Reincarnation of the poetry thread

[Aaroneet]

Betwixt the hazardous, hapless haze

And hence famishing with the lulling lullabye's

whimsical craze

Newly myriad in its plunderous stages,

Yet, so wonderous in its finite faces

I would but ensnare thee, my solace, my pride,

My levity, absconding forever, like decadence and its

foreboding history

And ever-faithful within the bliss of its longing symmetry

Unwound and gagged, a censorship, in the heat of night,

newly bound and flagged.

[crucified]

my greetings to everyone here
someting which i wrote sometime ago
it only now struck me as possibly goth...
because a friend who read it on my notepad...
rolled her eyes and said..i thought you only dressed in black
i dinno you were such a goth

nyway
i will need feedback...
if i should continue writing..
if my writing really is goth
and if it stinks of someone elses style and all {its possible i might have been influenced..however unknowingly}
it might sound disconnected..please dont mind...
thas how it was meant to be

[poem follows in the next post]

[crucified]

Drowning in the misery i made...

why did i always feel inadequate..
why do i always feel inadequate..
yes..there was nothing there...
but can i ever again?
intensely personal..
will i get this good again..??
the sad smiley in ma head violently screams its disagreement...
goodbye sad smiley...
never good enough
never had enough
never had any
to see nothing coming of it.
to see yourself pining
and paining
when your inadequacies overwhelm you..
why

[crucified]

to see what you want in front of you and let it slip away..
leaving you clutching a promise of a dim future..
never as good as the present and the pleasure and the beauty you are missing out on..
the beastly cacophony strikes gongs in my head every single time i see..
never will I get that one..FUCK

desire and pain overwhelms my head
the guardians of my ensanguined present
chaining my mind and not letting me feel
what is love?
what is pain?xxx
what is desire?xxx
what is longing?xxx
what is the power of a wish?
what is the power of my mind?

i wish i had never met you..
i wish my mind would never think of you..
the beastly cacophony strikes gongs in my head..
thinking is as good as seeing..
pain can be good...
find me a better addiction
cut me again my little friend...
erase my inadequacies..
the ruining mind..
the hallmark of someone..who deserved nothing and got something but could not hang on...
the fucking loser who stretched and hung on way beyond what he deserved...
will I never?

the beastly cacophony strikes gongs in my head every single time i see..

pain can be good..
find me a better addiction..
cut me again my little friend..

[raggedyanne]

Aeroneet, I adore your work. Inspirational, all of it! Someday I wish to write with skill equal to yours.

[Aaroneet]

Thanks...Keep writing, and find your own style. That's how it's done. It took me three or four years to find mine, so it's not easy. But practice makes perfect, and you show potential.

[Aaroneet]

Implore me, hence implored

Wanton, waning, heretofore the ignored

And flesh and bone, hence strike,

A tattering unto the incandescence of blurry night

Unto a sign, or effervescent ping

And pulsating more with the fickle ring

Here stand me, enraptured, in false face

And privied to mockery, the dear daftness

Or is it thence, the dreaded sickness

Which hence sends me to but the pangs of mine own

Imploring weakness,

Or incandescent, precipitous brood

Effacing here, look-to, obstreperous fool

Betwixt the mirror and the evanescent-sigh

The heave-hos, his lulling lullabyes,

His levity, bid me, the fool,

Unto mineself, in the side of solace's

Waning and untimely stare

Consorting, nevermore but the fleeting caress

A brevity, an ever-present interest

Within, and borne again unto but that one transgression;

To live, unto onesself, and live for false impressions

Marks the day but newly wary with dissonance and its distant

confessions.

