End of life Contemplation
At day's terminal hour.
Whilst my awareness fogs up
Illuminated am.
Nothing lasts. With our efforts
That needless agonized o'er.
Its noise, kicking up fuss's
Settled, laugh at self:'damn'!
A friend told me
over a cup of joe
that the devil quakes in Prada,
barring the gates of hell
from the one who now hunts
beyond the mortal plane.
I chuckled, asking
“If that were the case,
wouldn't the sky be a constant
affixed with blinding cracks
electrifying both day and night?”
He simply shook his head, grinning.
Then the flash of a screen drew attention
to images of Death shell-shocked,
huddling in a hospital bed, quaking
with agonized fervor as if
he saw Death himself and lived.
It was then I knew
he was speaking the truth
as the sky crackled above
with bolts clashing
like steeled fists,
reunited at last.
Soft and fragile, the black petals lay.
A hand plucked it, tucking sorrow in its pocket.
A venomous sting struck the chest;
desperate, agonized, the body convulsed.
Shallow breaths lingered—
pain devoured the blood of the soul.
Prickings gnawed at flesh;
a scream rose for release, alone.
The rose mocked the trembling frame,
whispering: “Pass me on.”
Its constraints laid bare,
it warned of bleeding more petals
for the next to bear.
The offered chance was welcomed,
unaware of the treachery it held.
Since then, the hurt loops endlessly,
leaving a black, glimmering petal
upon each bosom.
The cursed rose still hunts a worthy hand;
humans pass it on,
wrapped in bruises and despair.
Everyone bears a petal now—
while one shoulders
the ever-growing curse.
And the black rose waits…
for the final heart to shatter.
The naïve life possessed by the power of craving,
turns into an inanimate object, utterly inert.
The buoyant being, unsuspecting and unblemished,
captured by the vicious clutch of cunning yearning,
rolls in remorse like the fallen gems of longing garland,
the fragile string of innocence ruefully ruptured.
The sordid senses sheathed by spiteful insolence
don’t for a moment repent the presence
in the fleeting mind the obstinate obsession
of nurturing the ephemeral debased desire
in the swathing shades of garish grey,
decimating the radiance of the sapphire spirit
of its credulous possession disowned.
For the body and mind ravaged
by the vile strike of Black Excalibur of severance
life is no longer a charismatic concept.
The piteous ruins of the broken heart pile up in futility
at the threshold of despair in the debris of disdain.
Free from the captivity of depraved love,
the agonized heart pines to rejuvenate,
hopes to find the secret of solace for the desolate soul,
waiting for the time to rise re-invented
from the wreckage of self-worth.
To place one's spirit
In one's creations
If what, far more agonized
Reflects the Divine.
If what for inner turmoil
Intenser shows up
Through what moves in vivid swirls;
Out artist's hands. Thine.
the broken trees roar
an agonized rill wheezing
fervent garden thrills
I wonder, Little Eddie, hypnotized,
can it be true you felt no pain at all?
Ten years of age, a figure formed too small,
and that poor Roadster, a gift you so prized…
How could your brother have so despised
your car? to pop its tires,—and on the wall—
smash it, scratch it, do everything to maul
that toy.—Is it true, you weren’t agonized?
Though Harry promised hypnotism,?he quickly realized, putting you in trances,
that he could trash you—as he had your car.
and soon, he stuck mom’s hat pin way too far.—
To cover up his tracks, he took his chances—
his lie: epileptic paroxysm.
(to Peter Straub)
A surrealistic silence hangs sluggishly in the air,
as I sit upon your violet clawfoot recliner,
sorting fuchsia dresses into melancholic piles.
An opal ring glistens while the sun drapes over your portrait,
reflecting splashes of kaleidoscopic colors on barren walls.
Dust cakes the creaking floorboards as I place belongings into cardboard boxes.
A faint lullaby gradually infuses this somber undertaking.
The scent of floral perfume permeates—grief crashes over like cresting waves.
The wind whips outside, rattling the bones of a bitter house,
while a heavy heart sinks, drowning in agonized saline.
Tin plates and yellowed photos decorate mahogany tables
antiquated keepsakes, solidified moments in time.
The cerulean dusk creeps in, and the world softens.
Yet grief cloaks nocturnal restfulness,
as your sentience has been reduced to ash.
Merely confined within an engraved urn.
