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Best Annihilation Poems | Poetry

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Annihilation Nears by Smith, Gary
ANNIHILATION by Vidheya, Harshath
Annihilation besieges civilization by harris, matthew
Annihilation by Roske, Mark
Not Just Defeat, It Was An Annihilation by Pettit, Robert
Annihilation by Sivey, Russell
ANNIHILATION by Verma, Satish
Annihilation by Jayasinghe, Migel

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The Best Annihilation Poems

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I am the MILKY WAY.

I am Mechanically Meticulous,
Maneuvering my way through life with
not showing the true Masterpiece of my Mind
(complex like the Milky Way).

I am an Interworking of 
1% Idiocracy,
10% Ineluctable,
15% Incisiveness,
5% Insufficient,
7.5% Insatiable,
2.5% Invisible,
10% Infantile,
50% Incomprehensible,
101% of Ian
 (A puzzle).

I am a Lionheart Lilium 
Lucidly blossoming into a 
Lackadaisical dimension
in which I Long to Liberate
my ideas from the Lucifer-Likeness of
the universe that I Live in
(My ideas are being confined).

I am a Kinetic force to be reckoned with,
put on a Kollision Kourse from
Konception to Katastrophe
eradicating those in my way,
(I can’t be stopped)

I am Young,
Yearning for wisdom ahead of my Years,
Yet Yoked by the Youth-like longing
of my elders
(caged by the generations of adults wishing to be a child, keeping me child-like).

I am Weary,
Wainscoted with Worry,
by the World I once Welcomed With Wide arms,
Wondering When the Worries created by my past Will
Wither away
(distressed by my past).

I Am An Adventurous 
Apollo 1,
Abstracted then Awakened by the
Annihilation of myself,
forced to Admit
Absolute failure,
but then Amazed by the gate of success
(I do Fail, but I must learn from failure).

I am Yawning 
at the Earth’s attempt to impress me,
Yet I Yell eternally
at it’s ignorance to the 
great wonder that I contain.

I am the MILKY WAY.

Copyright © Ian Campbell | Year Posted 2017

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The towering mountains of menacing fanaticism and
in the midst of the shadows of constant fear,
Agonizing humanity,               
Desperately, is crawling in search of  
The trail of understanding,


That it would lead her onto the valley of God-loving
Where the peoples of the world, respecting the beliefs of
Others, in harmony would live,
Glorifying God’s wisdom which saved them, from falling
Into the ravines of voracious hate where Man's 
Annihilation awaits!

© Demetrios Trifiatis
  10 JANUARY 2015

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2015

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Minuanetta-Black Hole Beauty

Black Hole Beauty Stay calm my beating heart for you will enter the vastness of the void Consumed by a blackened bestial bliss that the demons have deployed She comes amidst the narcissistic night devouring love like a humanoid A conqueror of time and space the light before her shall be destroyed All hale the Queen of darkness a Shiva diva the adumbrative android In context to the stars mitotic moons hearts of gold in dungeons dwell Pandemic planets pray to avoid clutches of her sadomasochistic spell Asteroids display her black heart of doom unleashed from dormant hell With tentacles wide dominating she breaks through her shattered shell Her bowing beauty entraps the universe and spews out a nebulous dust The eclipse of my soul an obsession of obscurity in her crushing of crust Into the dimness of twilight the shadows like serpents dance in disgust Once a benevolent beauty now a sanctified seductress seducing surreal Roaming in dimensional drifts in preparation for her next indulging meal In her amorant annihilation death is a savior of her effulgent extinction A terminator of trust all effervescent emotions have been employed Rambunctious radiation the ringing of her electromagnetic bell For within a supernova stellar mass lacking in leisured lust You comply and conform with a begging kneel Ruler of hearts with infinite infliction. '...this poem is in reference to people who have had or have and suffer from a narcissistic personality disorder...quite the experience...I wish them all well...' March.21.2018 Minuanetta Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden

Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2018

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The tigress' mark

She prowls the night
with clenched jaw and pride,
nothing able to smite
her remorseless stride.

The ominous reflection of moon 
shines forth from devouring eyes
of a nocturnal beauty spun on the loom
of the Creator's bid and sighs.

Grace moves her every limb
and she precedes an enraged scream
caused by ruins of a forest now grim
and held alive by all but one stream.

Her claws prophesy of vengeance 
though her heart yearns for reconciliation.
Yet now there would be no leniency 
for a soul's annihilation. 