[raggedyanne]

I had an interrupted dream; thought I'd share it:

drifting upon waters
dark with blood
an anvil descends from the heavens
waters part revealing a child
and then I wake
. . .
damn alarm clock

[Aaroneet]

Controlling, condoning light

That I may but be beguiled

Amused, defiled,

A moment, within all and mine eyes,

And ever-sleeping, like levity within the intrepid skies

The evanescence, a shade, and its plunderous daze

Seeping, within itself, to-and-fro

Like the tiding bitterness, the biddings askew

And all-renewed, a dream, within and without, the

effervescence, the unfurling doubt

'Tis a blurry line I breach, betwixt the seas, and their

but venomous knees

And shackling, rankling sides,

Rankle me, in all my wayward rights, bestowed, beneath,

A whimsical musing, I must bequeath

Unto the masses and their intrepid screams

And by-and-by, spreading dissent, and its flagging means

Forever clenched between innocence and its unruly schemes.

[Aaroneet]

Ever-needing betwixt itself

The roaring fields, the blusterous hand

Impending, suspending command

Or commend me hence

Anewed and wondering, the wanton other

Warranting and lamenting, the begotten brother

And like fruit upon the desolate plains diverted fro, hence

A mourning's awaiting, and grander suspense

By incandescence and its effervescence, the yearning twilight

And like dialect and its myriad forms

Spreads the spawn, its venom-dread

The confomity, from whence it treads

And wheels, but tepid night, and the daylight deals

Forsake me nothing, all and askew

And avenged with the pristine spring, or his entrancement,

'Tis a treacherous wing I weave, betwixt lamentation and its

flailing sieve

He cries, or is it the embittered tide, for whom he glides

And how he dies, within the sparkle of a twilight's inner gleam

Unseemly, unflagging creature, encompassing in the sound of his

inner seem

Intwined, by nature, by flight, the whim of his own design

Or complication, the impressments, I dare confess

Amoung but the fruit of mine own wonderful duress

And tumultuous in but its every beck-and-call

Rise in fallacy, and the tender sheen

Aghast, newly relived, unclean

And immaculate nothings could serve as well

Bare me, levity before the tender swell

Which sends itself, the doubt, before its lulling romanticism

Reflected in the sweetest dream and its yearning intuition.

[Aaroneet]

Clandestine, ever-needing sight

And all-bereaving in its plunderous light

A fright, an incandescence 'twixt pristine nightimmes bright

And the moment, within; show me all-but-privy to sin

With famished eyes and irridescent skies- bare nothing

But the wonder, and its ever-barren schemes

And more desolate, with plight and its approaching sight

Bare me, anew and heavy, with the rasp of euphoric high

Or is it the waiting dream which lends me privy to but the most

monstrous thing

Or sweet, all, lay redemption, towards the undulating,

omniscient fall

And lay me, his ever sweeter beck-and-call

Between the fall and its quandrous haze

Lain in reverie, for the whim of that bitter-sweet apathy

A symphony carried betwixt the falls of empathetic night

and day

Which spreads like venom amoung the masses' heretofore

departed ways.

[Aaroneet]

A day within the realm and its ever-emparting sin

And effervescent, the light and its reigning presence

Which stems from without, the incandescence and its fulfilling

doubt

Enthrall me not with all your levity, long and daft

And wandering with the maladroitness of your wayward craft

I dealt, upon myself, this most hapless of fortune

Within mine own biding time

Grant me none but destiny's departing design

Or faithlessness, the evanescent stare, which purloins itself,

for plunderous lack of care

Betwixt solace and its waning schisms

A lulling lullabye's fated system

And evermore fated within but this lifetime's precipitous tick

The dreaded fog and its eyes interlocking needle-prick

Grant me perpetual bliss, or nonetheless, to tender apathy,

I here confess

To weakness, and its forever longing impressments

That Bind me hence, like euphoria and its heretofore

awaiting investments.

[ryoko_nezu]

Okay... here's one of my most recent ones:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lament

I have walked through life,
Never realizing my true role.
I’ve lived, I’ve loved,
I’ve given my heart and soul,
But I’ve never felt real inside.

And now, waiting for death, I wonder:
Is this who I am?
Is this who I’ve become?
Have I deceived myself of the truth?

