networks,
like the synergy of all natural systems,
most especially religious cultures
delivering a united and interdependent positive teleology
that we all created this rapacious, extractive mess together.

So, please stop leaving the bathroom of discourse,
regardless of how rhetorically insane and polemic,
every time we complain about your shitty attitudes
about wealthy compost and sustainable,
resilient,
optimized economic growth.
Then you democratically complain,
by voting for the one you hate the least,
as we go right on doing
what we intended to do
while we were throwing water
on your slippery-floor economics
of radical,
reverse-hierarchical interdependence and mutual subsidiarity.
Much too "solidarity" for Republican taste as True,
much less Just to those who prefer their
economically entrenched competitive silos.

And,
our Democratic family value parents 
hear their oppositionally disordered Republicans
as if they were bionically alien unitarian utilitarians,
like honey bees and ant hives,
devoid of deductive rational accessibility,
of even one of four dimensions of truth,
and  without capacity to empathize with their well-mentored praxis,
of continually forgetting you could not climb a higher priority
right now
than telling your oppositional daughter Dr. Seuss's The Lorax, 
interpreting each voice as your own Lorax Logos,
wondering why you continue competing
to reach a Win-Win Cooperative Game,
and political
and economic
and ecological
and cultural 
and biological karmic finish line,
alone in your Permaculture Designed polycultural PolyLife Tree Paradise.

When you think about it,
you can see that your competitive political
and economic assumption,
that Win-Win cooperation will not have our final say,
is not ecologically, scientifically,
or even permaculturally, metaphysically
sound, rational, integrated,
sustainably designed to benefit future generations,
much less synergetic or holonically comprehensive.

You can't win a P=NP,
4-fractal/spiral (0)-sum
cooperative economic logistical plan
until everyone else has the freedom
and integrity
and ecotherapeutic orthopraxis comprehension,
intention,
to win-win with you, coincidentally.

With this perhaps un-Christian, 
and vaguely irreligious perspective
that Democratic mutual-redeemer culture
is closer to (0) sum Core Value Balanced Heaven
rationality, and intuition,
than appears to be the case
for our benighted Republican
wealthy fat-cat anthro-supremacist residents of Earth,
we have turned rather too far
our spinning cultural revolution pendulum
away from the racist sin of monocultural monotheism,
poverty and the overpowering commodification of human lives,
and the commodification of other species,
and the commodification of Earth's fire, water,
soil and sky,
Her capacity to regenerate fertile seeds,
turning away from sin as sterile insanity,
disability and absence,
to now prophecy the sins of monopolistic wealth,
and power;
to notice challenging, dissonant tipping points
within monocultural,
monochromatic,
monopolistic 
bicamerally competing economic uncertainty
and ecological dysfunction for all consciousness
all nations,
reconnecting our more humane DNA-informed
bicameral information processor branch of EcoTribe,
RNA-inscribed,
transliterate,
multisystemic and polycultural Climax Community,
diastatically 
interdependently
coincidentally straining and stressing to comprehend
Polynomial SpaceTime = Not-Not Polynomial Open Systemic Binomial Prime Relationship Temporal "Now"
as Yang-convex/positive = Yin-concave/negative,
as +1.00% QBit = +/-(0)% Soul Core-emergent universal Vertex/Dark Recessional Vortex (Perelman, 1993)

So, yes, maybe somewhat closer,
but closer doesn't count
when playing Win-Win economic ecotherapy.
Horseshoes don't fit elephants.

Speaking of elephants in too-narrow-minded oppositional spaces, 
where was I?
Oh, yes, she’s in the bathtub again,
better watch that floor.


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

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Emergent

How can one man find
More faith in a crevasse of Siula Grande,
Than most will ever know,
Sitting beneath a pulpit on Sunday?

Dulling the truth to grow the census,
Merchants and cowards comfort the carnal ear.
Marketing Christ’s love without his conviction,
Left willful in sin with nothing to fear.

In half doctrines and custom alter calls,
Prostituting the truth with all forms of prosperity.
Akin to seeding hookers in the chambers of Heaven.
Deceived to death twice by hand and blasphemy.

