Long Lacerate Poems
Long Lacerate Poems. Below are the most popular long Lacerate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lacerate poems by poem length and keyword.
“The broken pieces of our heart like shards of glass are difficult to be glued up. It needs great care and craftsmanship to mend it.” ~ By Poet
The night stood,
veiled like an assassin.
Leaving aside the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
like spirits, from another world
came to haunt.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons
she choked for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn't move.
Should she drink to the lees
the dregs of the bitter potion?
She couldn't wink an eye!
She heard someone asking
'Why should you keep alive
the past in an album
and turn its pages every now and then'?
But...she couldn't help......
Like serpents uncoiling,
memories came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So she kept staring
into the awful darkness broken and wide eyed!
Screaming Guillotines
I.
I sit on the wide veranda of this house called America,
And I can see the Beast Boys coming our jungled way,
Coming like wild torrents of lapping flames over the astonished landscape,
Coming with black eyes squinting and staring for a feast of blood.
I sit trembling with mouth wide open, waiting for the whistling hearses to come,
And the inevitable silent tap upon my evading shoulder.
And far far away into the green enveloping expanse,
Of consuming trees and obliterating American skies,
I can hear the screaming guillotines serenading the ghost dancers.
I can see the whistling hearses bringing in the crimson nightmares.
II.
Time to take my knife again and lacerate the flesh of this dead thing,
This once-breathing creature that felt nothing but the slash of profit.
Time to spit out the long thin hairs entwined around my teeth.
Time to wonder whose hair this belongs to, as I pull out the long strands slowly,
Like pulling out long segmented worms from beneath the dirt of a rock.
“Ah, do you know the time? Is your sister coming by today?
She knows my name, and she can hear the screaming guillotines when they drop.
Will she spend some time with me here on my soft bumpy sofa?
Will she at last listen, at last hear, my remonstrances of lost love,
As we devour this dead, unbreathing thing,
Inside this salty steaming stew?"
III.
The Profit Boys are back in town,
And Jess and Jim are drunk on whiskey.
John Jupiter and his new bride, Isabel,
Are eating chicken and dumplings without a frown.
His new suit, in whisky-laden tatters, is
Hanging propped on a sweat-stained hall tree.
“Lordy those two are riling me; but shucks, it’s my wedding day!”
Then into town rides the Domino Kid from Abilene;
He’s looking to escape the screaming guillotines at Lansing.
John Jupiter and Isabel drink a toast to the future,
Their happy hearts pounding with hopeful glee;
Then he bashfully presents a wedding ring to his dimpled bride,
And kisses her sweetly under the tall Dragon tree.
But now, inside their barn, with soft lamplight aglowing,
Amidst the rambling rawhide, and a cracked cowbell,
Jess and Jim Profit set fire to the hayloft, a fire that is still growing;
The Domino Kid lies asleep, eternally dreaming of Isabel.
For what purpose after purpose do we come and go
Entering from utopia whilst life bestows
Sharpened corners lacerate living skin
Unknown of it's actions that happen within
Reflection to selection ones choice is made
To deliver one from breathing with the help of a blade
Elation to relief in translucent surround
Whilst my crimson flows without a sound
Weakened ripples run as I feel myself drain away
Another statistic, on just another of my days
Tunnelled tired eyes in tearful strain
As I turn my light to black, my living no longer reigns
Look at me I'm nowhere to be seen
Drifting in time as if in a long lost dream
The soul of I amidst the futures past
We are born to die not one of us lasts
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-9.php
Sweet, Sweet Descendings
The meandering river slinks silently
In reluctant afterthought;
A flat stone shines in the sun’s presence,
Gripped for flight, flies forward;
Water clouds dance in the rapids,
Celebrated with flames, and
The crying colors of terminations,
With the motion and swiftness of forethought,
Redacted and clothed in a mist;
As spiral complacencies nudge me from behind,
They seek to know my name.
They seek to harness the ghost prayers of a thousand decades,
As deities, in splendorous romancing,
With lips pursed for the joining of sparks,
Deliver the nudge and mouth the name,
All in sweet whispering buds,
As spreading flower petals lacerate the lacrimonious;
Falling, descending, down, down-
I see the green annihilations in the stars,
As the heavens, wet with anticipation,
In minds all enclosed in folds,
The whimpering few cry at twilight,
Trampling flowers and crusty coals.
Sweet sweet descendings,
Past the laughing ghosts of 1952,
They slice as a cleaver finds the core,
Divided, oh meandering slough,
The dance alights on an afterthought,
Redacted from behind, harnessed for years,
Sweet buds in green summer heat,
Petals and ghosts slice through,
The harrowing stars.
