Long Wormwood Poems
Long Wormwood Poems. Below are the most popular long Wormwood by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wormwood poems by poem length and keyword.
I painted portraits of you in my heart
till' dark clouds allowed pouring rain to fall
washed away paintings hung that fell apart
to leave my heart's chamber an empty hall
my love for you held portraits that I hung
now a darker place with its vacant walls
where my love's dust becomes a wormwood dung
when love died slowly in pain-filled thralls
this chamber, this hall, now a silent place
that's shrouded by a darkness of morass
when vanished portraits left a lonely space
where doors are closed and no one may trespass
For all my painted portraits I will weep
When I find them in my dreams when I sleep
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
You filled my heart's chalice with passion's pain
from poison kettles stirred in your mind
Your wormwood brew drips a bile that will stain
as it spills on the earthen floor of time
Slip away with your dung lit real of shade
seek a newer chalice, your lips can fill
barter their heart with your cold lover's trade
in worlds that lie beyond the farthest hill
where each love will be lost forevermore
to drift towards a darker, colder sun
leave me now, like the shadow I abhor
You used my heart's love, and pain has begun
For my heart will lie with its final breath
Befitting dear, you have seen my heart's death
Gaze into the battling fire - a whisper in savage red,
And into the clouds that travel at the blind and cyclic wind's behest.
When the murmur within starts to weave its frail thread,
Calmly, let your soul rest in arms, as both alchemist and martyr in your quest.
Don't ask if it's allowed, or if it's right,
Nor if the advice of scholars tightens its grip in your palm.
Or if Zeus, Christ, or Vishnu might smile with delight,
As you drift from the world to your infinite realm, so calm.
There, in the cradle of fire and dreams, midst the heart of the blaze,
Your echoes build palaces from whispers of silk, so faintly humming.
Your conscience grows vast, and the desert, thirsty for rains,
Answers, achingly alive, to their call, deeply drumming.
Let thought cross from the sacred to the profane,
Make a hymn of the spirits that voice your inner sanctum’s domain.
For teachings are maps of dreams, not fate,
And in the sea of knowledge, you're a diligently wandering wraith.
The leaf bows in the wind, and the star in immensity,
Just as you, before your own flame, reverently incline.
Don't ask for permission to heed your own words set free,
Their scent is sacrosanct in your temple, no door shall confine or undermine.
Listen to your voice when it sings, when it wails,
When it writhes in your chest like a serpent, or like an angel prevails.
It's more than just a flutter, it's a charter divine,
A personal testament, a chronicle of your path, through the fog and the wormwood entwine.
I begin,
with spearmint breath, barefoot, and hushed skin
woken are earth’s aromas of prayer and namaskar
spilling intentions auspicious a focused vow within,
with a promising salutation to the resending rising star
for the faded filaments of ashy ailments, as well
I hear their praises of open routes and yellow brick roads,
fast tracks to filigree of fulfillments where egos swell
gritty goals, lickety-split in their surrealistic abodes
its competition stirs the soul, yet their ebbing eyes be blind
to suit oneself and not the self, the soul-search sold,
to stay true becomes onerous of an untruth abstract mind
The scribbler’s hastened house upholds,
phasing flowers into a creative expression explored,
literary archaic yet no soul from muse’s molds
some choose to pull from brutal banks previously implored
A game of Scribbage, the deal, the play, the show,
noted nothing less nor nothing more,
vintage vantage, a cribbage of blank blurt we all know
forgetful is the fact that we’re all amateurs
Take my savory words you, I’ll take yours if kind,
let go the ways to wicked wharfs, it’s the way to putrefy
away from stagnate depths of opaque layers grind
for those without weakness those of you rise
without the wormwood shells of bitter taste
the lower plains and the pains and alibis
of watering wells d i s p e l l i n g waste
There’s innocence in our hearts
an inner chamber where the divine never dims
there's a purposeful purity that never parts
it lives inside once broken down, our bones and limbs
it fills the ovoid, gives opportunity, I end with this,
as an appointee, in a designated avatar,
in n o w mindful we won’t miss
as we are receptors of higher light,
held above varmint vestments tsar
we transform our image gone the dark knight
There’s a secret garden inside, drunk on lovestruck swilling
becoming well known, follow the pathless path amidst
to the road I’m on, there, the sacred wells worth drilling,
the one path known as blessed bliss
—A Monk of Quiet Quest
The reign of death will last as long as time
when my last fruit changes into wormwood
the death of life is not misunderstood
when candles lit will cause the bells to chime
silent in death's repose lay I disguised
this end will count the minuscule of years
and quell the fear unknown when it appears
from Heaven's Kingdom minds have actualized
no way can I vanquish the time of death
dispenses me as if a rotten gourd
the fear of what's beyond in silence grows
when life cannot sustain the fate of breath
I'll find Charon's ferry and get aboard
the question asked of truth is no one knows
4/6/23 contest I Died
The Mariner's old salted-air skin, leather tight,
on a mast-hard frame of bones
and flash flood rushing blood,
faces ice-fed winds bouncing his ship
and helm cockeyed on continuous curling waves
from Nature's rough hewn seas,
beneath skunk-colored skies
Standing redwood tall,
in a locked jawed face of stormy, screaming weather
with honey badger determination,
to fight for the aging breath and life of his vessel,
of foot worn,handmade English Oak,
in a lion and hyena fight with the storm
Hoping the molten core of flaming,fiery light from the sun,
bursts through volcanic ashen clouds,
leaving his still sided barnacle plugged wormwood planks attached,
until he reaches shore
4/25/17 contest Word Play Images, Dense and Pithy
Last call for alcohol, embargo
on the cargo headed for Fargo?
