Newest Prose Poems (416)

With each step, I hear naught but wind
Blowing over land.
This world of evergreen and brown
Laying under hand.

Every step, a silent step,
A carnal world of lore.
Under foot the bones of Earth
The Humans haven’t torn.

I feel the wind of Mother’s lungs,
The whispers of the world,
A world of shadows evergreen,
A map to God unfurled.

This place without the shadowed grave
Without Death or Vice.

I thank the world for garden fare,
A world without the time.
To be one with Earth, the mighty bones,
What finally is mine.

The coma of night
When the city twinkles
And all are sleeping,
I walk the streets in silence.

There is a rare sound
Of tires on macadam and then
It is gone.

Only street cleaners, 7/11 clerks and nurses
And others like me,
Only they whisper through human existence
Invisible to the fickle human eye
But like the mouse,
I vanish into a silent and dead
City of night.
The phantom in your midst.

I just read your e-mails. I respect you Devon, and I respect your decision. You asked for forgiveness. Darling of course I forgive you, I love you, and that will never change. You say you must release me, fine. But do so with the knowledge that sometimes when you put an unfinished book down for a time, when you pick it back up you can start in again without having to reread the previous chapters. What I'm saying is, for me, personally, this isn't truly the end of us, or at least it doesn't have to be. Perhaps right now in this time of our lives, things have shifted and the fire has cooled. But raging infernos have been started from tiny embers long after it was thought that the fire was completely dead. Baby if you want me out of your life, I have to respect that. However, I would never want for us to completely cut all ties, as I still haven't completely given up hope. I dunno if any of this makes sense. Look long story short, I love you, and I always will, no matter what. Truth.

As each day passes, it feels less and less like a fairy tale and more and more like cinderella woke up and realized it was a dream. She took a wrong turn in her glass slippers and lost her way. You were right. Something changed. I repainted our mural with cheap paint. I never used primer. It was not set right. I stepped out of us and I could not step back in. My fire for you has turned to smoldering embers. You said if I chose to leave again, you wouldn't stop me. Please don't. I have been unfaithful despite all my words in their entirety, living now to no longer bring you dishonor. I havent the fire I used to have. And now despite your love I must release you. I ask you to forgive me. Please.

A choice; It all starts with a choice. The country steams toward the precipice and when they, the carnal, the God-less, the ravenous hoard finally release the scream that precedes the fall, they beg to be saved. And "no". there will be no saving grace. You have lit and kicked the very lantern that burns your country, your sovereign nation. An all-consuming cancer that spreads insidiously through what's "the in-thing" and popular and cool. You don't realize the danger, or maybe you just don't care.
The world is a rabid dog and all we do through legislation is "wipe away the drool," to quote a brillian mind. We are not fighting the blemishes. We're picking the zits 'till they bleed and scar over. Leaves an ugly mark, it does. Like so many others.
Marriage. How vintage. It only keeps the bastards in the sack. There is no other purpose. SO says a self-proclaimed "fantastic father". Why call is marriage? Why not a unity?
I am ashamed of my country and all it stands for, the crime within, the lack of a soul. humanity is only a word as the Constitution is only a piece of paper is no one rises up to defend it. Who rose up to remove God or A god from the Constitution and all else? Was it one or many? When did justice become only a word and "civil rights" was a free pass to enjoy any carnal pleasure? Trees and rivers are given "personhood" status. May i marry one? Are animals next? Polygamy? Will that be acceptable? When the disabled are paid pennies on the dollar because they work slower, we slip further down the slope into the volcano. When we forget the mistakes of empires past staring us in the face with their ruinous eyes, we fade, also, like so many fire-burned portraits. We really need to wake up and learn the meaning of morality, ethics and values. Otherwise, we're bound to become like any other animal. Primal, Savage, Inhuman.

Pumpkins and Magic
A prose by Devon King


The wishing well,
Still as winter's grip,
How my loathing burns
Like the potter's kiln.

Your surface mocks all,
Pure and not alike.
If i was to throw a farthing,
Would you bring me true reflection?

Or would you be like Prince John,
And steal away the little that i have?
Is a pumpkin just a pumpkin?
Slippers of glass that hold no weight?

