August 8, 2016 · 6:00 pm

Henryk Siemiradzki
Guilt
–
Guilt
you Say
Is All
That Remains
At
the End
Of
the Day
Of
a Life
Of Refrain
So
I Say
Don’t
Let It
Gild
your Throne
Roll
the Bones
Come
What May
Live
To Day
#B27321
–
Filed under Prose
Tagged as All, B27321, Bones, Come, Day, Discord, Don't, End, Freedom, Gild, Guilt, Harbinger, Henryk Siemiradzki, Life, Live, May, Poetry, Prison, Prose, Refrain, Remains, Revolution, Roll, Say, Slavery, Throne, Wyrd
June 12, 2016 · 1:16 pm

Paul Stade
Cold, Maybe So
–
you are
Alone
Trust
a Broken
Bone
Cold
Maybe So
But
When you
Are There
Sitting In
the Chair
After
They Have
Shaved
you Bare
Who Shall
Take
your Place
Fate
you Are
On
your Own
&
It Is
Written
In Stone
That you
Have
to Deal
With
the Past
you’ve Made
Sit
as Though
On
a Throne
Knowing
In
your Home
Nothing
Was Fake
#B27321
–
Filed under Prose
Tagged as After, Alone, B27321, Bare, Bone, Broken, But, Chair, Cold, Deal, Discord, Fake, Fate, Freedom, Harbinger, Home, Knowing, Made, Maybe, Maybe So, Nothing, On, Own, Past, Paul Stade, Place, Poetry, Prison, Prose, Revolution, Shall, Shaved, Sit, Sitting, Slavery, So, Stone, Take, There, Though, Throne, Trust, When, Who, With, Written, Wyrd
May 19, 2016 · 7:02 am

Gustave Dore
For you
–
Lost
Love
a Tale
of Woe
This Is
What
Screams
To me
For you
my Lyre
Would Sing
&
I
Would Go
Down Deep
To
the Very
King
&
Melt
His
Icy Throne
Just
To Taste
your Sweet
Skin
Once
More
#B27321
–
Filed under Prose
Tagged as B27321, Deep, Discord, Down, Freedom, Gustave Dore, Harbinger, Icy, Just, King, Lost, Lost Love, Love, Lyre, Melt, Poetry, Prison, Prose, Revolution, Screams, Sing, Skin, Slavery, Sweet, Tale, Taste, Throne, What, Woe, Would