Submissions by DecipherMe
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I love to write poetry more than anything in the world. I even break my heart at times to see what words I can generate. I want to inspire deeper feelings. I write religious topics and pagan mythology along with violent happiness and depressed titillation
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
30th Nov 2014 9:03am
30th Nov 2014 9:03am
An Analysis of My Return
Surreal bubbles floating up to the sky.
I can't breath. That was my ultimate suspire.
Only the land of dreams is left for me now.
Only the Great Beyond. I drowned in the ocean.
The blood of thousands of Syrian children floods my soul.
My skin is open, and the cries come in, and tears flow through my semipermeable flesh.
God, you are right there above me. Take me home.
Earth is too painful. The people are panicking.
Eyes, close...
I can't breath. That was my ultimate suspire.
Only the land of dreams is left for me now.
Only the Great Beyond. I drowned in the ocean.
The blood of thousands of Syrian children floods my soul.
My skin is open, and the cries come in, and tears flow through my semipermeable flesh.
God, you are right there above me. Take me home.
Earth is too painful. The people are panicking.
Eyes, close...
823 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
26th Nov 2014 3:05am
26th Nov 2014 3:05am
It's Hard for a Man
It's hard for a man to look at a woman when his eyes are void of love for her. It's like looking at a flower and, by some phenomenon, being tortured by its image. He asks, "Why don't I want her? Isn't she beautiful? Didn't I want her before?" It's confusing, and his eyes are burned by the flower's colors because unloved loveliness is loveliness like a sword that tries to force itself into the heart of another.
I try to love the loveliness and regain my love when I see her because not wanting her is torture whenever I visit her, but what can be done when I can't love her anymore? I...
I try to love the loveliness and regain my love when I see her because not wanting her is torture whenever I visit her, but what can be done when I can't love her anymore? I...
763 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
15th Nov 2014 8:19pm
15th Nov 2014 8:19pm
The Woman that I Love
You’re a moonlight sonata.
I wait for your third movement, so we can dance away together.
The photons quickly overcome space and time to reach you before I
can, and the speed of light is faster than the auditability of the words “I care for you”.
Maybe from this distance, I could use the light’s speed
and form the shape of a heart with my hands.
Photons are packages that carry the messages of love that one can see.
Photons pass from you and me and discuss your beauty like tiny cherubim entering the pupil and telling the...
I wait for your third movement, so we can dance away together.
The photons quickly overcome space and time to reach you before I
can, and the speed of light is faster than the auditability of the words “I care for you”.
Maybe from this distance, I could use the light’s speed
and form the shape of a heart with my hands.
Photons are packages that carry the messages of love that one can see.
Photons pass from you and me and discuss your beauty like tiny cherubim entering the pupil and telling the...
921 reads
2 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
3rd Nov 2014 9:02pm
3rd Nov 2014 9:02pm
In the Village of Darkness and Light
Dust drew life from the light and became a creature,
so if dust is drained of life by the reemergence of the light,
will the selves inside the dust be forever existent in the light?
In the forest the tiny people
host their secret celebrations.
The trees are so high that they are shrouded in darkness,
but the village can survive with the city lights.
The hedonistic rituals can continue each day like the day before.
The smiles and rosy drunken cheeks can grow still all the more content.
It is...
so if dust is drained of life by the reemergence of the light,
will the selves inside the dust be forever existent in the light?
In the forest the tiny people
host their secret celebrations.
The trees are so high that they are shrouded in darkness,
but the village can survive with the city lights.
The hedonistic rituals can continue each day like the day before.
The smiles and rosy drunken cheeks can grow still all the more content.
It is...
853 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
3rd Nov 2014 2:52am
3rd Nov 2014 2:52am
Song of the Autumn Evening
The sky is dimming; the high tide flows.
The moon is showing; the green grass blows.
The chilling northern breeze has replaced the warmth of the southern wind,
and the high-privileged Yankees win the war again.
Hope and despair make show of the other.
The house becomes serener in its intimate company,
and the outside environment becomes tender pain melody.
A person could quietly turn to frost in the open night
while another is set ablaze with love....
The moon is showing; the green grass blows.
The chilling northern breeze has replaced the warmth of the southern wind,
and the high-privileged Yankees win the war again.
Hope and despair make show of the other.
The house becomes serener in its intimate company,
and the outside environment becomes tender pain melody.
A person could quietly turn to frost in the open night
while another is set ablaze with love....
837 reads
3 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
31st Oct 2014 6:27am
31st Oct 2014 6:27am
I Ate a Flower
I ate a flower.
It was sweet.
It's nectar trickles down my throat.
It's petals left aroma on my lips.
I ate a flower,
and it turned into an evergreen—
full of life and strong throughout all seasons.
Its trunk stretched out, and it's face penetrated the newly sun-lit sky,
and this all happened because I
ate a flower at midnight.
The flower was grown in my very own room,
and I showed it the tender moonlight through the window,
and the flower...
It was sweet.
It's nectar trickles down my throat.
It's petals left aroma on my lips.
I ate a flower,
and it turned into an evergreen—
full of life and strong throughout all seasons.
Its trunk stretched out, and it's face penetrated the newly sun-lit sky,
and this all happened because I
ate a flower at midnight.
The flower was grown in my very own room,
and I showed it the tender moonlight through the window,
and the flower...
1193 reads
8 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
28th Oct 2014 10:41pm
28th Oct 2014 10:41pm
Angel with Clipped Wings
Your legs are strong
like two unveiled Greek pillars
from which we carve the shapeliness of your tight body sculpture.
Your breasts are firm like modest spring apples
in which I indulge when I bite into your blushing red flesh.