Now on journeys through lush valleys and ashes
she will embark
until all that remains after furious thrashes
will be the tigress' mark.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Another impoverished evening
draped so strangely bleak,  the moon weeps
for one more burning a soul must retain...
And she clings among lost stars
with frozen heartbeat thawing   minutes
weighed on jagged sounds of owl's play.

No twilight concerto to sway     not yet
as  zigzag street lights pound upon
heavy fog  clutching iced flakes  on rooftops
like hushed matte from night's gale
pouring bitter ovules to a past in need of relief.

While in her vein is a constant downpour
of Bach's untenable requiem
as hands pound on ivory keys,
immersing in the fever of  the moment
until fingers carve a solemn journey 
into wiry  trails of insolent rain.
How she summons  the goddess of morn
to cure thistles of wait and pang,
sifting each beat, each note without interludes
until this child- woman shifts her face against  breezes, 
tasting madness    rawness on lapping winds…

In disheveled lingering    she cuddles 
unspoken words, her own song
on panels of cut-glass-------with acceptance
the world could  still breathe despite a torment:

just a twirl  of air's cadence

the night shuts off.


Jamie Pan's  How Long Can A Poetry Go

This poetic attempt is a cross between existential expression
and stream of consciousness technique. The former highlights
contemporary man's response to anguish, isolation,uncertainty
of life in the midst of change.Thus, this poet explores
the outpouring born from inner annihilation-- being
absent from the self- YET allowing space to exhale for a new
awareness to surface.

Dovetailing this language of despair to the stream-of consciousness 
technique allows the spontaneous, raw float of thoughts without
the pleasure of edit, like journaling and ' writing down the bones.'
I feel that literary devices ( from metaphors, enjambment to alliteration)
come into play , well, quite instinctively.

In my creative writing class as a college professor, I ask my students
to write with their less dominant hand to discover the 'heart of the matter.'
Then again, that's beside the point. This author will leave this piece to assault your senses, and then, softly break all defenses. Thanks!



Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2017

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Finding The Plot

Finding the plot

Of lost innocence
engrained in untold memories

The silenced absence 
in past present unspoken
stories well hidden
and therefore evoking
my past and my future
not mine and mine

Quite a mind-field
mines bombs blazing
artillery burning houses

My antecedent shelter of
generational tapestry
knotted not knotted
attached and attacked 
in hindsight myopic
insight reflection distortion

Existential vertigo
imagination fictitious
'memesis' narrational
irrational in
un-disclosing reality

Approximation of personal
truth and forgetting
un-kown remembrance
what was and was not
what might have been
unsettling my journey
reconcilling projections
more real than the void
of silence screaming

Two photographs
unearthed post mortem
heritage disbelieving
acknowledgment in 
second order ties that
bind generations
for later or worse
in not so new

The baby-faced soldier
volunteered for fascist
idealised purity
insignia “Lebensraum”
in mind soul grenades

Mastering marches and race
for books to be burnt and bodies
alike the stench of 'smeltering'
flesh concentrated ashes
on the graveyard of living
hell horror abomination 

Mislead but never
the less culpable
in complicity of non
resistance and passion

Small steps from juvenile
prodigy as child radio
speaker in brown shorts
and obedience
deluded megalomania

Meeting Mussolini
“Heil Hitler my Duce”
surviving Russian winters
of lice infested power
pulverised bodies
ideological mind

This is my history
my baby-faced father
wielding the guns

My mother instead
diving from high platforms
somersaulting into the pools
of water not yet turned
to blood of skins
into lampshades
bayonetted children
dispatched from
dignity freedom
in aberrated inhumanity

She was a champion
of the Reich
winning her laurels
in aesthetic beauty
regime terror crashed crystals
of synagogues gay friendships
political cells
Roma wagons mental
asylums with refuge
refused in annihilation
exterminated in denial
and no mutiny displayed

Later saving roofs from
the fires of retaliation
suffering no doubt
in misplaced childhood
not yet knowing defeat
for a better world to be
dreamt of naively

Beautiful plaits wanting eyes
graceful in innocence of 
a story unfolding
inside and around
etching into
the moment of
ancestral procreation

My history again
and insights lost never found
behind the veil and defence
of post-traumatic perpetration
cynical acceptance of what
has been regardless of 
what was not to be disclosed
responsibility shunned
oozing into the next
generation of children

Never found plots
in aphonic dialogue
shouting so loudly
into the festering wounds
of un-explicable sadness
marching boots
of complicity

I have not walked 
in history’s shoes
just in the silence

My own offspring...


Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016

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Frederic Bio

Take my hand, walk with me.
I'll show you fragments from my life.
Its broken sidewalks,silently paved by broken souls,
their anger pent up from a world war.
I'll show you soft winters of a child and his sled.
The burden and frustrations of being a teenager,
in the sixties.
A President murdered,water fountains with signs,
blacks only,whites only.
Cities burning, gas rationing, fear of nuclear annihilation.
My shattered dream and short stint as a professional athlete.
My years on an aircraft carrier that sent pilots to war,
to the old man I am today.
I hitch-hiked across the country,a year lost, or a year spent
and asked nothing from any one, except truth.
I care little for those who think themselves important,
it's a waste of energy and it becomes folly.
I built a business and retired from it,
to hold my grand-children close.
If this poem gives you pause,
then writing it claims its purpose.

4/8/15 of a poet

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015

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You are my Durga

You are the earth and you are the mother You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk Of your children, let me be the father You work really hard, from dawn to dusk You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk You play so many roles - in daily chore You work really hard, from dawn to dusk Raising children, doing your job and more You play so many roles - in daily chore Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all Raising children, doing your job and more You are present - at every beck and call Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all You are perfect in each role you perform You are present - at every beck and call Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm You are perfect in each role you perform Of your children, let me be the father Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm You are the earth and you are the mother 08.03.16 Durga is the principal form of the Goddess, also known as Devi and Shakti in Hinduism. Durga the mahashakti, the form and formless, is the root cause of creation, preservation and annihilation. My dedication on International Women's Day. (10 syllables per line)

Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2016

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Mental Massacre

My mind opened releasing the remnants of Pandora’s Box
Revealing the wraths of a complete paradox
Eradicating the thought process like a mental massacre
Destroying your clarity until your notions are obscure
Slaughtering your expressions, total annihilation
Bludgeoning your lines, poetic eradication 
Devouring your preconception, with utter devastation
Eliminating your disposition, enlightened extermination 
Butchering your reason with a brutal bloodbath
Lyrics linger in limbo lost in the aftermath
Slaying your insight with catastrophic rhymes
Conscious collapsin' corpses fallin' with the times
A war of words, our philosophies collide
Verses fall victim to a vicious verbal genocide 

Copyright © ChiquitaChiamaka Baity | Year Posted 2011

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Addictions, restrictions, afflictions, decisions,
A needle, a bottle, step down hard on that throttle!
Disaster, no more laughter, destruction for years after.
Placate, eradicate, fornicate, masturbate,
Addiction.  Restriction.  Addiction.

No more art, no more heart, another false start.
No more honoring love, 
Through God’s sacred benediction.
Just destruction, restriction.

Give it a go, run that prop right over top of her Skipper!
Hell yes!  Sounds like fun!  
Our souls through a wood chipper!
Addiction, a rather benign-sounding word, don’t ya think??Let’s call it what it is: Jack The Life Ripper!

Slots!   Cha CHING!   Sex!   Food!   Anything!
Addiction?  NO WAY!  I just like to play!
Hypocrisy, a democracy run on BIG PHARMA,
Don’t think about it!  Sure!  It’s all real! 
Here’s your script for a 1,000 more pills!

Addiction. Prison. The System.  What a waste.
What a horrific affliction in this human race!
Disgrace.  Sadness.  Do-overs don’t exist.
Deception.   Desperation.   Annihilation.
Another slit wrist.

Artistic brilliance being pickled nightly in a skull.
No more compassion, no more money, no more love.
Losing it all.
No more light in your eyes dear,
Now they are black and so dull.

Addiction.  WHY??
Is getting through a human life really that tough?
That we all have to medicate,
With this poisonous stuff?

Don’t say you don’t know, you hypocrite you,
We’ve all been there at some point, to something, it’s true.
Don’t give me your ****.  Don’t tell me you’re fine.
Doesn’t matter who’s is worse, yours or mine.

I’m SICK of crazy land!   I want off of this ride!
No, you cannot have me, Mr. Jekyll and Hyde!
I’m SO ANGRY I had to say goodbye to my friend the noble king,
Way too early because of this Jack The Life Ripper thing!