Lock ruby ridden doors for roach ridden floors bleed without grace
Roused rounded wounds throughout nightly escapes
And gaping fields of endless escapades
And gaping seas my moses blade has wrenched to dictate.
Pace rotting church floors, so I merry-may await god to knock upon my door alike a loving mother
His guilty spires to sing and relapse my sorrows
Eviscerate rusted razors to lacerate a clean slate.
And in the roar of rain and reign of vines
That pin and pay homage to this chime of final time
To frou-frou odes oozing scarlet against saccharine skin
And touch and go chortles chilling curve brow'd kin
To Cupid bow'd lips agape with cherry tipped spit
Ribbed'n red ribbons t'reach 'round rust ridden gates to 6ft city scapes
Lay'n low below poppy pinned limbs
Lifeless Carcasses drowning in ailed acrid hailing wails,
Limestone limbs aground with grave grown pests, quilled acid arms armed with bitten black mitts
Askewed pinching pincers ripp'd the petty sinner's wings, now
Falling as fallen fallacies face fickle teenage fantasies
Falling as to fall affronted towards
Mother-made dishonor doused among sickly star shine,
Clutching contorted flesh wrung of blackened regret
hung 'pon the sinful spine of east borne wind where the church resides.
Mine spires spindle star swept sereneties
To cloth mine carcass
From candid claws, in a rust ridden razor haze
O' Lacerate and Eviscerate this crass phase.
Perhaps if I were to,
Rebate the mirror that faces the sinner's face,
Would I face the same fate?
3//8//2025
She was the incandescence in my soul,
the fire in my eyes
and the warmth in my heart.
I could feel her in the gentle breeze
caressing my cheek.
She was the happiness pouring down upon me
as I stood out in the rain.
We stood, together;
I her rock and she my muse.
One hell of a pair.
She became all that mattered,
all there ever was and would ever be,
more than I could imagine could actually exist.
My purpose showed in her smile,
her joy my goal and reward;
her life shared, a blessing beyond
even the poets' ability to convey.
We stood, together;
I her devoted and she my love.
A love to outshine the very stars.
Then she disappeared, ran from me,
swept away by the winds of time,
cruel and merciless as they ripped out my life.
Now the fire's burned out, my heart withers, cold;
the memories of happiness
only bruise and lacerate,
and now I don't always stand, out in that rain;
the tears fall down, hidden in the falling water,
as I walk in escape, or kneel in failure.
We stand, apart;
She, yet my love, and I her . .
nothing.
A love to make all the sky weep.
The night stood,
veiled like a nun.
Wherever she looked,
She saw a hooded assassin,
staring at her with eyes like fireballs.
Leaving aside
the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
of that fearful night
like spirits, from another world
came
to haunt
her once again.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons,
of fear,
she choked
for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn’t move.
Should she drink to the lees,
the dregs
of the bitter potion
once again?
She couldn’t wink an eye.
Like serpents
u
n
c
o
i
l
i
n
g,
fears came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So, she kept staring,
into the awful
darkness, wide eyed!
Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
I really did not think this would eventuate.
But now there’s hope I will not exsanguinate,
because I feel my blood now hemagglutinate.
Remain in my blood vessels and just circulate
perfusing all my organs and accelerate
my wellbeing so I’ll not deteriorate
Instead, my condition will reinvigorate.
So, I will live another day to celebrate
the fact, that I should see another birthday date.
Not be a statistic for mortality rate
by bleeding to death, failing to resuscitate.
Please, let this be a lesson not to overstate
the survival secret one must not lacerate
an organ that could bleed out and necessitate
the need then for your blood to just coagulate
of part one pertaining to my most recent poetic entry (Inexplicable Quirky Memory Unhinged clasp one) unintentionally got submitted twice, and rather than tamper with attempting to delete delicately, (and probably wreak greater havoc then desirable), this generic human male (meaning thy characteristics of body, mind and spirit) lumped within that general category designated as average.
this chap neither exalts in arrogance, haughtiness, orneriness...nor does emasculate, humiliate, lacerate...his being.
tis modesty i strive for despite the (all to quick to judge via initial virtual impression) predicated on my predilection to populate poems (and/or prose) with ponderous pedantic particular pun dit tree.
She's broken underneath again
And sorry never enters his head
She'll stitch it all back and then
Come back closer and closer to death.
Crawling and eviscerate
Every single breath she takes
Drowning, can she ever escape?
Bleeding wounds that lacerate.
Screaming in the dark again
Heartache that may never end
Walk through hell just to pretend
But he wont ever let her win.
He's screaming at her again
And regret never enters his head
She'll cut it all out and then
One step closer to death.
Scratching and desperate
Reaching for every breath she takes
Floating, this must be her fate
Drenched in wounds that devistate.