[x]

Ready To IgniteMy chest feels like a furnace,
And my lungs are on fire.
Death is my mind's only desire;
But I will carry on with bitter grace,
Knowing my ashes may leave no trace.

My chest feels like a grenade,
And my heart is about to explode.
Shall I continue down this road?
But now I stop because I am afraid,
That the life I lead may never be saved.

My chest feels like an anvil,
And my ribs feel like lead.
In my palms is black blood that bled,
But I am scared so much my stare is still,
With bleak eyes I accept misery for good or ill.

The Black RoseIn between such delicate fingertips;
She holds the blackest of roses,
And the dark petals brush her lips.
Her sombre shadow across her face,
Describes the bleakest of life's loses.

Such sweet scent floating in the air;
She breathes in the aroma of the black rose,
That scarlet stem entwines in her raven hair.
Her enchanting eyes are but a glaze,
Those wells of happiness have all but froze.

Thorns of iron dig into her soft skin;
She screams from the pain of that bloody rose,
With it's intoxication of simplistic sin.
Her haunting presence brings haste,
To a silence of a death nearing close.

The Pain WithinLet go of your hate,
Your revenge can wait.
Whoever did you wrong,
Can never know the hurt,
That made you strong.

You know it's a part,
Of you're aching heart.
Whoever broke your smile,
Can never understand the pain,
That turned you vile.

Don't give up on love,
Though you'll feel rough.
Whoever killed your hope,
Can never believe the longing,
That more you cope.

The Weeping AngelShe holds her head in her hands,
Never breathing or blinking.
She is a morbid master of the sands,
Of time that terrorises your torment:
Gaze upon her vile visage and away you go.

She stands alone in such grace,
Never talking or thinking.
She has her elusive eyes on your face,
Of innocence that isolates your idiocy:
Look at her sinister snarl and you'll depart too.

She watches you with utter patience,
Never whistling or winking.
She'll turn lights low in her defence,
Of malevolence that murders your mind:
Stare out to her granite guise and forget all you know.

The Angel Who Fell From HeavenThere was an angel of the honest skies,
Who's white wings were struck,
By the lashes of lightning cries.
She fell from above into earthly muck,
To the wistful wonder of two youths of yore.

With her face in distress of her plight,
She took two feathers of fire,
And gouged out her eyes of eternal light.
In the dirt this heavenly being did tire,
Until she was awoken by the prodding of paws.

Two days rolled past her corrupted visage,
As meek mortals tended to her pain,
To the dismay of the denizen's rage.
In tears this being of beauty tried in vain,
To call out for help from her blood brethren.

For a month and a day she did heal,

October RainUpon sombre shores of sorrow,
I'll bide my time and wait,
For that onslaught of old October rain.
Those twilight tears wash away,
All my misery and all my pain,

Along bitter beaches of banality,
I'll forget my wants and needs,
For that oblivion of opaque October rain.
Spits of sadness turn sand into clay,
As my mood falls apart in vain.

In weary waters of worry,
I'll endure my death and fate,
For that oscillation I call October rain.
In that sweet shower I fail to say,
How could it have returned again?

Dear Mr. RealityDear Mr. Reality,
What have you done to me?
I am alone and everyone has died,
Was it more than words of weary woe,
Or silence that made them leave?

Dear Mr. Reality,
Where are you right now?
I am scared and everything has gone,
Was it only little things in turbulent times,
Or a catastrophe I did not know?

Dear Mr. Reality,
Why couldn't you just be dead?
I am upset and everywhere has vanished,
Was it just me screwing up social salutations,
Or mere fantasy of realism instead?

Escape From RealitySometimes when I close my eyes,
I dream of a calmer time when I didn't cry.
To slumber alone in those sunshine days,
Where I was at peace: away from the craze,
Yet I fear I'm wondering lost in their urban plague.

Sometimes when I close my eyes,
I escape to a darker place where I can die.
To linger awhile in that luminous night,
Where I can be content: caught in the daze,
Yet I know I'm struggling now in this hopeless phase.

Sometimes when I close my eyes,
I think of a serene dawn while I sigh.
To vacate away in that voidless space,
Where I shall be alive: independent of that maze,
Yet I wake I'm choking air in that distant place

BeautyBeauty rose out of that silent sea,
Her eyes were tepid with wild thunder,
And then she turned and looked at me.
Me; a meagre man who knew no lady fair,
Nor one of care as she snaps my heart asunder.

Beauty flew up to that sinister sky,
Her lips were dark with mad desire,
And then she turned and started to cry.
Cry; a crude curse who knew no mortal smile,
Nor one so vile as she scars my aura in fire.