As a mother, I’m simply scared out of my mind!
How do I get my babies through a world so unkind?
How do I keep them from running straight into it blind?
They won’t listen, most of us never do.
Premonition. Please!  Not them!  Not addiction!

For three years I watched in agony my greatest love dissolve,
Destroyed, I moved up here, to somehow get back my resolve,
From the frying pan straight into the fire.
This is not my sanctuary, this is another addict’s funeral pyre.

The human condition comes with such a design flaw,
We should come with two bodies, not just one,
The first to ride hard and wild, toss it out when we’re done.
Then step effortlessly into the second, shiny, new and clean,
And live the rest of it out, perfectly pristine.

Unfortunately, we don’t, we get only this one.
And when we go hard for a little too long,
The damage is done.
No going back, no saying “Oops! My bad!”
Because now you are screwed, nothing more scary or sad.


© 2017 Elisa Fortise Christensen 

Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2017

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The Lofty Lighthouse - Sentinel

Terrifying tumultuous tremendous traumatic transaction
Horror in the towering splashes of ocean in howl
The vigilant lighthouse pounded by the surfs of annihilation
The huge and awful sea right now is on the untamed prowl

The shivering cold wind around the angry eyes of the hurricane
Has ruthlessly dispersed the deep waters in the ocean
Even dignity of the lighthouse is hit by the water insane
Before the surging rage of the waters in commotion

Do you listen to the roaring sea and crushing waves pounding the shores
Nothing else is visible nothing else is audible
Still don’t lose heart and look at the glistening hopes of the trusted doors
There the lofty lighthouse looks almost imperishable

This way nature heaves suddenly a deep sigh of suppressed grief
In these mad and angry growl of wild wind acts out nature
By ventilating its pent up anger it earns catharsis
From dark to light is the nature’s optimistic feature
April 10, 2016
For the Poetry Contest : Sentinel Quatrain Form
Hosted by : Eve Roper

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

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Bleeding the optimism

Rust on padlocked factory gates
from tears of broken men.
Time has stopped on the golden watch,
freeze framed memories of a better past.

Scattered faces breed sour looks
for brothers of nepotism
with handshakes that nearly broke arms.

Crouched in side streets
observing worldly peasants passing.
Slave ganged with vacuum eyes
tripping through life's labyrinth.

Putrid stares of jealous intent
drooling venom; casting adjectives of annihilation,
gouging notches from the family tree
with a calm, icy incision.

Family values dead
incestuous intent
breeding dole queue bastards.
Underground society of leeches
bleeding optimism.

Ghetto laws written in cordite rooms
Switch-blade; preferred method of payment,
for dreams inhaled from crack bongs.
Joining dots of needle tracks
reveals a picture of despair.

Deaths lottery, depression, calling out your numbers.
Jackpot being long awaited sleep.

Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2006

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Beneath the Sword of Damocles

Beneath the Sword of Damocles

As we nurse our nuclear nightmares
in a not to certain day
We are conjoined in common phobia
of madness or foul play.

Little children of the Fifties
hid beneath the classroom desks
have closed their eyes to mushrooms
saying, "This is just a test."

Beneath the Sword of Damocles,
possession had by all
Who’ll be the first to get one off
and spread the fireball?

Everyone wants a power sword
to wave above the next,
a challenge to the strongest,
though nothing will be left.

The chance exists to burst the sun
and hurl it in to space.
A few will long for greenery,
the world that was this place.

Speak with Japan's hibakusha
of burnt flesh, white light, black rain.
Listen to their tales of horror
that can happen once again.

With a wave of a finger
falls the sword of megatons.
Ask yourself will the survivors
be the truly lucky ones?

The American President John F. Kennedy compared the omnipresent threat of nuclear annihilation to a sword of Damocles hanging over the people of the world.   

The survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings are known in Japan as hibakusha. There are about 48,000 of them living in Nagasaki Prefecture, and about 83,000 in Hiroshima.

Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2018

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The Quick Fix

Give us the quick fix
The easy way out
A heady dose of
Instant gratification
And we'll forget about 
The intellectual annihilation
Of sixty second news 
On BBC Three
Then prime-time karaoke
From deadbeats on ITV

Copyright © kevin mcallion | Year Posted 2009

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dans l'heure bleue

(Must be read, while listening to the music link embedded in this poem, for without the music, the magic is missing). W. E. Soundtrack- Abel Korzeniowski
"dans l'heure bleue"
He sits at his desk like some frozen soulless vintage Christie’s Automaton It’s a Grey day, he’s a world away as he straightens his tie, cuffs his links moves his pens in straight line an assassin’s bullets for brief meetings ruthless pointless annihilation he’s so intent on order no interruptions to his mission of emaciating satisfaction in his heart an aching denial he lacks participation Love's vacant, ‘tis his lonely vindication She stands at her window like some sad Renoir painting the slow steady rain castes grey ripples on her luminous face waning sadness ever wrenching life tainting her stagnant soul’s deep oceans Love’s longing she’s frowning consternation as tears tipple down her cheeks she is thinking, rose petals falling she’s a dying bush, thorns her heart’s thicket violins a symphony stirring she moves away to her piano, sits and with each long slender finger she plays her heart’s notes, the missing keys, her life is out of harmony passion in the music there is her story in her heart an aching denial she lacks participation Love's bleeding away it’s sharp perfume Dark Red Roses He thinks Last Dance She thinks Last Romance Worlds away dancing in time, metronome perfect Waltzing in the whirling windmills of their minds Love's escaping in the Late Evenings of their lives He straightens his pens in his mind the music seeps in his well-ordered mission interrupted he is drowning in this, his Elysian Fields moment dancing with a phantom in his imagination She plays her keys ravenously, potent, she is in the moment, she is drowning in all her swelling oceans music echoes, the wind carries out through open windows on air's currents her stirring piano’s symphony the birdsong wings of her searing melody's invocation In their minds two complete strangers together dance in time they're together participating in their reverie waltz in their minds two Phantoms dance in perfect time their dans l'heure bleue je t’aime in their vacant room soliloquay metronome beats perfect time their chemistry of falling tears their dans l'heure bleue je t’aime (Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)

Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

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A Dedication To My Muse

Precious Lady… my muse Your words amazing… But you paint the ideal… I see it… feel it… broken I pray… oh how I pray That what you write About nature… wildlife… Oh how I wish was real I see for myself… In my locale… Many wildlife extinctions… It's not my intention To spread doom and gloom… But unless folk Are made aware… We do face annihilation Me, I’m just a messenger I pass on what I read And as I said… Some facts… Based on what I see… Our leaders only thoughts Self-gain, they're in denial Yet the world cry’s For its survival. Oh my blessed muse Please don’t desert me I live my life from day to day In anticipation Of your inspirational poetry Your verbosity Your every word Enthrals me… I live in hope That one day we… The world… will see Your poetry realised Arabian stallions rampant The magic of your jungles Desert life… amazing Write on my muse The world is waiting

Copyright © Mick Talbot | Year Posted 2018

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Sacrilegious Man

The divine order ignores 


© Demetrios Trifiatis
       12 August 2012

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2018

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Not Just Defeat, It Was An Annihilation

Tonight, there is no joy in the Broncos nation. That was not just defeat, it was an annihilation. Many of us were witnesses to the devastation. It made Denver television viewers change the station. Numerous Broncos fans must be wearing a frown. In four quarters, they scored one measly touchdown. It must be quiet in that big Colorado town. Things were bad enough to make the greenest grass turn brown. Over the Broncos, a witch’s spell must have been cast. The gang was like a ship that sank very fast. It seems the team saved its worst game for last. On offense and defense, the men in orange were outclassed. Along comes the addendum that nobody likes to hear: The Broncos will get it together and win next year.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

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The Virus

The Virus

An island called Tacloban
Is ravaged by Haiyan
This fateful day of November
The weather is not tender
Wind whispers destruction
Rain writes annihilation.

But that is not the good news!
Rather, it is the virus! 
The altruism virus!
Everyone is infected!
Good vibes is injected!
This virus is contagious!
People are courageous!
To get out of their way
To help others be ok.

The symptoms of this virus are these:
Concern for others seize them
Restlessness is also shown
They go out and brave the harsh wind and rain
So they can bring to safety other men
Fatigue, headaches, muscle aches they feel soon after
But they do not mind and just dismiss it with laughter
Intense emotional state of joy they harbor
For they come to help their neighbor.

Facebook posting is an addiction
Not for “selfie-ing” satisfaction
But to urge people to help
And give information about relief
Self-emptying is their mantra
While folding clothes of various genres
To be delivered to relief centers
That soon will reach the shelters
All these happen when the virus is within.

