A broken heart
Can not begin to describe
The pain I feel
My heart was obliterated
Pass the point of return
To the point
Where the ashes
Of which used to contain my soul
Dissolved into the water of my tears
Some say destruction is a form of creation.
But what did I create while destroying my body?
What was created while I was chipping away at my skin, slice by slice?
It's not until you step back and stop the destruction
that you realize you created resilience.
Even though the destructive thoughts
souround your essence in a thick fog of darkness,
hellbent on destroying everything in its path...
Destruction is a form of creation.
And every time you fight your way out of that fog,
you're destroying the clawing urges bit by bit—
and creating a resilience against the very destruction
you thought would be your end.
Destruction is a form of creation.
So create a victorious mind.
In the name of the stars and planets.
We’re all lost in the oblivion of our minds.
While we’re stuck concentrating on our own sorrows.
There’s stars in the night sky wishing they could breathe again instead of suffocating on things they couldn’t control.
Depression.
Wet floor signs everywhere.
So are puddles.
Falling.
Despair.
That feeling where you are covered in leaves.
And some leaves blow away.
But some are forever.
Desolation.
When he hands you the last crayon.
In the world.
And it just snaps in half.
Demolish.
Diminish.
Destroy.
Death.
And then the last of the last.
Just becomes a metal shard.
Half of a half of a metal shard.
Is basically nothing.
A simple word –
Softly spoken,
Stilled my heart
Left me broken
A single breath –
Such destruction,
Instant death
One deduction
Goodbye.
A gossamer hung on the graveyard's gate.
A spider clung to steel, consuming its meal.
It had no need to know dinner was served late,
Nor sensed ghostly keels the summer winds conceal.
The owls flew on, unperturbed by midnight's scare,
That made dead men howl silently in each grave,
Fresh ghosts were blown toward the gate in despair,
The gate creaked loud at each brush of ghostly wave.
Grief-stricken men earlier brought a fresh stiff,
Whose spirit roams about as if still alive.
His shroud still sweetly scented for winds to sniff.
Where otherwise smells of decayed corpses thrive.
Rotten bones left near the godforsaken gate,
Lay scattered by the snouts of some groaning pigs,
As scavenging and ruin became their fate.
While restless souls lay buried beneath their digs.
She was a field–
soft, wide, aching.
He was the match,
small
but hungry.
They met
not in spring,
but in that breathless hush
before things grow–
where hope is still half-buried
beneath frost.
She held the rain
like a secret.
He wore the fire
like a promise
He never meant to keep.
She broke
without a sound
He burned
like it was prayer.
and yet–
in the blackened soil,
something small,
something stubborn
began to bloom.
Leaders are worshiped,
Armies are much hailed,
Weapons are much praised,
And innocent creatures are,
Killed in the streets, in the
Homes, while they are working,
While they are sleeping,
The children's heart full of,
Terror, they are told, we are,
Worrier, we win the war,
But who tell the preacher,
Wars cant not be won, and
No way, they can be win,
Both side loose, both side
Destroyed, citizen are killed,
Here and citizen are killed,
There, Winners are those,
Who don’t care, for those,
Their whim must be roar,
Over the dead bodies of,
Innocents, the trees, the birds,
The air, the water, the animals,
The leaders never die in war,
They have power supernatural,
As a common man is taught,
To remain faithful to system,
To praise the ways of system,
To speak up to limits of system,
To praise the armies, to bow to
Money hoarders.
But all are the gestures inherited
Desire of creatures to destroy
Themselves,
Humanity seems tired of living,
Perhaps plans for departing,
And submerge in nothingness,
I apologize
For all the dandelion necks
I have snapped
I wore my sins like velvet lace,
Then set your garden all ablaze.
I never once said I was kind--
I only promised not to mind.
The chandelier you loved? It fell.
I laughed and called it “doing well.”
Your rules were quaint, but far too tight--
I loosened them with fire and bite.
Abandon all grace here, my dear--
The wine is sharp, the end is near.
The guests are ghosts, the cake’s a knife--
Let’s toast to your once-perfect life.
I dance in boots of shattered glass,
My lipstick’s poison, bold as brass.
The night is young, the mess is mine--
Now smile, love. You’re doing fine.
The lightning blinks through diaphanous air,
An enigmatic catharsis of the universe.
The thunderous exhale fleeting--
Ultraviolet tendrils grasping from the atmosphere.
A bolt illuminating the heavens with majestic bearing,
Smothering the canvas littered with stars in a flash,
Curling with a conniving kind of captivation--
A calamitous craft cracking through the cosmos.
Trump I-Fucation
Flickering beacon of light.
Red core inflamed.
Elites on the dole.
Narcissists
Me Trumps We.
Fraud:
Ace in the Hole.
GOP Rats pilfer the hold.
Viral blight dissembles.
Emperor fiddles
While chaos reigns.
Diagnosis: Deep Vain Trumposis.
Systemic Sclerosis.
Democracy Desecrated,
Pandora’s lost hope!
Copyright@Mel Gill 2023
And they would strut around the fire
Then sat upon their stools,
And argued long, in learned terms,
Who wore the better jewels!
But then there was a man about
Who none had seen before,
And though he wore a gentle face,
They felt a gentle horror.
For he did not dance around the fire
Or strut about like fools,
Nor did he argue who it was
That wore the better jewels.
And then there was a sudden fright
As when a spirit calls:
For he did not stand within the crowd
But stood within the walls!
And as he moved within the walls
A warmer air was felt,
And with a sort of sinking dread,
The walls began to melt.
They offered him their rubies
And diamonds from their hair,
They offered him the wedding bands
Of women young and fair.
They offered him the peerage,
They vowed to make him king,
They offered him the chilly duke
And any other thing.
For all of this, he did not care,
He took the world unaware
With silver lightning in his hair.
I am a hostage inside my mind, A wall of
crippling deformities
I want to emancipate myself from you, to
rid these tortured thoughts that burn
words of poisonous acid, deep into the
darkest corners of my mind.
But how, without killing oneself
Though matter may not be destroyed, the form
must be deformed; absolute fluidity
demands—with absolute rigidity—
that bonds made break free from an unstable frame.—
Erratic molecules and particles swarm
beyond the confines of lucidity;
But we, in stupor (and stupidity),
(poor things), give to fluidity a name…
I mean to say: Destruction is a must!
For,—given that something new’s to be built—,
creation draws from the dead flower’s wilt.
The energy that binds two atoms:tight:
is Love, attraction in the highest light!—
I mean to say: Destruction is the Just!
Related Poems