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Quote by When Death Comes For Us by D.L. Lewis

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When Death Comes For Us by D.L. Lewis

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“Where Storms Nest by Stewart Stafford Time's arrow has left its quiver, And mortal men denied a sliver, Of sweet-faced solace or settled debt, Surrendering all to sweeping death. Beware the vixen with the perished pup, Of merciless slight and sacrilegious sup, Of mother's milk and witches' brew, Curdling infamy and death's-head stew. The trap is sprung, the rider unseated, A mourning procession for the defeated, A great wrong sits on the anointed throne, She is Queen Bee and you, but a drone. From a spider's web veil, she does regard, Hateful glances from black heart's shard, Envenomed nature of poisonous Man, The scorpion's strike of a foul plan. After seeking power and blood and lust, Remorse a late guest to a dagger's thrust, The vulture shrieks to the globe's outer rim, That Man's ambition is a Hell to him. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

PoetryPowerPoemAmbitionMurderRemorseRoyaltyBloodshedPower StruggleTryanny
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Te miré directamente a los ojos y me enamoré de ti. Me hipnotizaste con tu aliento a verdades envenenadas y me dispuse a nadar en tus pupilas negras. Me ahogué entre mentiras susurradas y cortes trazados en el alma, a traición. Te convertiste en mi religión. Te rendía culto bajo el dolor escondido en una sonrisa. I looked you straight in the eyes and I fell in love with you. You hypnotized me with your breath of poisoned truths and I set out to swim in your black pupils. I drowned in whispered lies and cuts drawn in the soul, treacherously. You became my religion. I worshipped you under the pain hidden in a smile.”

PoemEnfermedadHeridas Con Coágulos De Rimas
Book:Heridas con coágulos de rimas
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“America, this is what my God has told me about you— you field of dying sunflowers, you semiautomatic gun slinging unsanctuary, you apparition that is the crowd gathered beneath yet another oak tree on the postcard— Justice is not a pendulum Justice is not a hammer Justice is not a bandage it is water, and your better angels have long sung of its rolling tide, calling those things which are not as though they were. Am I crazy, America, letting you inside me again and again though you do not even love me...”

AmericaPoetryJusticePoemRacismInjustice
Author:Natasha Oladokun
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