The Pain Fillings

The Pain Fillings short poem

The breeze fills in the vessel of wound with toxic molecules.
And submerges it in the burning Ganges of fuel.
The magma pumps the pain up the brain.
The heart is pulped by the lava of strain.
The magnet cannot pull away the rusted fate.
There is no time to reverse the day;
The clock was set from the late.
Love cannot regulate the flow of hatred.
Darkness clots the eyes’ vision, less to view the sacred.
What resoluteness makes the hands write hope and erase hopelessness?
Some imperceptible cosmos will is bringing them back to senses.
The ink cartridge is spitting verses on the cellulose surface,
The cadaver is driving life cycle again in the death race.
Till the syllables separate from the word
And the pulse can no longer be heard.
Till the skin unwraps the skeletal frame,
All the painkillers count nil in the game.
Then the body biodegrades into soil
And the blood irrigates legends which grows and survive.
The deathless soul navigates the Celestial City of Immortality,
May be it is above all, dead or alive.
Wonder how some things are still living.
Being on death row, humans believe in willing.
Coughing the pain out in the sick ceiling,
And filling the veins with reanimated feelings.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Until Pain

Until Pain short poem

Like a snowfox it stampedes. A mass panic of legs after the flame festival. Language moves like a landslide, without vocabulary. A love sperm will not go into the test tube. Baby was waiting, looking for mother. The wetland was

A Pain Within Pain

A Pain Within Pain short poem

A golden bullet will bite the adolescence for the sake of prudence. Inebriated everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss. It was a targeted killing of a dream. Redolent of a prophet who will not answer the call

My Pain

My Pain long poem

Like a double edged knife That cuts deep and rife Like a cold winter breeze That makes everything freeze Like the sting of a bee Excruciating it would be Like a hot summer heat Unbearable it could be Like an

Beauty Of Pain

Beauty Of Pain short poem

Behind your face was cleaver releasing past poem. The sensual milk flows from the palm into your lake. Grieving for the torn wings of pink light. Cruising on thighs with eyes closed death utters a shriek. The eternal flame closes

Hidden Pain

Hidden Pain long poem

Its a different kind of heartache Where tears dont flow, Its a different kind of pain Which people dont choose to show, Its the thing which people dont understand Untill they stand at our place. They keep judging us Without