Long Manacle Poems
Long Manacle Poems. Below are the most popular long Manacle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manacle poems by poem length and keyword.
So Dog Gone Tired Today...
May 20th, 2021
Like a fly without his/her buzz
even popping a guarana (caffeine) does
not shake the feeling
like brain covered with fuzz
no matter how hard I try eyelids claps
shut nor how many hours of sleep elapse
offers nary reprieve folds
welded tightly shut
feel like they weigh
much as a ton mud covered flaps,
thus thought to summon
meager energy reserves perhaps
generating poetic lines
interrupted by taking constant naps
but no matter eyelids
weigh heavy as a ton steel traps
narcolepsy not ruled out since
tired body struggles as if gasping for air,
yet such fatigued state uncommon for me,
though bothersome to grin and bear
this bout of sleepiness, where this
white knight chess sleeps
trouble free aye declare
quality deep rapid eye
movement marked noticed
since medication taken
to treat debilitating anxiety e'er
concomitant panic attacks, where psyche
got rent asunder send
ding this atheist to hell
episodes pained me
forked flaming tongues flare
ling, immobilizing, paralyzing
and stinging entire body,
hence methinks primary cerebral gear
and cog glommed
like a drain clogged with hair
nonetheless, no alarmist worry,
nor "worst case scenarios" betray
my ordinarily mellow emotional state,
thus any task I must delay
thoughts unstoppably captivated
by snoozing upon
a bed of freshly mown hay,
and then hours later
diminishing fatigue in catchy rye
ming verse aye re: lay
relishing being awake,
the mine true valued self I kin portray
best to surrender whereby
unfettered invisible manacle doth yoke
mine body electric unresponsive, yet woke
to myriad stuff dreams get made
ashen faced flesh impossible mission
to energize (think cattle prod) futile stoke,
thus methinks eternal sleep only option,
whereby yours truly only request do not provoke
nor poke
the bear, but only I make exception for
Little Red Riding Hood,
cuz she ranks as innocent young female folk.
Self's colors-change in the modes of wanting,
as a chameleon in the daylight,
as the seasons fade to black, hunting season
where loyalty is clothed in sackcloth,
used as a knapsack with monogrammed font.
To embellish the pride inside, attacks reason.
Game played, war waged against trust and integrity,
hair trigger, sights blurred and uncalibrated.
Sport saved for fair weather and played-with
when in moods of folly-misunderstood
as heart's pedigree, but self the only royalty.
In the mists where lovers-lie, dormant
on the rocks of
sacrifice,
sprayed and neutered with the scent of the world,
blessed by holly-wood burning to ashes,
embraced skeletons of Pride's carbon copy fairytale.
Convenience, just a behemoth-witch of cull,
changes the love's color to grey-scale,
when it fits the bill of soul sale.
No effort no altruistic deeds,
no walls scaled or ride on valiant steed,
no searchlight, or care but for selfish greed.
Just a crone noose and bonfire of vanity,
just a cast of thespian spells playing part
in new reality.
Scale-weighs, and reckoning's executioner-pendulum swings
and approaches with royalties-undertaker
with box of pre-fitted manacle rings
empty in hand save for null need,
as truth-sees eye to eye-darkness looks away, cares not for its deeds,
Rewards itself handsomely,
a black wedding knot to tie.
Vows weigh the truth's true order of things,
from it's wheelhouse shipwreck beacon by the sea.
Sees souls found wanting, rescue, denied
and sees the light go forth from it's spotlight,
a disorder to groom with a whore for a bride
and open bedroom.
A vacancy window, black hole portal that blocks the sunlight from it's boardroom orgy of doom.
Frigid metals twist like
Banshees in shriek,
Making all who hear it fear it's threatening speech.
Cognitive cogs, turning out torture-
instigating further madness noir.
Pale green and gold in it's likeness.
Promulgated sickness.
Rusted iron dust to waft in the air,
wasping the lungs in claustrophobic-
sheer.
Gnatly obstructions, of the mocked- so mockingly unpure.
Extra sauce, nuts to soup djour.
Petrified trees claw at the air,
are the dark cathedrals amidst these nameless.
In this place there is no pollen or seed, and no blameless,
only despair.
Only Faceless Dryads, in blank stare.
Phallic Monoliths of suggestion
to gulp down and digest arears.
To guess reason and future to
their care in characature.
