Rate this poem:0.0 / 0 votes
elysian and the bridge of teriphithia
It is said the gods of Mt. Olympus ate nectar and ambrosia to become immortal as their food
I am their food1
A succulent, virgin suicide masterminding their own restoration as the Devil from the Bible and her accomplice of Devil May Cry 3: Dante's Awakening.
How beautiful it would be with the thick brown legs of the virgin being eaten with the curry of the feeling "redeeming" quality of Aprodigeacts everywhere.
Immortal to man would be my bosom, succinctly revealing only what can be seen by the naked eye, a Cyclopes mounting the Devil within her lips in between her legs.
I have mentioned this before is the poem I made called "A Mystic Tune."
Cast by her own revelations as the Virgin Mary of Norse-Greek myth, I would place myself and my saliva in the immense imagination of Imagination to and impeding IMAGINATION, on which would I own and belong, into a world where I could create my own satyr out of mere thought.
My virgin lips would entangle with the gothic, Victorian cattle and mansions of the Virginian State Commonwealth into Virginian ecstasy of the none-pointed majors of surrealism I administer where I could fumigate and eat and wash my hands all in all in a clean, POLITE society of African-American and Philiinno-Native American youths and gentiles my own age and otherwise.
My thick-skinned, Black, African American bottom would recall never to summon the eon of Final Fantasy, nor the esper of Final Fantasy VI, nor the Guardian Force (GF) and the eidolons of Final Fantasy VIII and Final Fantasy IX to life, but be a peaceful lamb, despite being the Anti-Christ and remain silent as in my Shakespearean play of the tree of life from my Hansel and Gretel ballad of Fallen Angels on which I dramatize my humanity's salvation and or destruction into the abyss we call Hell or Tartarus.
I am neither Lamb nor Lion; I am Ares woman. And I have had enough of summoning when I am lingering on to my Vestial Virgin line just accumulating pro space humanities from my Nefililm sons and daughters of the Apocalypse, called Ions, the Cyclopes, and Titans of Yahweh from the Holy Quran.
I continue practicing the ancient rituals of the Holy Quran, the Holy Bible, and the Holy Torah in addition to the prospects of Satanism and other religions worldwide in silence and respect for their Native-American heritage.
It has come to my attention that the Earth is moving on without my Native-American influence as it seeps into me and believes me into Time. I convert myself into establishing Lost Jerusalem form Xenosaga: Episode One right here in my bedroom and surmise it with ritual and right. I am religious and now a founding father! I create the timeline for the other twelve Jersalems for my ancestral deity Shion Uzuki to unravel in space and time. I can afford to keep myself.
I am rich in oil and Prophet Muhammad. My son, Valfor, from Final Fantasy X, resumes form as Zazu from the Lion King, the animated movie. He continues to grumble at the Baby New Year I am saying that he wants attention, even though he is spoiled out of my mind.
I recently became the Solar System's artificial coin by using Sailor Pluto's Time staff and acquiring the Final Aeon.
I follow the American Dream all the way to Noboue Matsu, the Final Fantasy composer as he swiftly destroys the mainstream medium with the menstrual of Sephiroth of Final Fantasy.
The Virgin Line's imagination is so persuasive that it believes the test of time is a dalry.
I hear Devil Trigger from Devil May Cry 5 and part ways with Micheal Alexanderio. My destiny is to be his outcry and insane asylum of Maester Steiner Seymour Guado, his own reincarnation because I am my own worse nightmare.
I my world I am Twilight Suzuka and Kuja from Final Fantasy IX, Cloud Strife, and Tifa Lockheart and Safer Sephiroth. What's a girl to do, huh?
Submitted by shelina_s on December 26, 2022
Modified by shelina_s
- 3:28 min read
- 4 Views
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:
"elysian and the bridge of teriphithia" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2023. Web. 30 Mar. 2023. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/147089/elysian-and-the-bridge-of-teriphithia>.
Discuss this Shelina Chapman poem with the community:
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
You need to be logged in to favorite.