Open-Mic-Poetry

Double faced goddess of birth and destruction take my blood and tears and health make them a sacrifice on the altar of new life where simple prayers fail The old gods are not appeased by candles and whispers but require the old ways: Suffering is the ancient language universal in experience; If don't know, you can't know Free me from this X chromosome this burden of compulsory giving I cannot help but want, written in my blood, my heartbeat, my constantly fracturing mind, the sutures that pull me together again: They all have my eyes. Mother Goddess, let my insanity be a tribute my broken body testament to human weakness miraculous recovery the voice of gods old and new screaming across the din of humanity's failings.

can't stop moving forward a shark in the water, blood pumping. How can you say the fight is over while the wound still bleeds?

I want to be your number one, first in yours and my mind; I know this but not pure feelings, splintered, roots overgrown, twisted and menacing, am I your perfect little idol, or am I just a delusion?

when you fall head over heels, how does it go? are we honest, or two masks just pretending? craving words like hot air in my lungs, I would scream and cry if only it'd mean anything at all.

May your quivers never empty, May your blades always be sharp. May your shafts never splinter, May you fight from the heart.

In the caverns of existence, Where shadows dance with fractured light, Nihilism whispers secrets to the wind, And existential dread weaves its strange design. The stars, indifferent and ancient, Gaze upon our fragile souls, Their cosmic eyes devoid of judgment, For they know not of purpose anymore. We wander through the void, Seeking solace in empty spaces, Our hearts echoing the void's refrain: "All is dust, all is fleeting." Existence, a paradoxical gift, Bestowed upon us without consent, Freedom, both blessing and curse, As we grapple with its weight. Choices like fractured mirrors, Reflecting many of paths, Yet each road leads to the same dark abyss, Where meaning crumbles like ancient stones. In the quiet of the darkness, Existential dread unfolds its wings, A raven-black specter perched upon our chests, Its talons digging into our ribs. We question the stars, the gods, ourselves, Yearning for answers that elude our grasp, Yet the void remains silent, Its laughter echoing

I'll fall into your trap but don't think me a fool, for I'll be out through old footholds and paths to your destruction I'll hold grudges and you'll sleep with one eye open.

“Dear Womba, friend; this thread is short. When I am gone and can speak no more, and eat dust, whilst worm-chewed, gnawed, and Niðmund nibbles at my breast, and can neither walk nor dance nor sing for all my joints have been far-stretched, bones scattered, throat torn, ravaged by the rats and worms of deepest earth to feast on bloody heart and guts of mine; when great Greed, the king of gnawers, comes; the grinding one, who shreds all flesh to drill my eyes out from this skull – sing songs of me, my dearest friend, and dance, as if I still was there.”

we weren't star crossed and certainly not just unlucky, no your choices are your own sins on your back yours to shake I can't save a drowned corpse, but you'll always stay a photograph untouched in my mind, but tragedy; you will never see how the story ends.

Mirror Me never seems to be my true self Shifting and changing the highs and lows Like having to pick from a cluttered shelf Strangers with the same face and clothes Mirror Me, while seldom, can be my best Happiness shining beyond just my face Letting my heart leap out of my chest All negativing vanishing without a trace Mirror Me is usually the face of my worst Sullen and pale with no light in my eyes Trying to hold back tears before they burst Feeling ugly and empty as my spirit dies All I want to see is that spark of life Mirror Me overcoming daily strife

There are demons in all of us Some linger and hide In the shadows In the dark And others Hide in plane sight In the light There are demons in all of us Everywhen and everywhere And whether they hide in the dark Or in the light It is on us to face them And give them Eternal night

running in circles the rat race got me down, digging my feet in, jump I'll get out of this trench if it's the last thing I do

The facade breaking Splintering, Crumbling, Burning Man steps into light German version: Die Fassade bricht Splitternd, Bröckelnd und Brennend Der Mensch tritt hervor

Woede Het raasde weer, onbezonnen, onbegonnen. Laat zich meeslepen, rap op de kast gejaagd. Huilt langs hoeken en langs daken. Voelt zich door de druk belaagd. Hectisch gestrekt, tot in de hoogte. Woelen, wervels, wild door wenkbrauwen heen. Op zoek naar kalmte, voor zijn aanvang, maar helaas, hij vond er geen. Verschopt uit een zee van stille zorgen. In het nauw, verstoten, toe tot aan het bloeden. Botst met hete lucht, geladen in de hersenpan, dat glas, waarin deze storm woed(d)e. Geschreven en bewerkt door Piezometric Poetry on 05-03-2024 Poem artwork

Religion, akin to a potent substance, in its measured doses, can cultivate tranquility, patience, tolerance, and understanding. It can instill a profound sense of inner peace, love, and harmony, resonating within the depths of one's being. Religion, much like a drug, can foster an internal state of well-being, eliciting feelings of jubilation, wonder, and awe that transcend the mundane. It has the power to inspire, motivate, and encourage, making one feel more connected, more integral to the grand mosaic of existence. Yet, when misused or consumed in excess, much like narcotics drugs, it can breed anger, resentment, and narrow-mindedness. It can distort the lens through which we view our fellow beings. When one becomes engulfed by the waves of religion, it can breed hatred, mistrust, and devaluation of their fellow humans. Misuse of religion, akin to substance abuse, can lead to delusional thinking. Sparking a descent into violence and cruelty. Under its

Mind-full-mess Aware of my surroundings, empathic to your space. Minding my own business, not standing in your face. Always thinking towards another, of how I may make others feel. Anxiety from my social footprint, that never appears on the other heel. A flood of thoughts assuming, that I hinder and cause stress. Yet it is me that is suffering, as my head is a mind-full-mess. Pp 31-03-2024 Poem artwork

The Dark By J.C. Solis What is a realm where the darkness resides A place where sinners all go down to hide What is a place that is forgone by light A grim place where righteous people take fright Is this the place where one goes down to heal? After seeing that one’s own fate is sealed Is this the place where foul monsters now dwell? And filled with creatures from the bane of Hell What do you expect to see in the dark? Do you expect to change your fate so stark? Do you think you can veer the course of fate? Before your time comes and it’s far too late? For this is One’s Nature deep down and whole For this is the Darkness within Your Soul…

a Trinity of Whirling Swordplay Specters enter the Celestial Valley where the Empress waits across the Lake of the Ancient World......