Erecting perversely as the devils own gnarled spires of spur and spurn.
In a place of infinite execution,
executing, excommunication-backward-absolution.
Leviathan shadowing, the fruits of nothingness.
The Goliath bloom on the throne of Judgment-
and these petrified, stalk, loom,
as pillars rooted to this testament.
Rockbeds garnish the landscape,
some as giant skulls mouths
agape in horror.
Others- the appearance of
ruptured, long-barren wombs.
Harpy hatchlings, in undead rapture-
aborted to the bed of cold's tomb.
Metaphoric to Human Nature,
Feng shui in ruin, in stoic capture.
To accessorize the cold sea of powdered tourniquet that cut in to the skin like a shackle, a manticore of manacle-
Coat of arms, insympateco.
A Bridle hard bitten down,
pre-set to the endowment of harm.
As wraith statute rides sinners like broken ponys-with glass saddles-till frothed,
and buckled down, eyes rolled back white and CROSSED.
Belladonnic poison seeps from your eyes,
like an electric serum of Venusian alchemy,
one that paralyzes my sense of pride.
My mind oscillating,
alternating,
your gaze,
annihilating.
An infusion,
Uranium radiating me into half life,
as I look up small to thee.
How can you be my painkiller,
stretching rack,
healer,
and a killer clown surgeon
with a knack for stealing autonomy?
Your touch burns with the fires of Purgatory,
a solar cycle casting elemental ghouls,
in a rogues gallery of impish valkyrie.
Propheting in New Moon phases
of alignment's interferon mightocon cell mining,
beaming morse code anecdotally-
You dress me in the dark's fairie mood ring-collar- manacle- you cause me to wear in my captivity.
Endangered in the midst of your wilds,
from your strange type of phi
that echoes from the voids-
enchantress- third eye.
I flop like a fresh caught fish
in your net of silk, patterned telepathy.
You are a siren, a villain- bewitching
the stormy seas- to shipwreck adventurous souls
and harbor them on your oasiatic Isle, Circe?
So why do I feel saved, even in your captivity.
Turn me into a fattened pig, then,
do as you will,
but be the truffle of my descent
as I forage for delicacy.
ICE NINE
The sourceling of anti-matter,
morphed in, a slithering form.
From Darkness's anteroom chamber-
The wormhole, in escape-
The place where disobedience was born.
A
S
p
i
r
a
l
staircase, passage-
from Satan's spawning floor.
The full embrace of the fall, from grace-
Leading to a pit, a chasm within,
a vacuous sore.....
(The Abyss)
An Epitaph to Hopes Epiphany,
suffocation of man's denial.
Viper's soliloquy on Life's Headstone-
singing Hade's Reprisal.
The Manacle Frost seeped in, absolute,
in a stigma of waves.
Grasping, ill repute,
adorning its crystal plague.
Sculpting a stoic coffin,
for the Deads Winter.
Thematic serum, preserving decay,
reserving sinners -to it's chaotic
pain of spread-eagle splay.
Delivering retribution of hydrous tentacles-
A black mosaic, sadistic, iced anti-miracles.
What once were flowing streams,
now, solid, cataracts, in the shade of heresy.
Clogged arteries,
unstirring unto Death's Trident.
Neptune's chill, unforgiving, arrant.
Blood rigid, arresting the heart of Heretics.
A frozen mirror casts justice's like image,
reflecting back from the Abyss.
Unrelenting, this visage, to the fiends,
strewn about the thick of it.
Icy fangs sink in their eternal repress.
Yes.
The Sickle of Death's Angel.
The Fog of Hade's Breath.
Gag my mouth to thwart my speech and seal my protests
But the language of my eyes will be heard in the hallowed highs,
I speak not to be heard by those that have no ears to hear
But to confirm that my words have reached the skies.
Tie my feet and hinder my motion
And I still will globe-trot the untrodden earth,
For I walk not on the legs you see,
And I will walk on every road and sail to every firth.
You cannot manacle my hands
Although you may handcuff them with a chain,
The arms I have are invisible to you
And the ones you see you bind in vain.
And you never can kill me
For my life is in the air you ignore;
My body died long before I was born,
Before the rains of brutality began to pour.
I will speak against your contrary wish
And I’ll walk although my legs you may tie;
My hands will wield miracles wherever they’re waved,
For my soul has sworn never to die.