Ripped In Two


  • Desmotti
  • The wraith is but sadness in mortal form. It haunts to hunt, and hunts to feed. It cannot feed on any emotion. This is its pain. for emotion is not segregated it is fealt, and to feel is warmth.

Ripped In Two

In me the endless outcry breaks the drums that beat all sound...

To flail in swirls of darkened pitch the endless all around.

 The cry is muffled lost to it...the nothing swallows all attempt...

To let all know... the soul it flails through dreamy


In me there was something moving....ripping to release the light...

Through the skin it ripped the worm and showed all pitch that it was


Just as Endless Wo krept close it vanished with submissive quicken...

Endless humming...tendral strumming warmth from truth to all that


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rougepriest commented on Ripped In Two


Disconnected polymonger, soul voyager torn from flesh, enter ye into heavens gate, where entwining spirits mesh,as Gratitude leaks from a dying heart,( time not well spent ) Longing for eternal rest, how much more shall you repent? Death offers not its sighing relief, (you forget yourself in err) dying so quietly, castigating, reliving each second as a day, casting deaths shadow, mercies tendral burns brightly, fast, Setting course upon laden seas, of forgotten memories lived, Tiny speck of consciousness, burning, wistful flame Prodigal creator, placate thyself with vanities mirror

DeepEclipse commented on Ripped In Two


Always love how you write the human emotion. You do it with such ease and freedom of speech. I can only assume it comes from being tested towards many known edges. This poem never touches ground to me. It floats in its mysterious, yet understanable metaphor. I relate to it.......painfully.

To have great poets there must be great audiences too.

Walt Whitman, American Poet (1819-1892)

Desmotti’s Poems (25)