Questions that are too late to be answered
Must never be uttered at all.

I sit in darkness
Wondering about reality
For eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some people have found it a little dark, but I still like it.

[Undead_Stagehand]

Originally Posted by ryoko_nezu

Questions that are too late to be answered
Must never be uttered at all.

I really like that line.

Dolorous Ode

I wasn't being coy
and I didn't mean to hurt
I sincerely wished to be myself
but you've thrown that in the dirt.
I've waited praying, hoping
that you could lend an ear
to hear my sad apology
to you and your ones dear.
I've been putrid with poison
and wretch'd with simmering hate
but I won't let that be seen
if you could only stop and wait.
I have no right to ask you
for two minutes of your life
but could you let me speak to
your heart to ease our strife?
If you were so willing
then let me begin anew.
I've much to say in healing
and I love you, too.

[Aaroneet]

Imploring, complacent face

That I may be but the road, in stake

The whimsical whims, hence I make

Upon myself, the will and its but miserly stare

And with it, the intuitions, the intuitions, the effervescent

caress,

Beseiging as its ability to caress, in and without,

suspect, in all its wanton doubt

Suspend me nothing, and all, innocence before the

embittering fall

And evermore with its ever-biding tides

The evanescence, hence I cast myself aside

And upon, unspoken caressings unto themselves half-drawn

And like song betwixt the incandescence, a question of plight

Bestowance unto the slight, hand's infernal might

And by-and-by, passing like purity eloping within sin and its

embarking flight

Mark me, forever daft and privy to the musings

of perpetual sight.

[Aaroneet]

That I may be but privy to but the bleakest of shows

Piqued in interest, towards her heathen undulations,

The effervescent stage

And like flies, spread me, unfurling, and newly raged

Or is it but the embittering sweetness within the tides'

tepid sickness

Which sends unto these flailing whims, crying, crying, crying,

Betwixt innocence, descending, daft and intertwined

And barren, in lack of definition, for fate and all her intuitions

Needst bar herself, within, the throes of inhibition

And, with the whims cast upon themselves, hence they lay

Towards yesteryears' tribulations, long they stay

To live and let lay, between the light and its seething,

inner plight

Inquisition, and its evanescence, ascending newly bright.

[Aaroneet]

These words may be but the fleeting, whimsical fate

Within itself, the word of sin, as severed eyes ride to

severed lines

Betwixt solace and its wayward, outer stare

The instance, and its woeful, waning caress

Lull me, heretofore the frightened, enlightened,

Daft, and waning evermore with each day's craft

The graft, or embittered sin, with embittered hands take staff

Upon themselves, the blustering path, lay nothing and all-astride

And pride could suffice as much, as tenderness and the

wayward grace

And flailing face, hap-torn, heretofore worn, and bestowing,

drawn-and-thin

The light and its ever-bellowing, wasteful sin

Beholding in its effervescence, the final, recurring transgression

To live for artifice, and the exclusivity of its newly

famished perfection.

[Aaroneet]

Destitute within its myriad, unto me, prying, within itself, for sea

And dearly overcast, betwixt the tide and its woeful needs

An incandescence, heretofore the seized

Or is it but the bittersweet release hence, unto the self,

Heretofore the relinquished, heretofore sold

And vying for the tithings of yesteryear’s bittersweet tale

Of fate and her once plunderous sails

And ever-numerous in their imbibing sight

Spare me nothing but the effervescent night

And basking within, the sin and its seemingly sparing twilight

The embittering vigor of reverie and its newly-ensuing fight.

[Aaroneet]

Complacent, and encroaching within the distance

A shadow, and waltzing betwixt the furling decadence

Or evanescence, a wooing, ensuing, untimely mood

And seeming, in its whimsicality, if pleasure does fit

The dissipating levity of extremes, hence I am hit

Upon the engrossing lullaby's self-pitying

Streams of anarchy, all-strung, and more vacant with

poison tongues

Which doth spread their woe, in scenes astride

And heretofore bestowing fits could serve as much

As the dreaded apathy in its consistent rush

To be-and-end-all within the seconds' lowly touch

Could all but satiate the rampant senses' emotive flush.

