Pearly Gates

Pearly Gates

A Poem by DepthWriter
"

High-and-dry within a blood red sea... my existence obstinate by someone, other than I... left to cognition...

"
High-and-dry within a blood-red sea...

my ''existence'' obstinate by someone, other than I

left to cognition,
with a group carrying out the death penalty with each other,
something they use to believe, now is factual...

ambivalently, imperfect, weather-beaten...

rising from the pearly gates of time... its hourglass slides, breaking

and smashing to carmine tears... its' luscious vine staggering
from its inferior, its beard tipped towards his tongue, and
to the drowsy side of life that, rubbed of its inner love...
now typeface achromatic...



Upon the blue lips of beings; cutting, drawn-out periods
of wetness, inclination, thirstiness... 

hurting as I close my eyes...

to the senseless slaughter of human life...
Labored to point and heart; my tears turn to liquid....
as life was pressed through and through, as tiny stems...
began with an ill health to
an activating cause, in a field of honor, that you had no cognition over...
in astonishment- you travel to the beam of light, to the vertical threshold...
walking immune, to an uncharted vista...



Cavities with no belief; individual sunken, wrinkly �"
their tears adrift in an aqua-less sea... 

engrossing your soul, the beloved left undelivered under models uttered...

of... an undomesticated path- to an aching, a never ending phenomenon,

its' information discriminating....

like a used machine... its moves over-flowing

with emotional triumphs... coasting closer to the point...



The worlds most ill-famed... has ordered its arms,

to fall, a take over war whirling a rebellion that would make history,

educating the individual


Lucifer themselves....

Imprisoned souls... made to part their loved ones…

hearts pulsating, rhythmic



values crusted to the soil, voices cut out...

their breaths echo throughout the atmosphere...


I lie here... unbridled in the seashore of instance...

able to count each phenomenon, that


has risen below- my body in confusion- change of state, my flesh profusely weeps,

shaking from mind to soul---

exclusive in a land shaken, defenseless by the upper hand,

unable to breath, to see a beauty once there...to concentrate...



In battle... I utter my contents... before it is too late...

focusing as I verbalize, this world


we live in, as my dreams become mislaid...

My ivory pearls to the anguished Terra firma,


to the scanty caps of my knees...

They have exterminated life... even the little souls...


they were the gifts of a auspicious forthcoming,

they clutched the Noesis to net income...


to come through beyond any of us... Instead... You take everything, but I... am left to be waged

such an impact....

How do you expect me to clutch this passage....when what I see...

makes me ill to my stomach....




When lives before me, dropped like space, consumed by your control, power rises to frost bitten tongues....

consumed by feeling, by tragedy. Infrared are the shadows...

of forgotten dreams, its wealth unawakened in sanguinary seas-

standing in the center of a defined opening...

Assemblages lay unprovoked, in remission, or stoned by what has happened... vector decomposition, erosion of skeletal remains...

screens the ground like debris; hidden between atmospheric beauty, and fatigued gazes,


the minutes have marked marked away, until....

there is nothing near... that once reserved itself,


held by a snake pit --- by its palms...

Stripping the last bit of figure from my feature, watching

it be transferred into a departed magnetic area;

where life does not act on its own frenzy...




I returned to the shelter, a rather historic scene, and as I face through the quiet-- I begin walking continuous into the old lands to look for others...

that may be as I, and all I found were more shades, the products of a heavenly body; just as I am now...


--- destiny covered by more departed bodies...

smothered individuals murdered for their


natural quality- Forbidden to live out their lives...

That they would soon be carried out


as a miscarriage of life by afflicting belief, and even alteration upon a nation, that spare no likeness

to their diabolical ---

The horror of blood shed, brass instruments speak aloud, the tears


contorted into unusual shapes expectorating to the ageless ground above... a prediction comes forth...

as the hour sunshine gestures them by...

This ambiance I breath, its' suffocation, and state...


it is too much to absorb...





by Karen D. © 2o12

© 2012 DepthWriter


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Added on February 14, 2012
Last Updated on February 14, 2012

Author

DepthWriter
DepthWriter

Hague, NY



About
I have been writing for five-years, been through hell and back. My writing has evolved from rhyme, to depth... a profound deepness for all things around me. I believe as writers, we all must be able.. more..

Writing