Times Gal
Give it back she demanded
He took the small barrel
Off the table of her 22 pistol
Saturday Night Killer being cleaned
Or it wouldn't fire as dirty
This gal was bad ass
All the effing way
She cut the metal tips
Off the 9mm slugs
Making them dum dum bullets
Took your face off
A mess like a 22 slug
Tho laughed at lethal
Like the small gal
He put the barrel back
It was well machined
She smiled and assembled the gun
Time to work later
We are in glass houses full of our own insanity.
We are built of bricks and blood,
Bone N soul howling in stone.
We are the strong that out lie the wrong.
They are the one
The coming son
The spoor of the Immaculate, ejaculate, and bombastic!
We can see each and every particle of the night (fantastic)...
The black element of the cursed universes...
We are the ones that swim in the golden rays
Of the holy son.
Driven in time…
Around the outer runs.
The pools of Immaculate, Cuming insane.
Of godheads and broke thrones,
Of immature hours, stars, and moons...
Feeling its power!
We are the glass minds, inner sight,
We build buildings of infinite,
We need fires that light.
The inner walls of our glasshouse...
We build; Bricks, sticks, and machined things.
The black elements of the cursed universe...
Take flight on dark mineral wings.
Awesome elixers
Nether realm nectors
Breath stripped bare of body
A new resembalance to the body before birth
Death before the ever slow machined of decay
manifested in all-that haunts me as i sense it
burried in black holes in the constant build up
human feces and debri
I am just the leftovers of me
All i have ever been
The ruined one
The ever lost
An urge to usurp self
The movements beyond the hidden entrails
Expose the vast gore that spawns worlds
Made a ghost in every action
When fancy does he come within one's life,
A candle gently placed goes out so quick.
Of course this is his job, yet one so rife,
And pain he caused to some in just a flick.
A march where veils can barely hide their tears
That rains could not compare their dreary wails;
No song can show the loss that sums all fears,
No hollow branch to hold the noose that fails.
Beneath the branch where he would make his stand,
To rub the names of those who have long passed,
Who paid their debts in kind beneath the land—
To sow it with their flesh whose life have passed:
The rain is sly to time their deaths in gloom,
His song's machined—and he will be their groom.
Her eye's are prosecuted to
see, A darkened soul, now
lingers, into anger and rage,
against, this machined body,
that exhausts my mind, with no
way to return, It's existence,
has been, captivated and
buried, deep beneath, The
floors, of burning tar, I cry
hopelessly down, A rivered
waterfall where they seep in A
black hole wash, knowing that
her reality, of it all has become
her reaper, as she SNAPPS,
back through to the hot seat,
that roars inside her, The battle
continues to race, these walls, I
burn, in determination to
heavens gate, Ashes-to-
ashes;Dust-to-dust, I'm asking
my ALMIGHTY'S forgiveness, to
let me come home, cause
there's NO ICE-WATER here, at
HELL'S PRISON, for I am
thirsty....To love again, as
GOD'S apostle.......
cold air --
a blessing to come
machined
cold air --
a blessing to come
machined
A hungry beast edges,
coming for you, sent by a
shining, busy man;
you can do nothing.
The dingy spit spills
from claws that look like
spinning sawblade dinner plates.
An oven belly smolders so brightly
for your flesh.
Truly, I am sorry...
But your druid spirit will be shredded,
sacrificed to Frankenstein,
and machined nonchalantly.
Come now, there's no fruit in struggling;
their smoking fires are funeral pyres for the
dead
god
of
nature
I can see it in your face.
Please, poor sap,
you are trapped.
The sad truth is
you'll never know
why fall leaves you.
The multistoried building stands
desolated in city environs
with floors still ‘under construction’
and a heap of grabage fouling within its fence.
The decoration of fragrant garden within
accentuates kind sight of the passers-by.
Captivated by machined simplicity
streamlined with time,
he stands there perplexed
at the discovery of alloyed divine element
trying to redefine the domain
to reformulate the structured phenomenon.
Assigning adjectives to the noun
raises deep eddies within
wading through the velveted admiration.
NO,
‘She’ won’t submit her soiled devotion
in the circumambience of sensitive rays
piercing through the pitch-dark clouds.
“I would better set the garbage ablaze”- ‘she’ said.
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.