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Best Poems Written by Drew Gold

Below are the all-time best Drew Gold poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Brown Recluse

her smile was a rip
in the fabric of herself
and she, the needle
who'd sew it shut

etched into her mind
and thusly, her face:
the sadness of opinion
she couldn't express

pupils dilated,
thawing the glacial blues
within her eyes as
the emptiness grew

for once, her mind escaped
through her lips;
without guidance
of the world's approval
she curls in upon herself
and, twitching,
dies.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Rejuvenation

the hollow flame of christmas
is but a memory
suspended in the wind;
unanimated and sore.

a discordant lullaby
self-seething
and unsettling to the touch.

resonating within
the emptiness
a frost-bitten chill
no amount of soothing
could thaw.

and in all my selfishness,
not once did i wonder
if maybe it wasn't
meant to be felt
like it was - and did
that very first time.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Her Word, the Truth

...She inhales So
her Secret won't yet Slip...

Her life was a by-product
of my rotting flesh,
set in a dysmal still-life
where she was my only color.

The past was a blur
plunged in a hypodermic needle;
smoke-filled chambers of thought Coalesce-
ideas Congeal.

The form she usually held was an open hand,
a broken heart, even a bridge Between.
Sadly, today she was but a blank piece of burning paper,
expressionless.

Her facade shimmered before me,
ever-changing,
as she leapt into my hand,
settling into her luminous revelation
I ran with and
squirm I do, only to
consume and remove
these criss-crossed truths;
static-constraints
shackling Inherent definition.

She struggled, fading into a deep blue,
and just as the light turns green, turns

"Is it always this hard,
to be just what You Are?" she exhales,

exhausted,

and jumps from out of my head,
crossing unthinkable distance
only to splatter her brains and suicide
upon the wall of
her Readers' Misunderstanding.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Danse Macabre

Danse Macabre is German for Dance of Death...


Transfixed by the movements, the musical vibrance,
We move to the tune of invisible sirens.
Reality reposes with the closing of eyelids,
Then lies change to truth and peace transforms violence.
As the colors fade from blue, all noise turns to silence. 

Upon awakening, I feel an icy hand capture me;
Pulling me down, closer to insanity.
Vertigo sets in, but the dizzying gravity
Helps to realize the hand is my own, that I’m actually
Standing stock-still, alone, blinded while I atrophy. 

With our head down and eyes dripping wet,
Feeling hasn’t slipped from us yet.
Silence is a burden we grow to regret,
But still a reminder of that which is set:
The music of a past we’ll never forget. 

A distant drone, or a heartfelt beating,
Omnipresent and ever-repeating.
Tongue tipped with malice, the devil is feeding
And tightening the noose which constricts our dreaming.
While robbed of our fruits we lie quiet,.. selfish and bleeding. 

As we sit cradled by cold, grim hands,
Choice is beckoning, it calls, it demands
To face the music and to take a stance.
And as the echo lives on through our second chance,
We’re helplessly drawn into this wreckless dance.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Underwater

And the silence perfumes madness
With a drifting scent; the words
Stand tall, lonely and oh so square
Like Wise Old Men, deciding
Their fate and time: skipping,
On the dotted-line, through
Feeling; thrashing it's stinger
Wasp-like, up and down our spine
'Til we turn like snakes and coil;
Wrapped in red sunshine and
Spelled out across the rocks
Like an open-wound, and salt-
Water lashing against the sores.

As the tide tugs between us,
We slither towards a common goal
For sand or water- anything really
That's not quite as jagged as reality,
Or as toothy as perception
With his hungry mouth open
To desensitize feeling; weathering
Rocks to perches where we'd sit upon and kiss
The waves as they'd break, cold,
Upon our ankles- smooth
And imperfect; We, if there's any
Chance of us, must become the rock
As much as we're the wave
Sliding across foreign shores
Like some endless serpent
Lying in a starry repose,
Stretched out and
Waiting to strike.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Dancer of the Clearing

the fire that she danced about
suffused the air
with the thick, enduring scent
of burning wood;
that decadent fragrance.

her hips switched and shifted -
just like an ocean’s tide
waving up and down her figure.
her movements matched perfectly
the deep-toned rhythm
of the bass-drums surrounding.