Feeding wolves from among your own flocks.
In the banquets of ancient mystics and bride Blavatsky,
Word of Faith gorging on their mammon,
Left choking in an insatiable eternity.

A culture’s blue concessions are gone, 
Giving more choices leaving Paul’s letters unread.
No church discipline or discernment left,
Testaments of burning flesh that once bled.

Refusing to submit to be broken.
Fading old blessings from past obedience.
Confusing favor with common grace,
Hypocrisy’s retribution birthed decadence.

Millions claiming the found life of the few,
In every eulogy and requiem,
Lukewarm afterthoughts of the Son,
Losing everything by never knowing him.

Despising the light of the living truth,
Lobotomizing guilt with the scalpel of ignorance.
Finding solace in the darkness of mystery.
Death marches infectious rainbows of tolerance.

Redefining roles and covenants in hemorrhaging lies
Under the pretense of the modern states,
Illusions of enlightenment killing somatic slaves.
Relativism’s heart courting the things he hates.

Enticed by the delusions of utopias,
Bound in the fables of autonomy.
Throats upon The two-edged sword,
In this American tragedy
-------------------------------------------------------
12.04.14

This poem attempts to capture the Fundamentalist view on certain issues with other movements within Christianity.  Also, the man in the crevasse, chose a different kind of faith than you may have assumed.


Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2014

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The Tumid River of Acheron

The Tumid River of Acheron (the journey) Part 1

Dark the tumid, rushing waters flow
where man most wisely fears to go
Liquid blackness sings of epic pain
torture, misery and cries of insane
Echoes of evil Eperius in the West
shadow realm where evil never rests

Black ship of Kharon eternally sail
into the sunless land of a dark hell
Land those lost , family and friend
exists for all wicked women and men
Black abyss where Apollo never walks
lost souls ripped by screeching hawks

Forever filled by rowboat conveyed
miserable, crying souls are relayed
Crossing the tarn of Acheron then
cursing future torments for all men
Seething waters set to ever separate
those lost into future tortured Fate

Father of evil waters from which sprang
the Styx of which man's curses rang
Flowing stream holding back evil foul 
where tortured spirits scream and howl
Acheron, into a lake of scorching heat
where demons play with souls they eat

Delivered shadows fall on prayers cast
vanity briefly soothes, forever lasts
Prayers sinking like river cast stones
dreams birthed from dead skin and bones
Waters that wrap around Haides evil realm
with Daimon, the dark Lord at the helm

Gushing forth from the bowels of rock
mighty blackened waters rise to shock
Upon its moving mass of wretched stink
poison so lethal no mortal man may drink
Kharon, the ferryman awaits at the oars
to deliver the lost upon evil's shores

Far below the path of Mariandyni coast
the Acheron ferries victims to its host
Loaded with spirits of cries and moans
Kharon laughs at all the misery groans
From the south shore of the black sea
in sun's light never again will they be

Many are the tales of Acheron's fame
its victims steeped in sin and shame
Anguish rises as dark waters deliver
the wretched lost to painfully quiver
In this dark abhorrent , torturing Hell
those embracing lustful sin into evil fell

Robert J. Lindley, 09-13-2014

note:  This is part one. The journey into HAIDES 
by way of crossing the Styx. The river Styx is 
actually an off shoot of Acheron that splits into
the Styx and the Cocytus. 

Part two now has two lines written. It will be titled ,
Haides and Tormented Souls (the Dwelling).. 
I have no preset limit to the second part, may be 
longer or shorter. I suspect it will be even longer.
I hope the readers enjoy this write. I wanted to do 
something dark and move away from all my love, romance 
and Nature writes. A bit of variety to stir my 
imagination...


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

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I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a metaphor...it's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
Sorrow
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 
tomorrow!


Copyright © Jamie Walker | Year Posted 2014

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I Was Wrong

Wrong
Was I
To push love
So un-returned
At first though the love from you came later
I lost mine, rapt in imagination
So time forgot
Our passion
Mislaid
Sin


Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2013

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Hounds from Hell

Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.

Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.

Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.

