surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Stuck on the Highway for 6 Hours and I really need to Pee!
Hwy 401 stretches 828 kilometres (514 mi) from Windsor, Ontario in the west to the Ontario–Quebec border in the east. The part of Highway 401 that passes through Toronto is North America's busiest highway, and one of the widest.
By Cathy holmes5 years ago in Poets
False prophets
I’ve felt your wrath. I’ve felt your warmth. I’ve dealt with your toxicity and all your complications. I want a miracle, some kind of divine intervention. One where you’re stable enough to heal all my afflictions. The truth will burn. You’re not untouchable. I release you from your mundane bonds and the lies connected to me. I waited for a confession. I waited for a century. But instead you destroyed my faith. It took a blind woman to see. I will not be healed by you. There’s nothing you can fix. You can’t make me a martyr. I can’t love you for an eternity. Our brilliance shown no mercy. We had our time together. Our time is running out and it’s killing me. We took our vows. We had our anniversaries. What we built got washed away. And now I have my doubts. You’re a lying hoax. Placebos are a Hail Mary. I watched you plunge into hell and struggle to get out. I sought the cure. I’ve fought your demons and failures. I’ve crucified your wounds and heard your trumpets sound. My soul is immaculate or so I heard. I can’t be corrupted anymore. No longer will I be bound. Your relapses are all yours. My words fell on deaf ears. I can’t serve a master and be enslaved anymore. Sickness is ugly. Mistakes can be averted. The blood we share reincarnates us and I hope we are reborn
By Anna Torres5 years ago in Poets
