A Child’s Step
’twas dark and dank upon the bog,
All covered o’er by mist and fog,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Rotting oaks, their branches stark,
Peat and lichen, bog moss, dark.
Soggy ground befouled and ill
Putrid rot of waters still,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
But none to see her. Not one who cared.
Alone, forsaken, cold, and scared.
Her parents loved her, so they said,
They raised her, kept her clothed and fed,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
“We gave her everything she wanted,
But still she mocked us, cursed and taunted.”
Iron fist in velvet glove,
Was all she knew of parents’ love.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
She was a child of neglect,
But they demanded her respect.
She’d ranted, shouted, sought attention,
They’d decried such fevered invention,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
She’d craved but love, a parent’s devotion,
They drained her soul of all emotion.
And at thirteen, yet still a child,
She’d wandered off into the wild.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Down the wooded lane she ran,
Until she saw a shadowed man.
‘Beware of strangers’ she’d been taught,
Such as they with dangers fraught.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
The man was bearded, his step did quicken,
She turned to flee, trembling, stricken.
What could she do but turn away?
From strong, stout path she went astray.
A child’s step so out of place,
Might disappear without a trace.
And thus avoiding unknown stranger,
Plunged unwitting there to danger.
Off the path so old and true,
Through the meadow damp with dew.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
O’er the fence of rough hewn log,
She found herself upon the Bog.
Bogbean grows in shallow waters,
Creeping rhizomes, hairy flowers.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Bog Oak hard and blackened wood,
Limbs that cross, a grotesque rood
Yet no redemption, no escape,
As feet upon this rough ground scrape.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
No savior here, within the fog,
For those that err into the bog.
She roams the bog, her way is lost.
Free at last, but what the cost?
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
And so begins the child fair
To feel the tendrils of despair.
Running, searching for the trail,
Tears are streaming, face is pale,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Her pursed lips emit a wail,
Woe to her and her sad tale
The black night’s silence ripped asunder,
Imagined scream or merely thunder?
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
She turns to run, escape, to flee,
But in her haste, she doesn’t see.
She sinks in mud and fetid mire,
The need to flee her sole desire.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
With malice doth the mud hold tight,
The other foot sinks out of sight.
And as she struggles to free her foot,
From brackish slime as black as soot,
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Within her builds a scream so manic,
Erupting forth as full fledged panic.
Woe to he that e’er forgets,
The more you struggle, the worse it gets.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
’twill suck you in – the bog’s a keeper,
Remain ye calm, or you’ll sink deeper.
Gasping, rasping, panic filled,
Clothes all muddied, bones stone chilled.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Clawing at the peaty loam,
Her thoughts return once more to home.
At home, ’tis true, she hated all,
But any haven in a squall…
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
She foundered in this sea of lime,
No refuge here, just noxious slime,
In murky sludge n’ pity she wallowed,
Gagging, rancid water swallowed.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
Her cries for help revert to tears,
A shameful waste of thirteen years.
Yielding to the fear and cold,
Life withdraws, and death takes hold.
A child’s step in this foul place,
Shall disappear without a trace.
And then one day the bones they’ll find,
What carrion birds have left behind.
To the Bog with dread they pace,
Her disappearance now to face.
Empty hearted, heads a’bow,
They cannot comprehend just how,
A child’s step in that foul place,
Could disappear without a trace.
by Mike Berlin
A Crack in the wall
A crack in the wall, despite thick coat
Lean tepid river of thick blood
The skin of the night, look at me well
Not knowing, the ultimate, long nail.
Grief, pain, anxiety of life,
Nothing, in this form, you have felt
Anger, tears and all that you strive
Waiting upside down, it’s there.
Sleeping without dream, a curse
A heaving sigh, measureless joy
See things, dig inside with the stuffs
Breathe out with the soot of the lamp.
by Gopal Lahiri
A Cry From The Soul
Trapped with nowhere to turn, life is changing beyond my control,
causing this deep ache in the bottom of my soul.
Someone else is pulling the strings,
oh to fly, oh for wings.
Escape, I want to dig my self out,
filled with despair, filled with doubt.
Mute not able to express,
this gnawing pain and feeling of relentless distress.
Tears that are not visible to the naked eye,
silent screams that no one can hear.
I try to speak but nothing can express,
this feeling of sadness and worthlessness.
Emotional pain, walks with me through the day,
and sleeps with me through the night,
leaving me depletes with no strength to fight.
Anger for not having the courage to turn things around,
keeping me anchored to this remorse,
not able to untie the chains and change my course.
False pride rules supreme,
always there to whisper in my ear.
Time, wasted and badly spent,
lots of hurt, lots to repent.
