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.
Haunt Me Thoroughly
That feeling, the one having you glance over your shoulder, which seems constantly. Are you being watched? More like a reverent chase. Or so the shame that plagues you may think. Obloquy has it's void aura of bigotry, as only a doctrinaire can excrete. Poison, emotion breeds. Aching like pain, like tears in the whipping rain, invisible to everyone except me, sensing their heat on her cheeks. Needles slid from an untrained hand, up the fingers, like pins, you see? They sing their chords, as they seize, radiating shivers in high-pitched Cs all through she. Woe is me; foe is she. Overwhelming malaise, she's falling free from grace, now dormant and the pretty leaves glide, leaving behind a worn wired skull. Stitched back to a crooked piece after one too many thoughts cracked free. Some were beauty, others glee, and the rest reaped negativity.
By Melissa Oros5 years ago in Poets
sometime, in july
She spoke encouragement to everyone else but herself She led herself to believe that she wasn’t worthy of her own love Things couldn’t be fixed alone she held her soul back in seas of blues and greys Her heart felt hardened to her and she drifted on a lifeboat with no way back to shore And that dreams were meant for others since everyone else deserved happiness but her She felt the weight pulling her down the world echoing loudly in her ears and her Shoulders hung low and heavy her heart torn into pieces by only her own insecurity Beaten down for far too long whipped into submission she lost the battle to herself She lost her hopes among the stars she buried those dreams in loose rocky soil No longer able to see how brightly they burned even in the dirt she laid above them but They seemed to burn to her they went up in a flash of smoke and flames and Were dull and muted amongst the box she held them trapped within The blackened skies and she felt rain pound into her body leaving her there in the mud Like she was drifting downwards she couldn’t shake the loss of someone so precious Where the lake bottoms would swallow anything she could possibly hold dear [the baby] Her up with one big gulp and that suddenly the box of the letters and memoirs she wrote She couldn’t find her way on the path even though she barely walked twenty feet to graves When the moon and stars did not shine the trees blocked her view from the rest of the world
By Rachel Gianfrancesco-Batton5 years ago in Poets
