These Angels
Angels feed on her blood
and they grow white wings.
They drink some more
and they grow another set of wings.
They never get enough.
They never smile.
They never leave.
No one belives
that angels
feed on her blood,
no one but me.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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The Lions
The lions are tired.
Tired of runing,
tired of screaming and fighting,
tired of living,
my life,
their life,
and everybody else's.
The lions are bloody
but tired.
The lions wish,
they wish to kill,
they wish to eat,
they wish to sleep,
but
these lions are tired,
so tired.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Lady
this lady
rejecting my love
a fantasy
giving me pain
a hate
stealing my name
a witch
whipping my soul
a memory
scratching my heart
trying to get out
....but also
a girl
gracefull like her name
bright like a flame
beautifull like rain
colourfull like autumn
through a caleidoscope
a beautiful lady
I once loved
[...] Read more
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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More Than Love Loves To Be Loved
Crying in my broken arms,
as I was bringing her,
closer and closer to my heart.
I hope to never forget this feeling,
that makes me love her
more than love loves to be loved.
My face touches her face,
kissed by the pained tears
that come from the hated past.
I whisper
and I hope she listens
for in them I hold
everything that's true and never lies
all that I feel and never dies,
My love-
-for her.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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A Message To My Juliet
You've shown me just how physically love can be,
and how lustfully a kiss should be.
Since then I have lost it all.
I lost my mind inside your heart,
I lost my soul inside your bed,
I lost my sanity in flames,
I lost my light,
inside the night.
I lost the hate, the anger and the pain,
and got some love, some passion and some rain.
But now that you have went astray,
I can't stand being sane again.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Not 'God'?
Scattered wings of butterflies
Gathers on my grave tonight
The name that scars the stone
Lifeless as my buried bones
shivers...
At the touch of your lips.
Sitting in your knees
The wet cold ground
Is the only touch you get from me now.
I know you are crying.
The weight of the tears
Pushing me
Deeper and deeper into the heart
I left behind
To swear
and wish revenge
on this so called 'God'.
[...] Read more
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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El Dorado Is A Heart
Your flesh is made of gold
brought from afar, on a ship of dreams,
by the creatures of the moon.
that's why all men,
want you in their beds.
And I'm one of them, and at the same time not
for I'm the only one
that sees you as his bride.
Your dreamless worlds were cruel for me,
that's why I create my own
blue little rooms, millions and millions,
where I still feel the warmth of a love
that's flaming out.
Help me survive this apocalypse,
please.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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A hard hard night
The lions
they do not sleep at night
because they need to see you cry
to make you fall in mud and dirt
they need to hear you swear their names
to hit you more and more and more
you do not die but hell you cry
the pain is there and never gone
the blood spilled on the hungry blade
is hot and red and 'delicious' they say
you try to die to get away
by charging them with tight shut eyes
you try to fight to gain your death
to sleep forever without pain.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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A touch of You
'It's like drinking a cup of sun,
in god's back yard,
and wearing his crown as a hat,
as the mountains, move with the speed of light,
around you and me, and the lake of time.
I collapse in you, and you do the same in me.
You burn like a thousand suns.''
It feels a million times better
than I can ever depict it with my humanly words,
but I hope you understand.
Kissing you, feels this way,
and it's not because I'm in love with you,
but because I love you.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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My Stories Of You (chapter four)
Recycled feelings are not enough for me
to be brave and bold
as the hero that lit your fire and left.
In my bed there's no one I dare to put,
no one but you,
but I can't tell you this
for it would make me weak
and you still want a hero
a white horse, a golden armour
a beautiful and empty shell, Adonis of hypocrisy
so tippical for the modern man.
I'm not that,
I'm old, but not the way you want me to be.
I'm old because I still belive in true love,
the reason I'm still here.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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