-10/14/2013-


Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

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true blue

as gentle as a summer breeze
my love it begs you on it's knees
as soft as fur on those that purr
i whisper in your ear sweet words
as sweet as berries on your tongue
inside your heart a bell is rung
as sure as change is bound to come
an undying love my heart is won

as loud as thunder my heart wonders
can your love be really true
as vain as pain which i have gained
my worries about what she'd do
as wrong as sin not trusting begins
and rumors start flying from mouths of friends
as soon as one cracks with a terrible act
then ferocity and raging comes in

as you are standing on the side of me 
no distance is aware of my resistance 
as heart forgets its rhythm, my sighs do long to touch 
emotions prevail this longing unravels my senses 
as to, dare i say, how much a single touch awakens me? 
a love so pure as this I have not known 
as i trust your arms to teach me of this love 
i no longer hear the gossip or the whispers 
as you take my breath away on winds of change 
a true blue sky above the color of our love
as it casts a light into your eyes and anchor mine 
if this be sin then let me cast away my stone 
as for my soul it is willing to pay the highest price 
god has cast a dye our love is not to be denied 
come lover hold me tight, long into the night.   
 



 


Written by: Vienna Bombardieri & John H. Loving III Dec. 04, 2011  
 





Copyright © John Loving III | Year Posted 2012

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1140 Royal Street

The first time I met Madame La Laurie, was in 1832 When she and her third husband (Dr. Louis La Laurie) purchased me. My first impression of Madame La Laurie was that she was soft spoken, of fine breeding, and very beautiful.  

Upon her arrival, she wasted no time filling every nook and cranny at 1140 Royal Street with the finest furniture and china that money could buy. No one looking at the  plain exterior of this house, would ever expect such opulence within it walls.

She wore the latest fashions from Paris with a flare beyond rival, even by the most inducted social lights of the hour, which did not go unnoticed.  Both men and women, would stop in their tracks to gaze upon this regal beauty as she strolled down the main streets of New Orleans.

Soon, with the aide of her husbands connections through his practise, she, gained  acceptance into the higher circles of the community and began hosting what would become, the most sought after dinner invitations in all of New Orleans.

This was the one side of Madame La Laurie that the world saw, but it was I, who bore witness to the other side. NEVER could anyone have ever imagined the atrocities this women committed in her chamber of horrors on the 3rd floor as she maimed, tortured and  murdered any slave that displeased her. 

                                           ~~~

I was burned badly, when one slave, wanting to end his misery, set a fire in the kitchen, finally bringing her reign of terror to and end, where upon she  fled in her hell driven carriage, into the night, never to be seen again. 

Today, I stand here at 1140 Royal street, completely unrecognizable. I have a different face now. The only thing left one would recognize from that day, would be the old path that runs between me and the adjacent house.  

Lush green foliage now grows along its edge, in what I like to think, a remembrance to the tortured souls who died here.

Between these brick walls
Bright light filters from above
Old seeds bloom again

BUT...IF YOU DARE to walk between these walls, you...like me, THAT OLD HOUSE IN NEW ORLEANS, might see the apparitions of the tortured souls still residing there.

                                                ~~~


Poetry form: Haibun

For the contest, A House In New Orleans, sponsor, Lin Lane

PLACED SECOND


Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016

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Jesus Christ Has the Power Over ANY Addiction

Jesus Christ Has the Power Over Any Addiction!

I often hear of people who battle addictions.
This often leaves many scars and afflictions.

There's counselors to help, "a dime a dozen."
Their patient could be a friend or a cousin.

As many battle lives filled with "pollution."
But too often, God is left out of the solution.

Many who need help are given little help at best.
Why they cope with fear, anxiety and stress.

The one who can help the most, is often left out.
As many miss what the real hope of life is about!

The very God who created mankind, knows all about us!
He sent his son Jesus, because he loves us!

We can trust him for his cleansing power!
He can meet every need!  This very hour!

If you're battling an addiction and are losing!
Won't you let God be the one that you're choosing?

He’s powerful!  And wants to help you so much!
Your life can be forever changed!  By his touch!

Come one and all!  Your needs, God shall supply!
Come and drink of his water which shall satisfy!

The sins and scars can be a thing of the past!
As you enjoy an abundant life, that'll always last!

The painful addictions can be healed this moment!
By the power and resurrection of Christ' atonement!

NOW can be time to lay your worries beneath him!
God shall restore those who diligently seek him!