I thought this noxious pain would abandon my agonized heart after a while
I thought if I could write better it would ease on me
Maybe my tacks were wrong,
I couldn't find my way to exist, still a character of a juvenile
They mocked my will, my reasons, my need to smile
No matter how old, never will be mature enough
I came the last, cried a bit much, been called the spoiled infant
They refused to see the unpleasant substance runs in my veins
That I was a bit too lonesome, compared to the rest.
I tried to hold onto the little ones, they arrived long after me;
Even my eager attempts were not solid enough for them to see.
Now I found my company, he took my solitude, turned "I" to "we"
All I needed is his camaraderie, only his devotion, love, caring
Still feels too great to ask a little sympathy,
From the ones who stood before me
Never have the right to feel, just a naive employee.
Stardust blankets lacrimosa skies,
a requiem of times gone by.
The taste of late summer nights still lingers on bittersweet lips,
yet somehow, now, it’s become stale—like blue cheese and old pickles.
A crisp breeze cascades from the north,
ushering in the dawn of autumn.
Vivid memories begin to fade from lucidity.
Crystal droplets fall from despondent eyes,
puddling around forsaken feet.
Swimming in grief, struggling to breathe,
I begin drowning in agonized anguish.
Reaching out for you, my fingers crumble within my grasp,
for ghosts can’t pull you from the plunge.
As emotions overwhelm with every heartbeat,
I sink further into this beckoning night,
my soul crashing under increasing pressure.
Flickering recollections fade in and out of view—
hypoxic, flesh turning blue.
Muscles tighten, flinch.
Clenching my chest, cardiac arrest imminent,
for your untimely demise was my fatality.
Sometimes you get stretched in two
And, though you do what you must do,
You know there might be someone who
You’ve made a bit depressed.
Your reasons might be clear to you
But possible to misconstrue,
For everybody’s point of view
Won’t always be expressed.
And even if you had a clue
And agonized and thought it through,
You had to go with what you knew
Would pass the right-thing test.
So afterwards, a quick review
Might all your worried thoughts subdue,
For other chances will debut
To put your mind at rest.
The exigent mountain
in the tough terrain
of upheaved life,
crumbling,
needs to be climbed
as the solemn summit
alluringly calls.
I follow
the undefined trail
in surging storm
of stifling strife,
relentless.
I cross with piety
the divine portals
God installs
in the precincts
of eclipsed destiny,
dormant.
In His decree,
designed with certainty
I repose resolute trust,
faith shows me the path
to the content summit
of solacing rapture
in the dark nights
of scary squalls,
delusive.
The turbulent sea
of chaotic life
in tempestuous disarray,
I need to sail
serene,
find with forbearance
the last anchorage,
get guided
by His benign beacon
with dedication just,
steadfast.
The tormenting alley
of endless anguish,
submerged
in opaque darkness
desolate,
needs to be lit,
the shreds
of shattered soul
salvaged from the abyss,
are to be sutured
with threads
of divine essence
esoteric,
embroidering ecstasy
at the frail fringe
of agonized actuality,
shaping the survival instinct,
indomitable.
-
Empath's agonized days of tears,
when children die and humanity suffers,
their hearts heave and grieve.
The empaths rest as angels hover,
In the starry presence of God.
A balm for their lament,
to sleep, to dream,
of a peaceful Earth,
of more benevolence come morning. ~
Old wishes drift on tainted strands
gathering mist, out to the sky--
a balmy tree where our restful arms entwine
that soon... stars ebb and glimmer far
like kisses fierce, then gently tossed
into many decades of moonlight and gust.
On the last of winter's flakes,
pale shadows came for you unannounced---
I bled, agonized on piles of shattered ice
homeless within our cozy room...where are you?
And swallows reel across the tracks
my breathing low, engraved with sighs
upon dim tears and gentle rain ;
this need to grow old with you undone:
I dream no longer of new season's list
As aging years become—cold, languid
While birdsong’s hymn remind me...
How lovely your eyes are, asleep.
Wonder what type of poems will be best
In my new couplet poems only contest
Will you wow me with colorful vocabulary
Will your poem be monotone, dreary, merry
I agonized over who wins a trophy the three
But every single entree is from a winner to me
So get your wonderful writing chops in gear
My contest is on until the 2nd of the new year
Though it likely won’t take me forever to judge
As you poets are know it’s in contests you love
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.