FREE | Searching my heart for its true sorrow, This is what I find to be: That I am weary of words and people, Sick of the city, wanting the sea. |
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The City of TadhgWhite pillars rise from red brick, Like hands stretching to heaven In a sea of blood.The City of Tadhg
Steeped in dust, soaked in flies, The gullies and ravines cut Jagged lines in dark skin. There are lizards in the quarries, And they care little for poetry.
Crowded dens locked in sand Flock the base of the steeple -
The craggy peak, the ascended. We turn dulled eyes up And wonder at the poets who dream, Never seeing the beauty
Of the carcasses below.
by ~Underground-Rogue
The City MannonWe shutter the dawn in With angular smiles And write in the sky With pillars of black ink.The City Mannon
Silks and spices slice the senses, Washing clear the taint
To a cacophony of caged birds, Pawned insects and crying pups. A market is a market - Profit does not lose its value.
We are shouldered at the sides With a flanking of thicket, Wicker baskets wrought in smoke huts In the depths of tall house-props.
And the air is hot.
And the air is strange.
by ~Underground-Rogue
Island of PelladanThe grey island churned, waters ragged like wolf hackles, snarled in the rain. Teeth jag upwards, baredIsland of Pelladan
along the coast, grey with rot or brown with dry blood -
I have seen sailors lost to these open jaws.
Bruises span the pale skin of day, heavy with loathing spittle that could drench us at any point. Perhaps tomorrow, there will be
no rain.
by ~Underground-Rogue
Suns and MorningsTime smooth out delicate webs, Then traces the deeper; The sum of a thousand smiles, Scores of Christmas mornings, A handful of frowns, And two hands clasped together.Suns and Mornings
We keep a distance because this, This is not our fear,
Not our grief to cherish. Though scores of Easter Sundays Were exchanged with smiles.
We hope yet.
Still, each sun sets the west So that somewhere it may rise. I will keep a candle burning
In my eyes tonight.
by ~Underground-Rogue
Favourites
Jealous DevilsLick the salt off the arching back, The jagged tongue of red-slit eyes; We grin and cackle, dark at night For all those inside that we despise.Jealous Devils
by ~small-hope
Industrial OrchestraHear the rusty violins quiver, Their horsehair threads all a-shiver. Pistoned trumpets strike a chord As cellos thrum, the lusty lords.Industrial Orchestra
by ~small-hope
DenialI am not a poet, don't frame me for the crime even if my bastard words sometimes try to rhyme… I am not a poet, far from that my friend even if the story told runs back to front again like politician promises when voting time begins.Denial
I am not a poet, more gearhead gunner freak who has a heart of empathy for what is on the street… I am not a poet, &n
by *cyranosdemet
deviantID
Devious Info
- Current Residence: Neverland
- Interests: Writing, music
- Favourite movie: Life is Beautiful, Pan's Labyrinth, Huncback of Notre Dame, Thumbelina
- Favourite band or musician: Josh Groban, Jane Coby and the Kil Names, Jewel
- Favourite genre of music: Neo-classical, Romantic, Bach, Music Theatre
- Favourite poet or writer: Dickens, P.M. Lovekill, TS Eliot, Jim Butcher
- Personal Quote: I quite enjoy being underestimated.
- Tools of the Trade: My mind is a machine
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--
And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream
--
Searching my heart for it's true sorrow
This is what I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people
Sick of the city, wanting the sea.
--
good love with my friends.
--
good love with my friends.
--
Searching my heart for it's true sorrow
This is what I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people
Sick of the city, wanting the sea.
--
And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream
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