strictly just for fun, not official
Rules:
1.
all poems must be own work, others will be removed
2.
ALL POEMS MUST NOT BE AIMED AT OTHER MEMBERS
this is about death, not death what you wish to happen to someone or death threats, you will be removed and possibly reported to the
guards if I feel the need to
3.
QUALITY ISSUES.
If you want us to put effort into reading the poem, put effort into writing it. Poems with exceptionally bad spelling and/or grammar will be disqualified. If your limerick isn't going to make the cut, we'll put a comment underneath the entry saying so.
4.
OLD WORK ALLOWED.
Old works are allowed in this contest, If your work has been submitted in an unofficial contest, then you are still free to enter it here, though work that is entered on here once, will not be entered on here again.
5.
LENGTH:
It does not matter, as long as it is good
6.
SUBJECT MATTER:
No sexually explicit content.
7.
EACH ENTRANT MAY POST UP TO TWO POEMS A LONG POEM WILL COUNT AS TWO.
Poem Format:
1. <b>Poem Title</b>
You write
Your poem
Like this
Created by [kians mummy]
Submissions:
1. by [
Nocturnaliss]
Once upon a love
I used to love the life within your eyes
I the one you loved to mesmerize
So far away now, dreams we shared
It feels as though you are still there.
I miss the scent of your hair
I miss those days, when all was clear
When you were happy, I as well
When we could smile, when you were there.
Life has a way, some people say
To teach you lessons when you are deaf
There always is a price to pay
And in the end, there's nothing left.
No matter what, I'll keep my faith
I will believe you watch in death
I'll keep you always in my heart
'til again we meet, so never to part.
2. Shattered wings- by [
American Revolutionary]
i dreampt i was flying over germany
the wings of my plane glittering in
the setting sun, the sound of the
engine buzzing in my ears, a lovely tune
then without warning, my right wing began
to come apart, flack, the thick black
clouds of anti-aircraft fire tearing at me
then my engine caught fire, as i hurtled to
the ground, i laid in a smoldering heap of
twisted metal and memories long past, i have
been forgotten and still occupy that spot where
i moved on from this life.
3.
The Gravedigger's Son - by [
Madame Black]
The sun would set on a lonely hill
On a lot outside of town
Where trees were few, only grass there grew
And from birds there came no sound.
Not a soul would stay by the lonely graves
Save mourners here and there
But the Gravedigger's Son, alone as one
Who would cherish the sight and stare.
Then came a day when a new-dug grave
Would take a young man to hold
His death was sad, a new wife he had
For so the stories told.
Though before were none save the Gravedigger's Son
Now the New Widow came to stare
While no life she sought, white lilies she brought
That his grave might not be bare.
Every day she came, every day the same
White lilies on the tomb
She was deaf and dumb to the Gravedigger's Son
Who had loved her all too soon.
From his lonely perch, he then emerged
Like a phantom among the dead
He desired her such, was compelled to touch
The dark locks on her head
As she turned afright, he knew that night
He must have her then and there
But she turned to flee, and glanced back at he
Left alone only to stare
The world turned 'round, and he heard no sound
As her image pierced his mind
Bellows to his fire, one of desire
His thoughts then turned malign
By wiles and ways he had found her place
By the hollows of midnight
He observed her there, and her raven hair
Shown radiant in the light.
Many a night he came to sight
The new widow without a thought
That there were eyes outside, past the window light
How greedily she was sought.
If not in life he could have as wife
Then a corpse bride he would make
So he crept inside, and cherished her cries
And the life he was to take
On swipe of his spade, now makeshift blade
And the her blood began to pour
Crimson red on brown, 'round her like a crown
Spewed out upon the floor
And all was done, for the Gravedigger's Son
But to dig the New Widow's grave
4.
Morning Air - by [
Worst Case Ontario]
Morning air
Cloaked in mist
Fill my lungs
The air I've missed
My hear withheld
Of all it needs
Reap the fruit
Of planted seeds
Seeds I've sewn
So long ago
Certain things
I dare not know
From dark I crawled
Blind by mud
From grace I fall
All that's good
It took my death
To see the light
Eternal day
To drown out night
Now I breathe
The morning air
After all
What's fair is fair
5.
Out of Time - by [
Gastogh]
Let's not dream now, you and I,
of a life laid bare on pristine pages;
of a tale to tell, uniform and whole,
easy to recount and easy to understand;
that nought of worth be left unsaid,
that nought of none slip unnoted in.
As lengthening nights and shortened sleep
settle in and settle deep,
and the body, piece by piece,
rings my aging's tolls and fees
like a wind harp whipped by ceaseless gales,
pulled and blown by the times this way and that―
when the hours are numbered few enough
to be fathomed in earnest―
it is then that some perspective comes.
There's a use for this pointless traffic by my rest,
this roundabout of rote procedure,
even if the use be just this one.
Proverbs of deathbeds and rosy lips,
thoughts no deeper than the briefest quips,
what say those of all the things I missed,
the nurtured ires, the loved ones kissed?
What of weariness and witherings and tarnishings,
of embalmment, pyres and coffin varnishings?
I denounce all these, loud and clear;
rather, give me time!
Give me infinite time!
No Faustus, I, to sign pacts in blood and then plead free,
to beg the sun stand still for all the world
so that midnight may not come for me.
Not an angel, no paragon of virtue, I,
yet – one hopes – no demon either, to deserve to die.
Oh, that I could go on―
or, barring that
and everything else,
at least go back.
6.
Blood Running Cold - by [
Rat Hacker]
You win in life
You lose in life
However it’s not equal
Things live
Things die
That’s all it is in life
It sucks beyond belief
It hurts more then grief
I can’t seem to convince myself
That the world would be better
Not could be better
If I existed or not
No one would care
If my wrists spill blood
No one would care
If my heart became broke
No one would care
If I never was here
No one would ever miss me
I want my blood to run cold
I want a lake across the floor
I don’t care what it comes to in the end
I just want to see all the numbness descend
No one can defend me
From what is going to be
Don’t try to stop me
I want to be free
Free from this pain that you call life
Free from the fight between myself
Life sucks
My blood runs cold
7.
Prowl
In such a night, when every louder wind
Is to its distant cavern safe confined;
And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings,
And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings;
Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the wand'rer right:
In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
Or thinly veil the heav'ns' mysterious face;
When in some river, overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
When freshened grass now bears itself upright,
And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,
And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes
When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine,
Shew trivial beauties watch their hour to shine;
Whilst Salisb'ry stands the test of every light,
In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright:
When odors, which declined repelling day,
Through temp'rate air uninterrupted stray;
When darkened groves their softest shadows wear,
And falling waters we distinctly hear;
When through the gloom more venerable shows
Some ancient fabric, awful in repose,
While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale:
When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads,
Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads,
Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear,
Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear:
When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
And unmolested kine rechew the cud;
When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
And to her straggling brood the partridge calls;
Their shortlived jubilee the creatures keep,
Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep;
When a sedate content the spirit feels,
And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something, too high for syllables to speak;
Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,
Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,
Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks it like her own:
In such a night let me abroad remain,
Till morning breaks, and all's confused again;
Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,
Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.
Created by [
Galax'Or]
8.
Deadline: 8 entries
Reminder: Number your entries, and separate them with the <hr> tag.
The badges: 
Stumble!