Solace, please come and calm my soul,
for this is what I need to make me whole.
Empathy, what I need is for someone to see,
someone to see the real me.
Love with no strings,
just giving generously amongst other things.
Words, when used as a weapon can cut like a knife,
capable of doing so much damage and take the joy out of life,
but softly spoken and softly expressed
can bring so much happiness.
By Charlene Valladares
A Hero
Three times I had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there.
Three times I drove the demon out,
Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
And yet I know beyond a doubt
He’ll get me yet, he’ll get me yet.
I know I’m mad, I ought to tell
The doctors, let them care for me,
Confine me in a padded cell
And never, never set me free;
But Oh how cruel that would be!
For I am young – and comely too . . .
Yet dim my demon I can see,
And there is but one thing to do.
Three times I beat the foul fiend back;
The fourth, I know he will prevail,
And so I’ll seek the railway track
And lay my head upon the rail,
And sight the dark and distant train,
And hear its thunder louder roll,
Coming to crush my cursed brain . . .
Oh God, have mercy on my soul!
By Robert W. Service
A Night In Sorrow
I watch as the blood trickles down my arm
I close my eyes and hope for you to come.
I never knew what it was like to be alone
All I want for you to do is come back home.
I feel the pain, the burning and the pleasure
I feel so confused and so full of pressure
I sit in this dark room with no one around
All I want from you is love and care
I notice that I won’t get my wish
But now I wait for the sun to rise.
To fill this room with light.
As I watch I see how many scars I have
Bleeding for desire and pain
I look in the mirror of my room and look
I watch as these tears flow endlessly and
What I realize what I was waiting for
was for me to return to normal.
By Kita
A Rainy Night
stood idle in the doorway of his shop
the dark winter rain glossed harrow road
with here and there a shadow hurrying
yet those few people crowd the street with mood
that makes the rain fall slower than it should
where falls on forms or shapes into the night
the brief, imagined outlines of our hopes
it cannot be that simple breezes frame
those fearful crowds who spit
icy splinters into the traffic beam
or if he sees a customer, and nods
at blurs of black, pushed by occult street gods
along the crowded pavement’s gleamy slate
or never will close up and go indoors
just leave the phantom mob to have the street
with all its empty promises and broken lives
light nudging feebly out, dark flooding in
he is as drowned as one long lost at sea
and after he is gone, his form will stand
still in the doorway of his dust greyed shop
then customers will finally come by
for only then will he have
what they need
by André Rostant
A Scarecrow
It does not hurts
only hands
are sore from writing
carefully punctured numbers
will reveal
origin secret of puppet
dressed festively
as an Easter bowl
I would scream
oh how I would scream
but there are children’s at home
and the silence so rarely
runs through my hall
I feel revulsion to the core
to all those places
anniversaries and celebrations
I’m simply disgust with
inaccurately shaved meat
and I just can’t stand
a color and shape of
veterinary supervision stamp
by Marcin Malek
Behind These Walls
They watch the world
with open eyes.
They haunt the world
with an open mind.
They see you move
as you live in this world.
But behind these walls
lies a deep, dark universe,
one where the light can’t shine through.
A world where they lurk,
they play and hide.
Behind these walls, there’s a world inside.
If you dare to look
or even hear,
go ahead, face your fear.
You’ll join this world
one cruel day.
So sad it’ll be,
but they can’t hear you say…
Behind these walls
lies a deep dark universe,
one where the light can’t shine through!
A world where they lurk
and play and hide.
Behind these walls there’s a world inside…
By Jenna
Big Blaze of Flame Pantoum
Big blaze of flame, self empathy.
Intense flare, for my love or rage.
Heat of desire, please don’t burn me.
Blaze to steer, hell or heaven ways.
Intense flare, for my love or rage.
I ask to master, your great heat.
Blaze to steer, hell or heaven ways.
My dreams and right way, please give lit
I ask to master, your great heat.
Flame that myself, will be scorch.
My dreams and right way, please give lit
You’re my feelings ink, that will torch.
Flame that myself, will get scorch.
Fire greater than, my whole image.
You’re my feelings ink, that will torch.
Senses are the burn, for voyage.
Fire greater than, my whole image.
Heat of desire, please don’t burn me.
Senses are the burn, for voyage.
Big blaze of flame, self empathy.
Author Note: This is a poem about the heat we feel inside that devours us to positive or negative way.
by Alvin Williard A. Aquino
Burn The Beauty
One does not own beauty.
One creates it.
In their dreams,
They feel they can obtain it.
All alone, in a dark night’s
rest.
All their thoughts…
Lifeless.