You are easily excited. You smile like the sun
and tickle the hearts of those that love you.
Did you even mean to be beautiful?
No, you just woke up this way,
and I was made your first mirror,
and when I was pleased,
you saw your Indian locks straighten in the...
like two unveiled Greek pillars
from which we carve the shapeliness of your tight body sculpture.
Your breasts are firm like modest spring apples
in which I indulge when I bite into your blushing red flesh.
You are easily excited. You smile like the sun
and tickle the hearts of those that love you.
Did you even mean to be beautiful?
No, you just woke up this way,
and I was made your first mirror,
and when I was pleased,
you saw your Indian locks straighten in the...
992 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
14th Oct 2014 00:40am
14th Oct 2014 00:40am
The Reader and Writer's Sex Dimension
I have forced myself into a locked room of chastity
to have monogamous relations with you.
In this bookplace, I am sealing myself away from the masses that surround me
as I type my way to you.
You’re my literary escape. Your arousal is my freedom.
If my words can set your senses free, then a shared pretty word is sex to me.
You and I make love between the lines,
my reader,
and I am your writer.
No freer consummation in existence be
than the one that I discuss with you now—
the one in which two adults, mentally sane, that haven’t seen each...
to have monogamous relations with you.
In this bookplace, I am sealing myself away from the masses that surround me
as I type my way to you.
You’re my literary escape. Your arousal is my freedom.
If my words can set your senses free, then a shared pretty word is sex to me.
You and I make love between the lines,
my reader,
and I am your writer.
No freer consummation in existence be
than the one that I discuss with you now—
the one in which two adults, mentally sane, that haven’t seen each...
721 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
12th Oct 2014 9:36pm
12th Oct 2014 9:36pm
Because of the Chilly Last Hour of a Day
The cold seasons have arrived.
The late shift is a giver of abundant solitude, and the night’s breath ushered in a chilling whisper
that entered the supercenter with the few customers that we served thirty minutes earlier.
The conveyer belt is my only warmth, so I lean into the cashier counter
with one hand cleaving to its warmth and recognizing its course of function,
sliding along its moving surface,
and I envision some fond existence of pure nostalgia.
In the world of good red heart-pumped feelings, there is nothing that I know by...
The late shift is a giver of abundant solitude, and the night’s breath ushered in a chilling whisper
that entered the supercenter with the few customers that we served thirty minutes earlier.
The conveyer belt is my only warmth, so I lean into the cashier counter
with one hand cleaving to its warmth and recognizing its course of function,
sliding along its moving surface,
and I envision some fond existence of pure nostalgia.
In the world of good red heart-pumped feelings, there is nothing that I know by...
820 reads
0 Comments
STORY POEM
Published
10th Oct 2014 2:29pm
10th Oct 2014 2:29pm
Doctor's Journal: The Female Orgasm and Hysteria
The year is 1924.
A young woman came to me today with a case of hysteria, hmm...
I am starting to become skeptical that there is such an illness.
I hope that it’s not unchristian of me to think so.
In any case, this woman was really quite quirky for a lass of our day.
She might have been bitten by the jazz bug.
Her bobbed hair under her hat was shorter than most,
and her skirt almost transcended her ankles,
and she discussed sexual experience quite liberally. ...
A young woman came to me today with a case of hysteria, hmm...
I am starting to become skeptical that there is such an illness.
I hope that it’s not unchristian of me to think so.
In any case, this woman was really quite quirky for a lass of our day.
She might have been bitten by the jazz bug.
Her bobbed hair under her hat was shorter than most,
and her skirt almost transcended her ankles,
and she discussed sexual experience quite liberally. ...
948 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
6th Oct 2014 8:17am
6th Oct 2014 8:17am
My Book of Poetry
I write a book,
and I want you all to breathe inside of me.
This was the reason for which it was written.
I am not like those guys
who can put their dreams to sleep
to chase a skirt floating in the air.
No, it is I that am shouting,
"Stay with me!
Don't leave me tomorrow.
We have more than only one night."
I can't lay my love down to animalistic hibernation
while I make love to a flower in the sky
that vanishes with the morning truth.
My dreams are eternal. They are the clock
that whenever it ticks,
I am reminded of the...
and I want you all to breathe inside of me.
This was the reason for which it was written.
I am not like those guys
who can put their dreams to sleep
to chase a skirt floating in the air.
No, it is I that am shouting,
"Stay with me!
Don't leave me tomorrow.
We have more than only one night."
I can't lay my love down to animalistic hibernation
while I make love to a flower in the sky
that vanishes with the morning truth.
My dreams are eternal. They are the clock
that whenever it ticks,
I am reminded of the...
710 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Oct 2014 4:59pm
4th Oct 2014 4:59pm
Knowledge is My Lover
The feel of her skin’s caress on my cranial folds—
she holds my brain, and my body lies lifeless.
The food that I would’ve forced my body to desire
is absent from my mind.
Is there anything to eat, but Plato’s philosophy?
Confucian li from my chi, yin and yang and life and order,
make love within me.
My brain pulses and throbs and fumes and releases heat in yawn,
and the orgasmic sentiments of self-reward and self-construction, my success,
toss my mind into the realm of forms. Only perfect ideas dwell there. ...
she holds my brain, and my body lies lifeless.
The food that I would’ve forced my body to desire
is absent from my mind.
Is there anything to eat, but Plato’s philosophy?
Confucian li from my chi, yin and yang and life and order,
make love within me.
My brain pulses and throbs and fumes and releases heat in yawn,
and the orgasmic sentiments of self-reward and self-construction, my success,
toss my mind into the realm of forms. Only perfect ideas dwell there. ...
831 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by DecipherMe