Beauty stood up on that scarlet skin,
Her locks were rouge with quiet rain,
And then she turned and walked on sin.
Sin; a sordid spirit who knew no lover true,
Nor one in clue as she saves me from my pain.

The Hardest WordTo say goodbye,
It's not the hardest word.
My honesty is all but broken,
And I look away with eyes so blue,
I cannot say with these tears I cry.

To say sorry,
It's not the hardest word.
My ignorance only leaves you shattered,
And I know in my heart so black,
I should apologise but I'd rather fly.

To say no,
It's not the hardest word.
My addiction drives you insane,
And I feel that my ears bleed so red,
As I struggle to answer your one question: why?

Innocence of the LostLook at the little girl,
Who wishes to be a beautiful ballerina,
In a dream where she'll twist and twirl.
With happiness in her childish laugh,
And no inkling of the meaning of wrath.

Look at the little boy,
Who wishes to be a courageous commander,
In his fantasy all the demons he'll destroy.
With ignorance in his youthful mind,
And no warning of what future he'll find.

Look at the weary woman,
With a frown on her fragile face,
She's doing the best she can.
All hope in her heart is gone,
But for all her woes she'll carry on.

Look at the moody man,
With a grimace upon his grim grin,
He's tired of his life's plan.
Now he sits

Isolated In SilenceLet that scarlet sound,
Take you away,
To enjoy life another day.
Drum beats reverberate all around,
As your feelings of sorrow start to sway.

Let that noire noise,
Turn you off,
To hear life through cloth.
Cymbal clashes echo like a voice,
As your thoughts of worry weaken your worth.

Let that sapphire silence,
Twist your arm,
To view life without violence.
Nothing speaks but your inner charm,
As your dreams of simple sin makes no sense.

Birds Of RuinIn those final hours of June,
I trespass into fields of silver and gold,
Listening to birds singing a dismal tune.
Noire crows muse up high as I wander so cold,
To hear a morbid lullaby sailing through the air.

In those final hours of June,
I meander up streams of ruby and sapphire,
Watching birds dance to a song called ruin.
Sable ravens endure on oaken limbs burning in fire,
So fate is a sorrowful death with which they share.

In those final hours of June,
I lie upon sands of iron and steel,
Feeding those birds who will sing to me soon.
Ebony sparrows condemn me to a dead-man's meal,
If they be black omens: is heralds of dying

Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,
Why does anyone give a care?
Whether life is cruel or kind,
I reserve the right to laugh than die,
But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.

It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,
Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?
Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,
I deserve the dignity to question my time,
But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.

AscensionHere I shall reside in spiritual ascension,
Relieving my spirit of all my torment and tension.
Here I'll breathe whispering winds of relief,
Purging those days of dark deliverance,
While I blind all my mortal sins to a new belief.

To ascend above obsidian mountain summits,
In the mists of immortal mystery.
To gaze gracefully upon ladies of luminescence lit,
As hope clings to you in harrowing hysteria,
Where all macabre minutiae of life comes to sit.

To tentatively touch lavender sweet skies,
Upon that sea of eternal sorrow.
To listen lightly to sirens singing sanguine cries.
As time passes by into trials of tomorrow,
Where all a

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Watch Me FallAre you going to just stand by,
Watch me breakdown,
And cry?
I don't wear this mask like a clown,
And no this ain't a stressful sigh.

Are you going to just stand by,
Watch me like a stranger;
But why?
I don't brood with a mood of anger,
And no I ain't going to lie.

Are you going to just stand by,
Watch me fall,
Then fly?
I don't know who I am at all,
And no this ain't a hysterical high.

Are you going to just stand by,
Watch me like a friend;
And try?
I don't conspire to aspire this end,
And no I ain't here to die.

Listen To The RainListening to the rain,
Patter, patter, pattering;
On my windowpane.
I think of what chance befell,
And then I close my eyes and yell.

Listening to the rain,
Tap, tap, tapping;
Oh how it's driving me insane.
I wonder in my fractured home,
Of all the lies I have become.

Listening to the rain,
Splash, splash, splashing;
On that heavenly bitter lane.
Here am I again: alone,
With black blade on bloody bone.

Listening to the rain,
Tick, tick, ticking;
Time passes by so inane.
Am I sleeping like the dead,
With visions of death inside my head?

Listening to the rain,
I hear it again and again,
Feeling the crimson pain,
Of my act

Symphony of SighsIf this be the day to die;
Watch fierce fires fly,
In scorching scarlet skies.
Bombs falling around our heads,
Hear silent screams of those who bled.

