My burning red raw, bloodshot eyes,
strain expectantly, under reluctant skies,
counting fingers, with tearful sighs,
longing for sunbeams, to defiantly prys,
open cracks in gray clouded sunrise.
An eye soon cries when a spirit expires,
lowering a curtain over its own demise,
knowing that gray clouds, in soft disguise,
conceal a heart, where storm rage resides.
We can’t grasp, retrieve, or analyze,
every drop of tear that fate applies,
or drown out our faltering hopeful smiles,
with splattered stings, spat from leaden skies.
Let's stride forward beyond what woe betides,
that arise from seeing skies cloudy at sunrise,
to cherish every moment, without compromise-
as bearers of gifts that bring joyous surprise.
Categories:
prys, cry, endurance,
Form: Rhyme
outside she dances/
wind prancin along side of her curves/
she swirves and the breeze wraps around her bust/
that lust literally busts/
she crys out in moves hear me groove/
it's a must to fuss these feelings/
so smooth she's smothered with thoughts/
she sings in distraught/
with her eyes so indulged/
they bulge as she prys through her surroundings/
she tries to live the life of legends/
who sought and fought for the world be their heavens/
so she hereby stand sitting out/
She must be a little tea pot her words are bubbling/
so here they come out this young womans spout/
and they sound troubling trying to figure her meanings whereabouts/
so she still talk and question till her lips & mouth turn drought/
let she continue to recognize and point out the tension/
in a dimension unyet kown to the current peoples obsession/
with not the world but techonology progression/
but she dares not stress for she knows she's blessed/
so here she dances that's me and my words in movement expressed./
Categories:
prys, body, dance, environment, world,
Form: Rhyme
Thoughts echo, mental void,
Deep, dark, empty void,
****ed it here, ****ed it there,
****ed it up, ****ed it up.
Demons come and demons go,
Demons live and demons sow,
Demons die , demons lie,
Demons cloud demons pry.
Sober thoughts, drunken words,
Red skys , infernal birds.
In the dark , there lives a man,
Alone and cold, there lives a man,
There he sits a simple man,
Soul abandoned , a lonesome man,
He wants to die, deaths a thought,
Whats the point , just a thought,
Angels cry, and demons hiss,
Living life, voided bliss,
Life will come and life will go,
A dark man comes here, to and fro,
Prys his eyes and pricks his brain,
Slowly still he goes insane,
In the dark there lives a man,
Trying to do the best he can,
Dieing is just a simple plan,
Will he try? he can he can,
At what cost, does life come too,
Red white black and blue,
No one but himself to blame,
No one but himself to shame.
There a man, still a boy,
Yearning for his ode to joy.
Categories:
prys, absence, age, death, depression,
Form: Rhyme
‘At play with words’
Cork thine eyes
Cloaking lucent verbose halls
Surely binding shutting tight
Cork thine eyes
Clutching goblet sipping falls
Drunk seduction bending sight
Prose mine prys
Gather up my scrolling drawls
Paging through the spite
Prose mine prys
Splitting metaphors with mauls
Swindle word codle the blight
This poem explained
Shut your eyes
Shade your bright and wordy thoughts
Absolutely shut off your mind
Shut your eyes
Drink from the fountain of lies of the rich
Allow yourself to be seduced and become blind
My ordinary words chip away
Read what I have written
They are memorable moments of contempt
My ordinary words chip away
I chop up what I write with metaphors
The negative meanings of what I write deceives with tenderness
T.R.Sevrens
Categories:
prys, depression, life, on writing
Form: Prose Poetry
Shards like fine glass shattered
through the mazes of his heart
one for everything that mattered
that had sliced his world apart
Now he prys them loose at midnight
just to lay them on the line
every sliver like a vision
of his life as well as mine
one for every dark disaster
that prevailed when he was young
now he proves himself the master
splinters falling from his tongue
scratch the paper with the anguish
let the blood red ink rejoice
he no longer has to languish
God has given him a voice.
Categories:
prys, inspirational, on writing and
Form: Couplet