The day she decides she’s done,
Wasting her best years in fear,
Cowering in filth and shadows,
Her pet cockroaches near,
Who can’t face me in the light,
And scurry from the sight,
If not too tainted then,
By their black-fingered blight,
She may assume her place,
Beside me in spite,
Of a once-roach being sprayed,
And my Queen’s appetite,
Will never be spoiled again,
By these putrid insects,
Ever scavenging and stealing,
Like a cancer that infects,
Where she finally feels the kiss,
On her face so inspiring,
As sun enlightens her,
Without her scurrying, but smiling.
As I stare into this empty glass,
slowly, an outline of a figure appears.
Sluggish movements, incapable of structural integrity.
An exhausted sigh of relief fills the air.
As the day dwindles into night,
reflections from a puddle mirrors the window.
A sudden shift, cracks abruptly spread.
Grafiti hides a section of the glass,
a pitiful display of raw emotions.
A soul evicted from its home.
Distilled water infects the glass.
The cracks? The stains?
What an embarrassment.
This quality and shape,
I can hardly use it.
Pieces of the glass here and there,
Reflections that no longer exist.
I can't see anything.
I don’t recognize myself.
Despite everything, it’s still me.
When lofty pride corrupts a beautiful mind,
when egotism infects the freshman's brain,
the genius who was the meek, lowly kind,
transforms into a dangerous, mad strain.
The brilliant brainiac who has turned vain,
the Putnam Fellow whose profoundest math,
and theorems caused his rivals so much pain,
precariously embarks on a Faustian path.
But life bathes us all in its humble bath,
and brings us back to a less sinful state,
which turns away the heavenly, sore wrath
of God and thus redeems our earthly fate.
If haughtiness keeps us from the more straight
and narrow, then patiently grace will wait.
It only takes a little
Of a potent fear
To poison the well
As that fear grows
Into hate
Which infects
Everyone
Who drinks from it.
Sometimes
No matter how parched
It’s best
To just head on
And find something new
Something fresh.
(2/19/26)
i roll the questions on my lips
uncertainty pierces my tongue
but through it all an autumn kiss
infects the wound it stung
to long for you is simple
to ask is far too wrong
for your eyes, a sign, a symbol
of where i can't belong
the shadows will lay heavy
when i lose my sun, my light
but two flowers can't grow steady
and you look so good in white
take my words as hardships
lose them to the sea
though you toss them off steep cliffs
my love, you shall forever be!
Spreading like covid
your words it infects
Through vowels into consonants
each phrase it subjects
No drug can divert
fated spores on the wind
Arriving like locusts
attacking within
The Muse has been stricken
her voice it impales
While spreading to others
each time you exhale
The body count deepens
your messaging damned
No cure in the offing
— dead silence at hand
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
IN CRAMPING BOWELS OF SHAME
Defecated bigotry and political rhetoric,
Constipates justice and infects racism
With diarrhea—dehydrating vulnerable humanity:-
Meanwhile, halted here in the heated air of agony,
We sad souls sit here crying in cramping apathy:-
The world is bleeding; anyone can see.
Red with blood it is indeed.
Oh, when from pain will we all be free?
A sickness infects the bourgeoisie
while we suffer from callous leaders’ greed.
The world is bleeding; anyone can see.
You can’t disguise wealth’s stench with sweet potpourri
when slaves to poverty are mired in their need.
Oh, when from pain will we all be free?
Hunger and disease are the sad reality.
It only seems corruption is what’s guaranteed.
The world is bleeding; anyone can see.
Oh, the misery from which so many cannot flee.
Many try to just get by yet can’t succeed.
Oh, when from pain will we all be free?
No man can offer up a good Plan B.
Only God one day will intercede.
The world is bleeding; anyone can see.
Oh, when from pain will we all be free?
In a sea of roses, the ashes of your ghost still wander,
breathing you in deeply, I try to pierce through the veils of time,
but to no avail, only a bitter emptiness fills my weary soul.
Fate tempts me, taunts me with the echo of your voice,
in the dead of night, when sleep refuses to be my companion,
the passing time infects my broken mind,
hallucinations envelop me in the sheets that once were ours.
Breathing in your scent, expelling the demons that surround me,
without you, the devil whispers words of temptation in my ears,
fire flows through my transformed veins, a living blaze,
Lilith's fury poisons any trace of humanity left.