Shall i wish for more than shoes of heated iron?
Shall i dance the dance od death and myth?
How shall i acquire a spinning wheel
When all have been burned?

Mice become horses, the dog to the door.
Watch as midnight becomes misery.
Locked in the tower,
The gold man will weave you powdered dreams.

Sell your soul for a farthing
To throw into the wishing well.
It's laughter is tinkling
Like the bells in the fickle wind.

How then shall I see the cinders?
The mighty sword makes me no King.
The lady of the lake is a murderous wretch.
She calls to me from the hidden dreams of the wicked.

The minstrels sing songs of sword and grail.
For what do you seek the cup?
I seek no chalice
But a coffin of purest glass.

A kiss I do not want but an eternal sleep.
.At the death of magic, I awaken to see a world of forgetfullness.
Men fly to other worlds and the heathen call it magic.
True magic is an enigma to the ignorant hoard.

Bury me in oak guarded by a dryad woman.
I shall find no pumpkin here.
I shall watch the earth forget itself
And return to the cradle of thought.

How has the world become a fickle foe?
The trees watch as pumpkins turn to rot,
Glass turns to sand
And pumpkins and magic become stories for the lost.

Frequently,
Death sticks its sticky fingers
Into my brain
And rummages through my drawers.

Always
The presence lingers
Deep in the part of the brain
That feels self-preservation.
The presence haunts me
Never to leave.

Where will I go?
To Perdition or Paradise?
To penalty of Purification?

Flames throughout my essence,
Ashes throughout my veins,
And screams throughout my soul.

Close to the gates of prison,
I think of Death.
Frequently.

I can feel the Darkness.
Wrapped about me
Like a shroud.
Sentient, insidious, hungry.
The corpses of cars,
And those too slow to keep up;
They litter this lonely stretch
Of midnight highway.
Pavestones for the wolves
Drooling at my back
Every step is another step
Into this world
Of post-apocalyptic oblivion.
After the bombs feel,
Hell
Became tangible.
Winter world in freezing night,
Maddening water wells drive men
To convulsing bleeding Death.
Armies ravage the planet,
And humanity is but a fading
Nightmare.
Hell is reality.
It just hasn't frozen over yet.
But, the world ceases to be one.
The wolves consume the weak.
The strong re-take what they can.
The benign make fire and root soup.
And wait to die.
Why;
Why do we carry
Bombs in our pockets
Like so many posies?
Ashes.
Ashes.
We all fell down.
Broke my crown.
World of wonder.
Wonderland;
No rabbit to guide my soul.
The red queen has taken my world,
And left it a wasteland,
For the worm,
For the damned.
For all that's left behind.
And less.

You have, in shame, closed the foor
To your own Kin
Will you also forget your children?
Will you cast them away
If they shame you?
Or will you learn that
Love unrequitted
Is returned eventually?
Or not.
To the sower
Goes the reward
be it from your purse
Or the public vault.
You will find
That those who spurn
Their vey blood
Will sow seeds of
Devil Weed.
That lashes you to
The sinking ship.
You'll eventually hit a rock.
Go down with your folly.
And wave the white flag.
Or don't.
And sail forever into the doldrums
Of eternal solitude
and Desolational misery.

My hopes and dreams
For a bond with my own blood;
Are gone in a phantom mist.
Gone like a dream
Forgotten with every passing moment
Until you can hardly remember it at all.

Now, I have only pictures.
And memories.
A painful haunting.
An ever-continuous loop.
I think
I'd rather drink.

You dont know
The damage you've done.
And yet, the door stays open.
But, all i attract are flies.
And other vermin.
I am an only child
Now. No father.
No sister.
Only i have seeds
Which only i can sow
Into a field of dreams
Only I know.

Hoping the ghost will come
and play ball with me
for me.
Must i immolate myself
within the seventh ring?
Your eyes are cast away
for you do not see
or remember
ghosts of your past,
skeletons hiding amongst the cloth.

A shameful secret?
Your own blood?
Shall i spill my own
in an attempt to purify
myself?
no.

I tattoo your name into
my flesh.
for blood is blood.
it does not evaporate
like the love in your heart.
it stays throughout eternity
like a red flag on the door.
of the last great bastille.