[Aaroneet]

Deluge, grant me, but the sweetest sorrow

Whose effervescence only grows by the morrow

Harder to follow, elusive, and evermore the pensive

Light, barren and privy to flight, hence I stand

Imploring and ready, the untimely demand

Or flailing, wailing, behold her grasp which deems itself

With but innocence to hold

And behold, the artful spectacle, as it cradles, sea-to-sea

The evanescent beckons upon flashing knees, the

dreaded disease,

And more shrill with the clinging sheen, the consequence,

The desire, and myriad in its whimsical twilights' overturned

A proverb, upon the masses, newly adjurned;

To reap the dread seeds of yesteryears' former reprieve,

Marks the mind heretofore readied to live, forgive, and let leave.

[Aaroneet]

Forsake me hence newly guided

Divided and yearning, within, the sin and its dread

belongings

Betwixt time and her irridescent gaze

The haze, the imposition, and I impose here, the consequence

Unto the other, too dear

And beguiling, in its territorial strains, the evanescence, and its

lurking disdain

Bid me newly wanton, in my miserly state, whence I

could but wander

False-faced, and learning to depreciate

The woe, a bestowance, and passing by, the

coveted inheritance

And to-and-fro within the petulant distance

Her bestowing, imploring tides, a lamentation

And levity could serve as well for the nation

As a touch within severed hands if waiting fingers do crush

The ever-nearing subtlety, without, a complacent, and drawing

doubt

Draw me hence, forelorn, daft; hap-torn,

In faith, from repentance and her heretofore belligerent sedate.

[Aaroneet]

Embracing in its whimsical traces

And evermore the captivating in myriad faces

The phases, unscathed, willed and teased

Betwixt contence, half-bittered, half-pleased

Or is it the dear translucence, which sends me unto fits,

The evanescence, and drawing nearer, an omnipresence

A pit, lo' I lay, beholden, and privy, to that one contorted thing

Whence the tip could but withstand the irridescence of the

nearing hand

Near me, in dread suspense, and evanescent, yearning hence

Interspersed, the line and its wayward curse

Within, the sin and its waiting verse

And ensuing without, the doubt and its contorting spines,

An incandescence spotted in condition of anticipating mind

Newly dissipating, the wary bliss, and newly quenching,

the last kiss

Emparted unto thee, like folklore and its awaiting sorrow

The shrills of destiny, and her suns' renewing morrow.

[Aaroneet]

Distilling, plunderous light

Flickering and effervescent

The wondering youth, and beside himself,

The Other and its newly beholden truth

And ever-myriad in its absconding, hapless schemes

The wayward levity and its heretofore complacent dreams

And by-and-by in all its omnipresence

The imploring, adoring incandescence

Adrift, and lunging farther upon itself

The sin and its sole confessions

The impressions, the whimsical disdain

Daft and myriad in its strife,

Henceforth breaching in its all-but-intrepid games

And levity could serve as well as precipitation, the various rains

Or irridescence could but bare the coal, in its new sheen

To-and-fro betwixt the severed tides within tepid tips,

Of rabid lips unclean

The precipitous pangs without, the schism and its newly needed

ping

Which spread more dearly, and near in sooth

A waning impression, deemed but dread venom in youth

To bare heavy with destiny and her every beck and call

The fool, now barren and purged, with the twilight's evanescent,

lowly fall.

[HumanePain]

Aaroneet:

I owe you an apology: Here all this time you have been posting beautiful poetry that would have lifted me to the heavens and helped me escape this disappointing and shallow world, but instead I let the world bait me into it's petty and endless battles.

This is where I belong, and should have never strayed.

I will go back to your earlier posts and try catch up on my reading.

[Aaroneet]

Thank you . That apology was poetry in itself.