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poetry

Becky, 2 january 2015

My Heart

My brain is rotting
And my soul withered
Everything is meaningless
Except for you
You stitch my heart
And sow my wounds
Both physical and emotional
I can always count on you
To break all my falls
You dry my tears
And chase the storms away
Your my light
My everything
And I love you

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Becky, 2 january 2015

Call me Away

Call me away with the wind

And kiss my pain away

As the ashes pass into distant memoirs

Tell me you love me

And that every caress is not another curse

Promise me my love

You won't hurt me

This time around

Don't tell me no anymore

Or make my confidence drop

Just stop for a second

And hold me until the dew of dawn breaks

Over tormented trees

Promise me my love

That we are forever

Not everywhere

When the screaming and the cussing starts

All I need is a clean slate

And an empty page

So we can begin again

Before we find certain end

number of comments: 0 | rating: 1 | detail

Becky, 2 january 2015

Decaying Heart

Whispered lies
Tears of shame
A decaying heart to blame
Its foolish faith
Wrought its dire fate
To crack as stone
And forever bleed
Beyond ancient times
To suffer and seethe
Silent beat
No happiness in sight
A waste of life
No one cares
Of its despair
Locked away
In its own miserable hell
To dwell alone
Crying for the beast
That shattered it inside
Praying death
Will make its pain cease
But years march on
And in its cell
It rots away
Dying a little more
With each passing day

number of comments: 0 | rating: 2 | detail

Becky, 2 january 2015

The End

The end
Creeping near
Cockroaches crawl from every crevace of the world
Is it innocence in the end
When your children are destroying themselves
As the world crumbles away.
Do you see what I see
An empire wasting away
For the corruption it was wrought
It meets decay
And a war
Of blood and pain
Rise to claim
It
In its wake of misery
No one will survive
Only fire and brimstone will remain
For every good thing must die

number of comments: 0 | rating: 3 | detail

Satish Verma, 2 january 2015

THE BUDDHA WAS GOING TO WEEP

For the fusion of minds
let the long vigil of night begin
for a cultural shock.

Prayer wheels were whirring
furtively.
The Buddha was going to weep.

Imperial march of hundred
thousand boots in fever
wakens the darkness under the milk.

Famished ghost of a town
can foresee the rumbling of
a dark moon behind the trees.

Bullet for bullet
in inner empire.
Gold lips cry at every reason.

Burnt-out shrine will tell a tale.
They were diluting silence of walls,
blood stained by the crash of towers.