Levitating above the bed, rebirth approaches with silent steps,
cutting into the chest, the heart becomes heartless in its beating,
electricity pulses beneath the flesh trembling in the moonlight,
destruction is now at the tips of my thirsty fingers.
Pain begets hate, and now watch as the world burns,
while I become my own martyr, a flame consuming itself.
The ashes of your ghost still roam within a sea of roses.
Breathing you in, I try to reach through the veils,
yet to no avail.
The bitter emptiness is all I can feel.
The Fates keep taunting, teasing~
in the dead of night, your voice still lingers,
preventing slumber from taking hold.
The ticking of clocks infects my broken psyche,
hallucinations tangle me within what used to be our sheets.
Breathing in your scent, exhaling demons~
without you, the devil whispers.
Temptation takes hold,
fire flows through transforming veins.
Lilith’s fury poisons any humanity that was left.
Levitating from the bed, rebirth is at hand.
Cutting into my chest,
the heart becomes the heartless.
Electricity pulses beneath rippling flesh,
destruction now at my fingertips.
Grief begets hate.
Now watch as the world burns,
as I become my own martyr.
Only on full moon does my essence
find release,
When the blaze of moments infects
my hunger for raw wantonness...
Gulls skitter on coastlines
and reel overhead
Their croons heralding night's ebullience,
Until my limbs twirl unceasingly
For an endless tempo
of wild bohemian dance.
Living in the Now,
my body- soul races free
Like chants of untamed prayer
welcoming eve's thrill almost sublime.
Bad news
Infects the teller..
The teller
Conveys news which
Is believed to have
Arisen in a fictitious
Past time..news
In the telling
Colored with belief
Is what is happening
And not...
"The nature of bad news infects the teller." Antony & Cleopatra (Shakespeare)
Conquered by the truth of lies
Entwined in the snares of his subtle grasp
I faced him once before
Bound by the shackles of his dominance
A tempest of fear rages within
I reach for the windows pale escape
In hopes not to disturb
Frozen in fear upon the concrete floor
A moist and forceful confining
I’m a fleeting thought, lost in the void
I imagine no one will find me
The beaten walls refuse my surrender
All the while the doors unlocked
Haunted by the echos of my screams
I tell myself It’s not his fault
I sense him coming behind me
Colliding, my thoughts conflicted
Persistent, I beg of him to stop
My sanity held firmly
Trapped in the hall of mirrors of his manipulation
Molded into the shape of his treachery, my downfall
A malignant euphoria infects my soul
The violent shatter of my exit,
Projected by the resounding crash
My only consolation
Sealed and latched
I’ve fallen within the cracks
Troubled by his power unyielding
Wallowed within my own conclusion
A life without you, I’ll continue yearning
I am injured. And I am alone. Your mask falls & hits the floor like shattering glass. But this is not the first time your beautiful reflection has deceived me, no. I've lost count of the number of times that you've watched me throw my self to the floor and desperately try to put the pieces back together.
And you've let me. You've let me cut myself with those pieces as I struggle to recreate the 'love' that I have lost. And as you watch me place the last shard into its place, you thank me for loving and forgiving you, and place it, to again, cover your face. You know it's what I want to see. You know it's what I need. So you wear it again until the truth seeps in and infects me. Until cries echo and rattle the mask to the floor once more. I cant be mad that you don't want to keep it on all the time. I'm sure it's terribly uncomfortable.
I'm not sure why It's so natural for the people I love to hurt me. But it's obvious what the common factor is. I'm not sure where my obsession with masks came from. I just love to see the artistry I guess.
A virus-like vice infects us all,
Tis the sin that made Lucifer fall.
like a canker hidden from sight,
It destroys the soul like a blight.
When in others this sin we detect,
Our hearts assume a loathing aspect.
For few they are that ever suspect,
that this very vice their heart infect.
The deeper the loathing on your part,
the greater the pride within your heart.
This utmost evil and viral vice,
from the soul, extracts a hefty price.
Pride leads to sins of every kind.
It is the true Godless state of mind.
The proud is never pleased with the best,
He must always be above the rest.
A proud person pursues power,
As an addict, for drugs scour.
The one who stands out in a crowd,
Is made an enemy by the proud.
God is the enemy of the proud,
For He with all power is endowed.
The proud to no one will ever bow,
To his vain self, he has made this vow.
So, beware lest pride sneak up on you,
and pervades everything you do.
Because once pride takes root in your heart,
Only God can make it depart.
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.