Rodin – The Gates of Hell

“What would you do for me?” She asked

As the night wind tangled the strawberry blonde across her shoulders

“What would you do, if I should give you my heart?”

“What weight of rich man’s gold could come by the wagon load to pay for such a prize?”

“Do you think you can summon all the stars from the sky for me”

“For so Immortal a gift, would you give me the heart of the universe in return?”

She reached out
and taking his hands into hers, noticed for the first time
the deep scars in his palms

and to the question that flared in her eyes, at such a sight, he said

“They are from the first time your soul and mine were separated by death”

“I burned them on the gates of hell”

“As I went to bring you home”

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Flamethrower Heart

Anyone who has read my poetry knows I love to add a little sci-fi into it every now and then.
Kindra has won my interest and my heart with this piece. I love it so much because of the powerful impact it has as well as the elements that I love to incorporate into my own work.

Please visit her page and look at some of her other works! She’s a fantastic wordsmith with a beautiful and artistic way of expressing herself.

Kindra M. Austin



I, girl-child


Mother fix me

In your image

Go for the kill

Words are systematic


Reassure you

Own my image

Go for the kill

I will be good

Words are systematic


Glitch in the program

I am fifteen, black as rage


Words are systematic

You lacked my level

And I grew tired

You reeled me back in

Words are systematic


I am good wife



Learned behavior

Thanks to you, Mom

Words are systematic

Fuck when he wants

Eat when he wants

Sleep when he wants

Cry when he wants

Run when he wants

Words are systematic


Daughter, just a babe

Speaks to me the loving truth

And I break my bonds

I break the circle

I break free

See my flamethrower heart

I am mother lioness

I am real LOVE

I am individual

I am woman

I am truth

See my…

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But, I am no temple…

When I think about what I want my Poetry to leave behind and what I want to do with it…THIS! This is what I ultimately want from my poetry. To inspire, to fan the flames of other magnificent people in this world and kindle their own ability to write with their heart. For this wonderful and beautiful woman to see herself in something I’ve written and to produce this to match it. No, not match, to build upon and surpass what I have written. I can’t describe what an honor this is and how much it fills my heart with joy. This is what I want my words to do and I’m beyond words to describe how happy this makes me.

If you have not visited her before, I encourage you to go and see what how bright and powerful her fire is.

Bold, Beat... &Nipless

(I wrote this in response to Temple, by Eric from My Sword and Shield!!! Please check his piece out, and all of his work as he as inspired me to think out the box so many times!)

You see me as your temple? but if only you knew me a few years back? it would probably fuck up your mental?

Would adoration be offered if you knew me when I was a shack? So open and broken? when self love and respect was what I lacked?

I used to let the village use me? so desperate to be occupied, the overwhelming blasphemy I allowed to invade my walls and later on led to just confuse me..

Okay?okay? no need to to dwell on it? I caught wind of the deceit? I emptied out what they made of me? found my self and somewhat got back on my feet?…

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Her heart
is an artifact
of ancient days
of golden greek fire
in sunsets
and the fickle smile
of a summer goddess
brown waves woven
between a wreath of laurels
and the roaring adulation
of an adoring congregation
voices raised in prayer
runes drawn in the dust
as I untie her sandal straps
the majesty of
cream marble colonnades
statuary depicting her sweet form
flourishing in graceful concert
carved with my heretical hand
from inky quills
dipped in the darkest colors
of her eyes
written by the deepest echoes
of my blood

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I miss you
not the illusion of these temporary places
where are souls are trapped
I miss the electrical backlash
of our flesh meeting
strength sapping sting
grounding out into a dull ache and deep breaths
I miss the wind
weaving the dark threads of your hair
into the stubble at my cheeks
the way it would feel that I was anchored to you
the way I knew my heart would always be
I miss the days when nothing
but the sea
could come between us
and I would tear pages
from my heart
and send them floating back to you
on the salty surface
I know my eyes have created these waters
and I hope that every tear I shed
increases the odds that
one day this all becomes a raging ocean
and I will
standing on my flotsam island
finally sink beneath the waves
and surrender to the crushing black

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in a back country crossroad
in the low hanging haze
of a hot summer night
my footfalls are drowned
by the roar of cicadas
near an old oak
with the august moon
caught high in its branches
she sat side-saddle
on a weathered fence
she noticed the bloody quill
in my back pocket
and jumping down from her perch
the ground boiled around her toes
she said she could see
the blood of the bards
flowing in my veins
and I sold my soul
for a wink from her emerald eye
and a white-hot kiss
from her poetic lips

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Blood Into Ink Writing Prompt Challenge: Blood Letting/Eric Syrdal

So grateful to be posted on this amazing site. Thank you to Christine as a host and as a wonderful poet I am proud to know.

Blood Into Ink

once again
summoned to this place
against her will
never shy from battle
never austere
in the face of consequence
ever rising up against
that which would seek
to pin a name tag on her

yet again she finds
she is brought back
to answer for deeds of which
she is guiltless
the crime is tied
to the drawing of steel
ambition to claim
far beyond what the universe
decides is available

pursuit of oneness of mind
control over her vital organs of reproduction
more so
to decide
reliant upon her own free will
to cover her curves
behind plates of iron
hard armor protects supple skin
from the caustic glare of
an angry and jealous world

or might she
remove her breastplate
and cast it to the earth
her vorpal blade
slicing effortlessly through
the hide straps that
cling it to her
the metal clanging to the

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A Room So Still and Quiet It Hurts: A Collaboration of Warriors

So honored to be part of this amazing group of poets to deal with a subject so critical to the existence of human kind. We need to understand depression better, what it does to us and how we can help each other along its broken path.

Blood Into Ink


In memory of Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell and all that wrestle with the demon of depression and have walked too close to the edge of the abyss.

Christine Ray

In a room so still and silent

That it hurts

Stark white walls

Razor sharp edges

Etch my soul

Draw blood

That drips slowly


From my mouth

I am trapped

Like a fly in amber

Time stands still

The air is thick

Holds me motionless

In this prison cell

I feel vibration

A silent scream building

From my depths

Rachel Finch

Barricaded, her aura stifles

in the quiet.

Walls closing in, silence


Her mind internally

burning, blistering.

His voice a faint echo,

worlds away.

Rana Kelly

I tell them they’re lying,

The monsters that cling

To the lobes and whorls

Of my ears.

They laugh and go on.

I pull the covers up

To my chin and let…

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I remember days
of sun-burnt skin
of aching cheeks
stretching wide smiles
across my teeth
I, the proud explorer
rover of the briny blue-green
to find this jewel
this atoll of benediction
in a sea of doubt
and long are the days of endless horizons
and long are the nights of breaking surf and siren song
they call to me to drown myself
in their beauty
they call to me
to return to the place where I was made
and to leave my heart
on the shore

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It’s memories
such as these
of smell and color
a palette of warm experience
textures felt with the brain
emotions flaring like a steam engine
the gauge needle pinned to the red
pressure dictates movement
her muscles contract
raising her arms
to pull her breastplate
woven from fabrics of ancient desert lands
up and over her playful smile
in the space of a single heartbeat
I wait an eternity to be rejoined
with her lips
concealed as they are
by that which
once discarded
will only bring more of her
in contact with me
she flings the offending garment
across the room
the leader of a rebellion
throwing down the flag
of the ousted government
and now I will ride an avalanche
of her hair and skin
down the mountainside of our desire
to lie at the bottom
in a tangled mass
buried alive under the weight
of her love

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