Most Commented Dark Poetry Poems (2,490)

From childhood´s hour I have not been
As others were I have not seen
As others saw I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then, in my childhood in the dawn
Of a most stormy life was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still
From the torrent or the fountain
From the red cliff of the mountain
In its autumn ting of gold
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flyinb by
From the thunder and the storm
And the cloud that look the form
When the rest of Heaven was blue
Of a demon in my view.

the coming days nothing to say learn to live through the illusion of delusion, instant reaction thoughts come true nothing to do nothing to do, opening pathwaves of sin nothing to begin nothing to begin. learn to live in wasted places, overgrown hedges revealing edges of sanity's known wandering through this all creeping sounds and voices all are a plenty I'm losing my identity,

wasted days nothing to say drive me away
drive me away. into the blindness of my mind always left behind, crafted axes shallow graves shining blades tied to caves, blood soaked memories clouded reality.
losing it all running backwards is this real enemies fallen shadows fade away into there own hallowed cave, given away

does this all have to be,
does this all have to be,

these memories are daunting stepping through the grim truth these are forever forever forever, dying together together together,

underneath underground it makes a sound
of pain behind the rain it comes out again to take me from within take me as a slave as a death that cannot be saved.

Coming to terms with the end is coming, to run to the goal to the evil rush illustrates born, everywhere take me in a taxi to score I want it all I want it all,
I wanna drop to my knees pray to steal pray to God endless heal is the suffering endless is how it is.
Endless is how it is. red reliefs looking out for the thief,
winding road to freedom from a pain in the rain desperate corpses run free run free. Muses dying everywhere muses dying everywhere it’s as close to death as I like to be just a memory just a spike. Take it easy on me take me away I’ve ended yesterday. I start again to begin another day blood rushed eyes rush in the evil rush. Death becomes a fad in eternity’s im glad I’m dreaming of feeedom chaos,
choose your battles everything comes down to a once choose hear the voice the calling from within,
to not try steal not try cheat. Everyday all ways points to sin. Do we run no we manufacture someone,
Dealing it around don’t make a sound. Death is close by just say high take me away take me away,
This is pain this is eternal rain this is how it is.
Dream recall serpents hall. Damnation you cried you felt that goodbye. The evil rush don’t dismiss the evil rush. It strikes a pain to begin again take away my sword I’ll rule again from within, let it begin. Let it begin.

Darkness, blindfolded, arms secured, gentle binding, waiting.

Being watched knowing He is looking for you, that part nobody knows is there, waiting.

Strong, quiet, watching every emotion chase over me, learning, waiting.

Soft, gentle touch, seeing the smile and the tension fade, knowing You are Safe, because He know to be felt, strong, gentle and to just wait.

For Trust is earned not just given.

Laying here, thinking..

I can take a marker, stand in front of a mirror and literally trace my heart on my chest.

I feel each beat and watch it in wonder in that mirror.

Not sure how I feel, I think I am coming to life, or shutting down.

Just standing and watching it beat.

Place my arms over the outline to hold it together.

Looks up into eye's that are just watching myself without expression..

Why?

I am, Child, Sister, Daughter, Mother, Friend, Therapist, Momma bear, Protector, Granny.

Wraps them all in a box lined with cotton wool, places my heart on top, closes the box.

Walks into Hands and arms strong enough to rest in for a while, feeling the tears washing my face.

Will collect my box just now, wipe my face, smile and continue.

