do you really see beauty in my rotting mind
are there rain clouds in my eyes
that the mirror cannot show me
can you really see the life in my veins
that hides itself from me
the strength that waits to be awakened
hibernating in my tired body
underneath layers of withered skin
would you really be willing to help peel back
the surface, to let my new flesh breathe
though it reeks of ancient sadness
and mold; a skepticism of growth
i’ve drowned the seed inside with blood
sweat and tears, yet you speak of its potential
slowly watering it with patient tenderness
softening its hard outer shell
do you still think i have a green thumb
though i have not yet unlocked it
do you really see delicacy amidst the dead
the soul camouflaged in putrescence
Categories:
putrescence, appreciation, confusion, death, depression,
Form: Free verse
Tenebrous shadows flood the night,
as spirits arise from their graves,
the undead swarming spectral trees.
caliginous beings hungering,
nefarious, bits of decaying blight.
Among the mortals they will walk,
stench of putrescence pervades the air.
Maleficent entities invade the minds,
of those in high positions;
dining on human greed and power.
I cast the runes and read the fates
the future’s trapped within the bones;
and through a crystal ball I see
humanity succumbing to these throngs;
dinner for the beasts.
1-11-2022
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Angela Tune
Categories:
putrescence, gothic, poems, poetry, scary,
Form: Free verse
The ebony night crawls
With its webbed feet
On my distressed mind,
To peel off my fusty clothes,
From my fatigued body,
Stinking me like the putrescence
Of my time, and of my life,
Feels me then
As light as feather
Floating up into the azure.
Before my inner eyes,
Barely exposed I’m
In my living portrait
Caught in the lens of camera
Zoomed in and out
To perfect my image
With my own personal touch
Just for hanging in the wall
Of my living room.
*
Categories:
putrescence, allegory, allusion, beauty, emotions,
Form: Free verse
Well now, beneath the darkest realms
In nightmarish gists, I am the one
Who instills fear and in putrescence I dwell
In variety, isocheimal ulteriority is all I've done
Laureled with the metallic lustres of death
And shining with the fires of vengeance
Animosity is the origin of my libellous wreaths
Where you see hearts of the women I've broken dearest
Sultrily I coax the likes of you in my irresistible hazards
Scarcely liminal of you towards my tinge of ominous transience
In my vegete facade, my words flow like the romanticizing Haggard
And contemptuously strike you down in my own baleful omnipotence
What a naive fille you are, my dejected little princess!
To be easily deluded by a beguiler with a stunning visage
In your ruptures, I ecstatically drown myself in your distress
Beneath woos and charming signals of temperament are the vicious lures of a savage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a response to: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_princess_cry_604227
Categories:
putrescence, angst, betrayal, corruption, dark,
Form: I do not know?
It was a simple night,
she suppressed her own mindset
plunging self-shackled feet into their thoughts,
their eyes,
their thought processes, hoping to retain
some semblance of solace in the familiar cold.
-Reality is an infectious disease-
What she allowed herself to notice,
swimming reluctantly through the back of her mind
made her breath ice, searing
winter-stains on the autumn-edge of her lip.
Love shook the decent little girl
scraping by her parent’s esteem and
dreaming in the dark reaches of her existence
of a liberty that wouldn’t leave her screaming
on her knees for God to banish all the monsters
from her closet, and the putrescence
of the memories that colored the back of her eyelids.
Love took her by the hollow of her bruised chin
and melted her into an above
where stars lingered like fistfuls of berries in
explosions of stratosphere, almost tangling with her hair.
She felt the world and all her dreams
slip quietly through her fingers,
so she held his that-much tighter
and left the ocean-echoes in the shell of herself
behind.
-she won’t care if they ever wake up-
Categories:
putrescence, love
Form: Free verse
The ebony night crawls
With its webbed feet
On my distressed mind,
To peel off my fusty clothes,
From my fatigued body,
Stinking me like the putrescence
Of my time, and of my life,
Feels me then
As light as feather
Floating up into the azure.
Before my inner eyes,
Barely exposed I’m
In my living portrait
Caught in the lens of camera
Zoomed in and out
To perfect my image
With my own personal touch
Just for hanging in the wall
Of my living room.
Categories:
putrescence, nature, me,
Form: I do not know?