above her head,
her hands swayed gracefully,
almost as if they commanded
this fire-lit symphony
with their own free will
in a seductively fluid
sequence of motions.

adorning her neck
was a milky white snake
and its ever-curious tongue;
coiled in perfect contrast
with the deep hues
of golden bronze
that outlined her shining figure.

her heavenly gaze
held just as much energy
and life
as nature aflame -
regrettably,
i never had the pleasure
of meeting those
shimmering blue pearls of her eyes
before thunder struck its own
mighty drum,
shaking the very fabric of nature.

the clouds of jealousy
rained down upon the clearing
and each spiteful drop
stung upon impact.

as a chilling breeze
swept me up and set me on my way,
the last thing i saw
before darkness enveloped
and drums ceased to beat
was the woman of the clearing
dancing steadily to her own heart
while lost in shadows
of the dying embers.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Empathogen

I sometimes find myself 
struggling to find the difference 
between the dying and the dead. 
wondering: 
should i extend myself 
through the distance 
and lend a compassionate 
hand, whether it's 
well-received 
or even recieved 
at all? 
 
it's hard to know 
whether you're playing with fire 
or sifting through ash 
when your appendage 
of emotion 
has already been charred and 
scarred 
past the point of healing, 
and for that matter, 
barred from any sense 
of feeling 
at all. 
 
it's taken quite a while 
but 
lately i've been pondering, 
silently wandering 
the line between 
the dying and 
the dead. 
i dont think i'll cross 
just yet. 
it's taken too many miles 
just to become 
so close and acquainted 
with this feeling of living- 
stripped of any sense of 
empathic commitment 
at all.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Without Your Body

I slept through it and then i never met you, but it's okay because we've bought clocks
elsewhere. and How the birds chirp and the ticks tock; the fist hands that broken song,
into our blood already boiling. A calm washes over me and i'm each bead of your voice,
magnetized to some center. Gravity lies between; it's relative. Like the size of your
interest or the feeling diminished; relish it. Song after song until our strings turn to
nooses and our finger's slowly slip the knot. Step outside your box and cover the graves
in shadows so that flowers won't grow - Turn ur smile up, emanate warmth to the touch,
crushing bones to dust. Sever the bonds and strip the oak so that we're soaked in more
than polite. Politeness that'sa blind figure draped in your movements; where intent thus
far remains obscure. I swear it's magical-icious, this tragedy struck through broken
bridges and whispering listlessness. A thrifty spend but, dont mention it: I've already
written your will, forged your existence in fake chrome reflecting plastic toy-play guns.
Lipping twice the power of electricity on in a vacant mind, the dust swallows the air and
no longer can i breathe but we both remember promised another full fit never stop it just
keep it closer wear it in your sockets so your eyes can get some rest within your pockets
so your hands can stop the throbbing and your ache can fill the airway - you know,
without your body.

Details | Drew Gold Poem

(whilst Into the Night, As Ash)

you seemed so real;

an angel, slipping down
through your ring of fire
whilst into the night, as ash
you'd walk the winds
and graze the edge
-of love:
dancing above me, reborn
like nails sinking, straight
through the coffin, into flesh;

death is with me every moment
that you smile and every kiss
is a reminder that i'm still not alive
within your grasp.

stripped of your halo;
still holding tight to the mess
of flesh and metal skin-grafts
you've applied: words
endearing my heart
to your brick-wall
of silent indifference

alas, even as i lapse
from this moment
to that,
you still seem so real;

an angel, bathed in the fire
of solitude and singular wanting
while the world turns
its back, you take
my hand; sleep-walking
through the motions
of a dire and delirious dance,
you step upon the altar
to cry out your demands

Details | Drew Gold Poem

Ignore the Smoke

absorbing warmth from the flame
the crowd gathers, shivering
unaware of their actions

glazed eyes dance, transfixed
following the candle's flicker
moths collide and fall helplessly

bodies move breathlessly;
drawn away from the center
conforming to fill their shapes

they've never acted so alive
feeling light; one breath and
their flame is dispelled

the smoke hangs in the air, lazily
isolation tastes warmer
cuddling their darkened forms