Bootlegging articles of?
"ConfederationNow",
Boot logger, droned Over all? Foggered... Froggers, sprawled. Farms attacked by competing vows. ++
Blood drained Cows.
Imagine, Gaia hype- our brainwashing, a
sacrifice to a Paul Bunyan Nephilim type, "Savior" moonshining wormwood tea in exchange for Sheep. Believing them to be. Stoned blind in Texas, right wing.
Liquid Media medicinals, points for eveyone West of, Diagonal the Allegheny, best of show, suggestion,
allegiant, allegory. (Oh...allegedly.)
As The King of the North fights zombies that believe the Game of Thrones just fantasy. Conspiracy_ Storytellers of propagandolf, minds of Sauron to keep
eyes Wide-Shut. By Aristocracy.
To "pass" on the proof of those stoned blind in Texas, shekeled, bought, brought a Rose, of Sharon,
from Ticked Karen's, in their own Eden.
Those non-Citizens,
"Christians of the un-Enlightened" l"unacy of Old',
thoughts? NoahmadicHeathens!
Of the tide turning; going South.
The dark side of the moon,
a journey scape of wet dreams in swoon.
To partake the half empty side of drink.
Salt of thirsts.
Cup of wrath of the Directional Winds.
A piracy bloodbath of Nationhood in martyred demarcation zones.
Cusp of swilling blood of the swill,
Apocalyptic feel, fills,
notes of the unveiling of the Whore who Rides the Beast on the Seven Seas. Leviathan is leavened,
rising, ready to eat.
Now, there is censorship on speech on the internet,
then is, when, is then en-Tyrely.
The Gatekeepers at Fallens keep,
keeping freedom, voices "Crying in the Wilderness"',
Peeps out of reach.
Accept for Government (entities) with algorithms, keyloggers, identity id thieves, imagers of the Beast.
Spell binders binding
their articles-of-New-World-Sourcery-Cheaping-Rumpelstiltskin-Seamstitchery-Tailoring-Truth- blinding-digital-mining-slaves for the Wolves,
Kings of the East, Trading Company.
Trading souls for an hour with the Beast.
The reign of death will last as long as time
As judgment comes like bitter gall's wormwood
The candles lit will cause the bells to chime
Unwind its passing days that we've withstood
Silent in our repose we lay disguised
This ending to our minuscule of years
A Heaven's Kingdom, minds have actualized
To quell the fear unknown when it appears
We have no way to ever vanquish death
Disperses victims on its own accord
When life cannot persuade another breath
We find Charon's ferry and get aboard
The fear of what's beyond, its silence grows
The truth from questions asked is no one knows
10/20/17
When love's chalice brims with passion's pain
from crooked hands now clenched within your mind
its wormwood draught is less the bile that stains
you spilled to cleanse the earthen floor of time
the rapture of this life now cleans my soul
as it bleeds deep in darker realms of shade
you drove the knife that cut the rose once whole
release my suffering heart as death persuades
this flower keeps no breath within its bloom
now drifting dark beneath the setting sun
flee from this world whose shadows I consume
as my heart dies, its death already done
a crumbled love lies dead inside my heart
buried beneath the lies as you depart