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AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.
lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."
The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along
Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for? 
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude
False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days, 
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be 
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen
ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).
False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.
False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for
Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.
VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire
WakefulI remain awake with dreams on my mind
and stories that wait to be knit into books.
To never find comfort until my pillows are 
stuffed with thoughts instead of feathers
To never let go until I made sure that
the moon smiled back at me
Until the trees, the grass, and every night creature
has whispered good night...
And yet I'm still as wakeful as an owl
afraid that sleep would somehow
grab my neck and drag me to my grave.
Lovers and assassinsNight
walk
bad nightmy mistakes are on my head,
and the cigarettes taste like metal;
on the street curb of a suburban block,
the lights jaundiced and flickering
like drunken fireflies, your reflection
that emanates from me covers every face.
HumanDear Hypocrite,

 What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

 Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

 What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

 What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

 
Watercolor PainWhen you smile,
I turn colorblind.

It turns into a somersault
whenever I gain contact
with your skin,
bare back touching
bare back.

But I'm not hungry
for bedposts.

I just want to
savor each moment your arms
lock into mine,
the romanticism of
the moons in my eyes
and the skies in your words.

There's smoke
behind all those hues
of hazel and your fingers
are porcelain,
but I still love you.
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The Coliseum

:iconkittykittyhunter:

The footprints left by ink on parchment
are traced by quiet fingers, though,
He never blotted a page.

The quill rises, strikes the scroll;
the instrument is a time machine:
the Bard dreams of Rome.

     Welcome to the Coliseum!
     Our entertainment shall delight your eyes
     and sway your senses.
     Emerge, spectators!  Declare your enthusiasm
     in your tens of thousands.

     Six acres of land.
     From the stands, centurions watch
     gladiators circle lions.

     The crowd hymns a name.

     Little boy, watching this game,
     Do you know the measure of a man?
     Whatever your path, you must have
     death and glory.

He writes:
All the world's a stage…
:iconkittykittyhunter:
For ~Iku-ken's #My-PenChants' prompt: a piece involving a time machine, Ancient Rome and army recruits.

I stuck to your request veeery loosely. ^^; Sorry that this is so late! D:

Shakespeare's publishers used to brag that "he never blotted a page" - in other words, he never made a mistake while writing his plays. "All the world's a stage" is a quote from As You Like It.

I hope you enjoyed it dear. :)
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:iconthe-psychic-paligin:
~The-Psychic-Paligin Sep 15, 2011
How can some one never make a mistake nobodys perfect!

Back to the poem I have allways wondered what it would have been like to have lived as a roman or a greek and the answer is I probably couldn't live with out my computer :XD:
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:iconkittykittyhunter:
*kittykittyhunter Sep 16, 2011
lol Yeah. My teacher said that the publishers were probably bragging... still, it's Shakespeare... XDD

Same! It would just be so weird, lol.
Reply
:iconthe-psychic-paligin:
~The-Psychic-Paligin Sep 16, 2011
lol as they say great minds think alike :rofl:
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:iconshadowkaru15:
~shadowkaru15 Aug 19, 2011
aaah, it's wonderfully written :glomp: and I love the last line =D
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:iconkittykittyhunter:
*kittykittyhunter Aug 19, 2011
Yes. :D Gotta love ole Shakespeare. ^^
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:iconshadowkaru15:
~shadowkaru15 Sep 26, 2011
Indeed^^
Reply
:iconxemomuffinx:
~xEmoMuffinx Aug 8, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
I love the first line :D
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:iconkittykittyhunter:
*kittykittyhunter Aug 9, 2011
:D Thank you!
Reply
:iconiku-ken:
~Iku-ken Aug 2, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
I love this!
The first thing I liked about this was the ellipsis at the end. I also like how you used As You Like It's opening statement as your closing line.
I also enjoyed how you reused the "Books transport you elsewhere" context and did a reverse stint from it, not as the reader but as the author that produces the work.

Never knew Ancient Rome had bards though. P:

I'm would huggle this to bed if I could. ;)
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:iconkittykittyhunter:
*kittykittyhunter Aug 3, 2011
:D I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I mean, I loved your gift for me so much~ :tighthug:

Ah, that's interesting~ I hadn't really thought about the literary transportation side of things. :)
But yes. That's one of the (many) lovely things about reading. ^^

It's Shakespeare. The bloke was EVERYWHERE. XDDD

Make another request for this month? :D

:huggle:
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