Should I drop you this note
I drew up waiting for a bowl of gumbo?
I was dining alone
cause naturally, again, you're a no-show.
You thought I didn't know
about dirty dancing in the shadows,
doing your two stepping two-timing tango
at the by-the-hour worn seedy bungalow,
with your three undercover maestros—
Larry, Curly, and Moe!?
Welcome to Dante's Inferno!
Yet I do recall the good days of old.
You are playing the blues on the bongos.
Does it make sense? Maybe so,
since locked in the hollows
sits a dusty jazz piano.
Lockjaw deny your solos
blowing the piccolo
but one still can always grow
popping pimple faced souls
until the end of tomorrow.
Sorry to lash out, I'm just feeling my sorrow.
I‘m losing you, my Piedmont pillow.
Anyway, do you recall it started as a joke
writing "Ode to the Fallen Angel, Billie Joe”
starring in the Twilight Zone.
The ode unfolds
before fleeing on rails like a hobo
down Mt. Kilimanjaro,
it starts to snow.
During which she had an episode
losing her halo
slipping from her dome
when dipping her bent toe
into the dark cosmos
when suddenly she sinks into a forbidden doze.
Like banging one's funny bone,
It provokes an overgrown
Purple one eyed one horn fire breathing hippo
slurping down a school of translucent minnows.
Flops herself onto a rising manifesting moonstone
after the beast's deep bellow,
She escapes by the skin of her nose
sneaking out in stealth mode,
beneath a timely magic downy robe
but still, her loss was a dire load.
Yet, the halo plunged like an oscillating gizmo.
Topping light (What did Einstein smoke?),
when heading for ground zero.
Somehow catching in slow-mo
a swooping sparrow
snatching it up by coming in low
but dropping it like a dirty hoe
on seeing a dancing scarecrow
doing the mambo
with a Hispanic hallucinating gringo.
Never scare off the black feather fellows—
each of them having a mind of their own.
Scavengers are at home
grilling up some squirming lizard toads
on the torched summer back roads,
down like US 95 thru Moscow
of course, not in Russia but Idaho.
Yet the halo continued to roll,
for years through, God only knows
till it finally landed in Chicago
on the Antiques Roadshow.
Shown off by an ancient crone
or was it the halo-less Billie Joe,
who is in incognito
sadly, needing some extra dough,
who lived by her lone,
making a cameo?
After snorting too much ginkgo
she began drooling over its host,
a fat sweaty Longfellow,
who smelled like pork roast.
By sampling his ear lobe
on buttered milk toast
she outdid her hero
the flaming Vincent Van Gogh!
Anyway, back to the poor bloke,
During a ceasefire and seeing nothing that doesn't show.
Was bemoaning a logjam love flow
When caught dangling at the end of his rope
swinging low to the tune of Desperado
oozing in and out from solid-state radio.
Horribly, giving up the ghost,
wearing a black necktie yoke
(An unforgiving dress code).
starting with Edison's first hello,
a silent telephone
freshly landmines, another crushed mofo.

It seems nothing changes, don’t ever speak too loud,
You are not allowed, those that profess, sometimes regress,
And the promise of equality is lost in the pursuit of being right
And for them its how it goes, who knows, where we go from
Here, tomorrow will be, with or without you or me.

They all say the same cliché:
“It's better to have loved than none at all.”
Our story had been short and not worth it,
yet I've been cursed with this ability;
this giant elephant memory.

Let's be selective?
Some advice to give.
It's been two years since you said you wanted to be
with no one else but me
until I realized I wasn't the only.
Oh, I had never been.

The story didn't just end there;
like some typical, cheesy rom-com plots
before the leading lady finally deserved
the prince charming she'd eventually get.
In this department, my storyline's been bleak,
‘though I still refuse to let myself get weak.

You were the monster with a handsome mask.
That must've been an exhausting task.
I was glad the truth was finally out,
as you ran off, ghosted me like a coward.

It's been a year since I heard my own version of happy-ending:
You're finally in prison.
Yay!
I felt so sorry about your youngest victims
who had probably known no concept of ‘consent'
when you chose to force her, leaving permanent scars.

I was off the hook;
probably the smallest casualty in your betrayal and wickedness,
but I guess I'm still dealing with my own hurt,
because the idea of starting over…
…is still as scary as the possibility…
…of facing another monster…

Our short, fabricated love story has never been worth remembering,
but I still can't erase it – so it's been permanently written,
a vivid reminder of my past failure
and why I glare at romance with cynicism…

R.
(Jakarta, October 1, 2020)

The dawn isn't close enough,
yet I am jolted awake
from a dream that felt
like a time machine,
throwing me back to the past, so mean.

Who has resurrected
this silly girl I once was?
I thought I'd left her buried,
dead and forgotten in the past.
Now her restless spirit has returned,
trying to take over
this same old body, heart, and soul,
if possible, swallowing me whole.

The current me is struggling
to keeps what's been mine all along.
Still, she is so damn stubborn,
demanding that she too stay in the present.
I wouldn't be having this breakdown
if she weren't carrying you in her mind.

This is not the time
to let her stick around.
Perhaps I must exorcise her again,
before she starts giving me a lot more
than this nonsensical, 3 a.m. breakdown…

R.