Glory to Jesus!  The victory's already been won!
All honor and praise to God's anointed one!

By Jim Pemberton   08/22/14



Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2014

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Darkness

A mystery it holds, 
deep within itself,
where emotions absolve,
and fit illusions to oneself.

an unending mansion,
with no rooms around,
where path never ends,
and silence is the only sound.

the mind games it plays,
ripping off every hope,
luring further deep in,
and sorrow one can seldom cope.

the fear slowly encapsulates,
over every mild attempt,
to reach and get out,
of this vastness of contempt. 

the isolation it includes,
comprises every breath one takes,
with no moral support,
body and soul, it easily breaks.

eyes opened or closed,
vision remains the same,
emptiness surrounds one,
creating a total insane.

how can one escape,
this poigant feeling,
suffocating inside,
with aches and no healing.

why does one dissolve,
in this ocean of extreme pain,
where paranoia consumes one,
with absolutely nothing to gain. 

what is this darkness?
a sky of manic stress?
or does it have stars of light? 
one can find and conquest.


Copyright © Suraj Grover | Year Posted 2016

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Paid In Full

.                                 Not long ago I had
                                done something wrong
                                 committed a sin and 
                                the pain that I felt was 
                                 as real and suffocating 
                                  as any physical pain 
                                I’d ever felt. My shame 
                               and my sadness were so
     heavy upon me, the guilt ached in my heart. The realization then 
      came to me if I felt so wounded and broken and ashamed and
separated from my Father what then did it feel like to be You? I realized 
  the harshness of your sentence. The pain and guilt I now felt, You my
Jesus felt that multiplied by every sin I had ever committed or will ever. 
                                   Oh my God your love
                                 Sins from the beginning 
                                 of our creation until it is
                                finished It’s no wonder to
                                 me now that your heart 
                                  burst within you. To be 
                                  blameless and willingly
                                pay for our transgressions
                                To take upon yourself and 
                               be so guilty that your Father 
                            could not look upon You. Forgive
                             me my Lord for the pain I have
                              grieved you and for the grief I
                                will continue to cause. I will
                                never understand your love


Copyright © Laurie Ginn | Year Posted 2009

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Grand Larceny

What’s it take for women to hate
their first born so long and so cold?
Sly smiles as he choked on the bait.
You sat in that one church so bold,
Blind and deaf to Love’s story told.
Among serpents in pews hearts won,
you died unbroken, mute and sold,
in how you treated your own son.

A father’s heart chipped out of slate.
Your measure given is twofold,
to regret forever too late,
brimstones are all that’s left to hold.
Your neglect was poured and it rolled
eighty-three years under the sun.
The Great White Throne decree behold,
in how you treated your own son.

How his innocence you both ate,
An orphan made in constant scold.
No mercy in your ways or fate.
In Matthew you read he foretold,  
hypocrite’s wages to be tolled .
The grave’s sleep keeps remorse undone,
your legacy as I grow old,
in how you treated your own son.

If I am to breathe Heaven’s air,
your first grandson, when life is done,
I don’t expect to see you there,
in how you treated your own son.

---------------------------------------------
Contest: Not Your Average Ballade
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
04.15.14

My change is my rhyme scheme :  'ababbcbC ababbcbC ababbcbC dcdC' 


Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2015

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Bukowski Contest

I watched the blood flow
poetry dripping
coagulating in pools of misery
How could a genius be so careless?
Shaving away our humanity
filtering it through an inebriated brain
Poems in the thousands
orchestrated in the ordinary
Crushing
Truthful
yet not quite right
Genius exacts a toll

Somewhere beyond mirrored ideology
flashes the broken image of man
the smell of whiskey
loose women
one night lays
Lonely is as lonely does

Sticks poked into blind eyes
bones cracking like porcelain vases
adorning the altar of an enigmatic fool
Are we trapped?
Are we idiots?
Do we drink from the well of insignificance?

He sits alone in an empty room
Thinking
Yes Thinking
Until he thinks us out of existance
Yet somehow
Thankfuly
We are still here


Not so Genius

Brilliant none the less. His story is sad but his poetry is riviting.
I enjoyed this contest, facinating person of whom I was not familiar.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014