Yes, the virus is one-of-a-kind!
It is not seasonal; it does not go with the wind
It is like a mining in the heart
Gripped with it increases care chart
We can even say this has become chronic
For until now people are altruistic.

Note: Haiyan caused immeasurable damage to Leyte & Samar islands in the Philippines last November 8, 2013. However, the world showed compassion for the victims in grand and little ways. In the islands, though they were victims themselves, lots of stories of generosity and altruism were told. The rest of the Filipino people were moved out of their comfort zones and did their part. Indeed, people are innately good!


Copyright © hija de la luna | Year Posted 2014

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Shelley-Romantic Visionary

Shelley—Romantic Visionary  
Percy Bysshe Shelley
One Heaven, One Hell
Promise of a later birth.

About a little soul
One immortality, one annihilation
Wilderness of this Elysian earth.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 5, 2015 (Double Dactyl)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

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A thunder-clap, the storms approach
Each eerie revelation
No hope for man
Nor none for 'roach
A prophetic annihilation

The World awaits, a harrowed end
Apocalyptic measures
Mans soul, it hangs
Tentative, it bends
Ensnared, in its false treasures

The evening veil of darkness
Accomplice, to the Moon
Covers up its naked secret
A portent clear
A harbinger of doom

His end, long in the making
A teardrop in the Ocean
Damned eternal
He waits there, shaking
Unsaved, in his devotion

Arch-Angels, weep eternal
Both wings and hands are tied
The Wind it cuts
The Rain can never
Wash clear Infernal ties

Faith, leaves you , at the Alter
Tattooed, in your own shame
In Times of War
In Trial by Fire
Death, calls you by your name

A Tribute to Edgar Allen Poe...

Copyright © peter walsh | Year Posted 2015

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Go in the Portal to read.
It is just a vestibule to perceive, to conceive, to form beliefs, to establish creeds.
This world is in a make-believe that government is to bring subordinates to their knees.
They lack the power to achieve the leadership they seek.
Inform yourself that you are not that weak.
You will accomplish eradication of cruelty in the Middle East.
A man must be for his cause.
He must depict his adversaries to move forward.
When he is for what is right, you see the passion in his eyes.
No one has suggested a greater faith.
The beheadings, the amputations, the etcetera is annihilation.
Injustice atrocities will not bring structure but constructive abomination of the people 
     that conducts the killings.
A man, a woman, and a child will become extended by the God they believe in.
A change must come in the Middle East.
Penned 02/22/2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

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Jerusalem, The Jugular - Part One

You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,

We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver, 
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,

It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion, 


This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014

Details | Annihilation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Lords Prayer

Our father who art in heaven

Forgetting the son and his holy sacrament
Wandering in a maze, looking for atonement
Disavowing God, we bow to evil temptations
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

Hallowed be thy name

We constantly profane the Kings monicker 
Rebuking displays regarding the creator
Disbelieving in the immaculate conception
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

Thy kingdom come thy will be done

Freewill creatures ignoring the warnings
Hastily striding toward the end of mornings
He has set the time for earth’s annihilation
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

On earth as it is in heaven

Adam and Eve the first created beings
Creation immoral from the very beginning
Inviting sin into their perfect habitation
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

Give us this day our daily bread

Refusing to eat from the table of life 
Dining on lies, as we wallow in strife
Children dying from spiritual malnutrition
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors

The world was cleansed by the great flood
Human’s given hope, by a sacrifice of blood
Unable to forgive we await a fiery termination
God is growing weary of his sinful creation

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil

Willing walking the path of unrighteousness
Passing the point where we can seek forgiveness
Time has run out for this sinful congregation
The son has returned destroying creation

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever amen

Copyright © Anthony Nutter | Year Posted 2010

Details | Annihilation Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Mother Land Cry

My love for you became ephemeral
My eyes now moist with tears
The flowers on gardens-are dry now
The annihilation i cannot face

I scream for peace and joy among my people
They paid keen attention-I wish
The guns-the murders- i heard their cries
Their lives stood on melting ice

My people fight my people
Who put labels on their faces
The racism, the sexism 
Hiding under party hats

Now i'm tired
Should i sleep, or should i die
I pray that god brings solace to my heart
So i can survive, the plight of my land

Copyright © Rodwell Gibbons | Year Posted 2016