If this be the day to die;
Watch raging rivers rise,
Before spirits sing a symphony of sighs.
Death walks now on this land,
And we all follow his beckoning hand.

If this be the day to die;
Watch crimson cherubim cry,
As sovereign souls search for signs.
No warning of this decimating war,
Not even from that shining star.

SolitaireOn vacant fields of diamond stone,
I compete with utter haste,
Playing with pieces carved from bone.
All my tactics I perchance to use,
Means I'm never going to lose.

Solitaire in bleakest shadow,
Is a game I cannot waste,
Yet luck is destined to die tomorrow.
Are my strategies for naught,
When it is just me I have fought?

Hurts To Be AliveSo it hurts to be alive,
On those days you wish to die,
But all you do is survive,
There's nothing you can do to deny,
Or delay that inevitable ending.

So it hurts to be alive,
And the truths you told are but a lie,
Is this all you can believe.
Are you lost in that meadow of rye,
With your mask of mock pretending?

So it hurts to be alive,
By those blackest nights you left behind,
Was your shattered soul revived.
Don't deceive your mirror-less mind,
Because that rage you repress is rending.

Pull The TriggerDo not fear,
What cannot be seen,
Danger might be near;
But that does not mean,
You have a right to pull that trigger.

Do not dear,
Try to hunt him,
Though he might hear;
Yet can you swim?
Chase him and pull that trigger.

Do not clear,
Out the entrails of his head.
Can you bear,
To see the remains of the dead,
So soon after you have pulled that trigger?

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Submitted: June 22, 2012
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Black-Heart

by ~NemoX7, Jun 22, 2012, 4:14:50 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Oh look at her with ivory eyes,
Striking the velvet veil of starless skies.
Is she a draconian demon ready to bring ruin,
Upon those that ripped her life apart,
With every pulsating beat of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with crimson claws,
Maiming the satin skin of monstrous maws.
Is she a bedlam beast desiring to grant devastation,
Upon those who mocked her for a start,
With all the wild begging of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with ebony breath,
Purging the flaxen flesh of devilish death.
Is she a cruel creature who wields her earthly wrath
Upon all who took to hurt with such art,
With the aching echoes of her black-heart?

Black-Heartby ~NemoX7

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Wrote this a few minutes ago on a whim.

Read it back to myself and it seems to me as though it's about a young girl who's getting revenge on all the people who bullied her. Or a case of a shy girl finding her assertive nature coming to the fore. Either way works for my interpretation.

Critique by ~Michel-le-fou Jun 23, 2012, 2:11:29 AM

This latest work is also very unique, I have to say. You have the idea to divide the rhyme of septets with a single interception of a non-rhyming line. The Romantics like Shelley and Byron, my most fave poets of that term, would be busy with this. I enjoy this style too, when I have the mood. The subject content is also interesting, and the expression. To look at someone with eyes of ivory rather than with rose colored spects is a unique idea too. I have the feeling that the repetition of some lines is emphatic here. You can correct me if I am wrong. Well-done, as usual. Take a bow downstage.

What do you think?

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~kartiksharma Jun 25, 2012 Student General Artist

AMazing Job!♥

~Manigran Jun 23, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Powerful work.

*Concora Jun 23, 2012 Writer

_{Excellent imagery, and wonderful characterisation for such a fleeting piece.}

~Jay-Scrawl Jun 23, 2012

AH! The whim - muse set afire! I love it! Aside from the rhyme scheme which is great, I liked the repetitive nature of the 1st, 3rd, 4th, and 5th lines and the 2nd lines starting with: Striking - Maiming - Purging !! Excellent play!
My interpretation is the Black Heart is Mother Earth - and she will, because of us, have her revenge. She will strike and maim and purge the Earth of Man (most of us - re-start the cycle!).

*TheOneFallenAngel Jun 22, 2012 Writer

You Know, A Black-Heart Doesn't Make You A Bad Person.

~ilove-sky Jun 22, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I love it! And thank you for putting an interpretation, it gives an even fuller body to this already very full poem.

~NemoX7 Jun 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thanks. Sometimes I can't really think of what to put in that damn description box. I gave two interpretations since I believed it warranted as such. I wrote this without thinking to be honest, and when I looked back at it again a second before uploading, I thought of what the poem was about. I would say it's theme is about revenge.

~ilove-sky Jun 22, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Too much thought can really draw from the creativity, I love that you just write.

~NemoX7 Jun 22, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Always have and always will. But I do at times put some thought into my work especially my poetry trilogies, my novel, and other longish poems.

~ilove-sky Jun 22, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Yeah, I get that, same here.

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Black-Heart

Black-Heartby ~NemoX7

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