PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

how lovely is a burning tree

how lovely is a burning tree

like the thoughts reminisced

at any particular time

burning from

within like a dwindling

candle

as gothic as the metal

gates..perhaps

sculpted statues

or plastered

yet unnamed

architectural members

i am not just a fantasy

memorialized

perhaps, New Jerusalem

is really just a protestant's

promise

(i like studying designs

and that's how

Emily Dickinson define

a particular cornice)

swords cannot be all

about Japanese kekkai

or the scenester living

a dream within a dream

in his or her subculture

humans do experience

epiphanies like

disciples that were

misrecalled in our

postmodern world

dustsceawung is something

to think about

when considering

that elan vital versus

Actus Purus

so come along;

travel with me in the

byways of timespace

while all our menacing

deeds we can still erase

unlike Hannah's deesis

similar to Sarai's deesis

and John's ilmestys

the rocks shall speak

in Luke

so, why can't we reread

the ultimate scrapbook

Misanthropic Cadavers

Yes, they cut you open

that's how it

should feel when

eccedentesiasts

are liking flowers

but Ansel Adams

have a way of

viewing the gradation

of colorless subjects

Thy kingdom is not

from here,

until the baptised

took over

explaining away for

thee the stars

signs like I've never

heard before

just because

they are microcosmic

and macrocosmic

cosmotellurian timespace

I wish we are

not at all that soulless

and the forgiven

thuggish folks who

are actually moralless

werifesteria

it is chilly out there

now that october

is finally here

my clothes have

changed because

summer days

left swiftly

granted how

things can change us

drastically and subtly

but no one

seems to bother

to reflect about

the morrow

the time is now

the time is right

like papered over sorrow

of being alone

in this oleilu,

and i thought

life is better with

sei jaku

fruits and the leaves

no one yet bears the

fruits of their own labor

when finding out

about life

shall I compare that to missing pieces

of a puzzle?

we managed not

emerge from the ashes

of this wartime strife

can i, myself, identify them

to stop the crying wolves

with but a muzzle?

we're probably long dead

and gone like the ashen

color of concrete

yet noticing not how our

false gods assuaged

our hellish main street

collectively, we surpass it

misery loves company

or do we dare escape it -

in our weary ways, venturing out looking at

vultures in the nightsky

from dawn—til advesperascit

this empty spirit

this empty spirit

clings to life

like dreamcore

& haunted castles

pain and aversion,

the very things

that give it definition

so afraid to

lie awake

in this morning grave

only to see

people living life

like they supposed to

in their perfunctory existence

beach bunny

it's rare to find a
cute bunny on a beach
with a tropical rainforest
climate

often the
price for the
oceanside homes
skyrocket

but why?

I'd like to contemplate
but escape
is just a word that
resemble a getaway

yet the
dreaded city streets
in my town
seemed a trap

are we all
getting stuck
just like that?

—That's what's up

where else
would I want
to go, if you may ask

It's not that my
already dimmed skin
wanted to bask

in the amber sky
but this can also sound
like doing a task

And if you OR I shall
cry one day when we
figured it is a cask

a picturesque view
it is not anymore
something that we can

still mask