Thrall Poems - Poems about Thrall

Thrall The cup has arrived, take my blood. Fill it up with the good stuff. Drink the wine, while I unwind these chains. I have been trapped too long in this self-made cage. Tear at the bones with perfect teeth. Ground to a point; been grinding for weeks, To get the right blade to cut my food with. This hole I exist in...

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In Thrall I’ve scooped plasma from the sun To cook meals and heat my bath, Moved Mount Everest just for fun; None can ever walk my path. I’ve had dinner on Saturn’s rings, Kicked the moon like a soccer ball, Plucked light rays like guitar strings— I should adorn the walls of great halls. I’ve swum the depths of every sea, Journeyed to the...

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I've awoken in the black It's a place I've recently been Looking outside to my inner I'm guessing you've not seen As I walk amidst you Depression is my thrall It's underlying hunger Desires to take me to it's Ball And when there I'll silency dance Never knowing it's darkened await Seconds become years Life's corners becoming straight Breathed lungs of inner I Exasperate my gasps Whilst through my...

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Light a chord progression of sulphur, silver and mist Set it serpentine and weight the tail Fixed upon jewel eye, begin your pass between upright columns Dimly ribbed it clasps the shallowing shadow Growing pale from black with furrowed intent Aware of depth of tone and grains of structure Static lattice encompasses plasmonic manuscript Fang undoes the bolt, the door swings...

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I'm kept here, chained to myself The flow of the now, reduced to the was of back then To that moment, tired an relived Ever without an ending Never losing that sting I know I'm a prisoner of myself Had the keys all along But I'd rather feel what I feel Than not to feel at all...

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i see it all the suffering call, where we sense the one God's number, suffer from the romantic thrall, colour fades, black on white is called, cos then we're torn asunder, look out here comes the thunder... chunder-from down-under, did ya get that taxi's number:) thank you Russell Sivey, "Shine on my Ego." Don chunder is what you throw up....

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green turf covered walls a tired group of Viking Thrauls festive banquet halls...

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My dreams limited by fantasies raging unchecked undermine life stifling the little promise left....

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