Cursed by change
Hidden by lies,
Running from the truth.
Beauty now dies.
They don’t understand.
They don’t really care.
Beauty now burns
Smoke in the air.
Years go by,
And age seeps in.
Beauty’s worn out,
Life is giving in.
Death creeps up,
Beauty now cries.
You’re all alone
In your beautiful lies!
By Elizabeth McCrorie
Circus In Three Rings
In the circus tent of a hurricane
designed by a drunken god
my extravagant heart blows up again
in a rampage of champagne-colored rain
and the fragments whir like a weather vane
while the angels all applaud.
Daring as death and debonair
I invade my lion’s den;
a rose of jeopardy flames in my hair
yet I flourish my whip with a fatal flair
defending my perilous wounds with a chair
while the gnawings of love begin.
Mocking as Mephistopheles,
eclipsed by magician’s disguise,
my demon of doom tilts on a trapeze,
winged rabbits revolving about his knees,
only to vanish with devilish ease
in a smoke that sears my eyes.
By Sylvia Plath
Climbing
High up in the apple tree climbing I go,
With the sky above me, the earth below.
Each branch is the step of a wonderful stair
Which leads to the town I see shining up there.
Climbing, climbing, higher and higher,
The branches blow and I see a spire,
The gleam of a turret, the glint of a dome,
All sparkling and bright, like white sea foam.
On and on, from bough to bough,
The leaves are thick, but I push my way through;
Before, I have always had to stop,
But to-day I am sure I shall reach the top.
Today to the end of the marvelous stair,
Where those glittering pinacles flash in the air!
Climbing, climbing, higher I go,
With the sky close above me, the earth far below.
by Amy Lowell
Cold Dark Corner
There’s a cold dark corner
in the back of my room,
it speaks to me
and says I’m coming for you.
As I lie on my bed
in the fetal position,
my eyes are closed
hoping and wishing.
Maybe that one day
my dreams will come true,
that I don’t have to be here
so down and blue.
The corner keeps talking
about how I’m going to die,
all I can do
is lie there and cry.
As the corner gets closer
and takes me in,
my soul starts to burn
as so does my skin.
My bones shall lie there
turning to dust,
my bed surrounding
nothing but rust.
Ву Blake Duffy
Darkness’ Grasp
I’m swimming all alone in a pool of darkness,
and I feel like darkness is slowly pulling me under.
I yell for help, but no one is there to hear it.
I begin to see the water at eye level
and I kick and flail,
fighting to stay above the darkness,
But the darkness won’t let go of its hold on me,
and I slowly begin to give in,
to the feeling that lies below the water line.
The waters starts to fill my lungs,
the lungs that once held so much life,
yet now they allow the murky water to replace that.
I know that this path doesn’t lead to happiness,
but why doesn’t someone grab my hand,
pull me from darkness’s grasp?
Because no one knows I stand at the boundary,
the boundary between light and dark,
so I give in to the thing that holds me.
All of the strength and all of the courage
that I once held in my heart
can’t save me from the water,
so I slowly slip below the world of consciousness,
undetected by the occupants of that world.
I don’t want to fight anymore.
I’ve given into darkness.
By Leah Sarah-May Wells
Demon’s Wrath
Whisper it, don’t let them hear.
Be careful; it’s them you should fear.
Follow them, do what they say,
And for your sake, don’t run away.
Their hearts are as black as black can be.
Their souls chill you to the bone, don’t you see?
They’ll lure you into their arms and tear you apart.
Then they’ll suck the blood out of your heart,
Leave you gasping for air that surrounds you.
I know it sounds unreal, like it’s not true,
But don’t look at them, don’t ask who they are.
Their darkness surrounds us from afar.
Don’t provoke them, don’t make them mad,
For if you do, the outcome could be bad.
The demons will rise through the land.
The darkness will clasp your cold, icy hand.
You’ll remember all your darkened power,
And the demons will rise in the night’s darkest hour.
They’ll lead you to a darker path,
And you’ll be the one to unleash the demon’s wrath.
By Shianne
Depression Is Never Ending
Depression is here every day,
And it never goes away.
Go away! I yell into the dark,
As if someone is there.
I feel as if I’m a prisoner
In the dungeon’s lair.
And as always, no one cares.
Do I dare?
Dare to care about anyone but me?
Could it be,
Someone there?
Someone there to care?
No, just an image.
That’s the way it will always be,
No matter how hard I try.
I just want to get by.
I go through life day by day.
I thought pain was supposed
To go away with time,
But it’s not.
It’s still here,
Here with the fear,
Fear that I will get hurt more.
By Sarah Boston
Desertedness Groans
Desertedness Groans
Desertedness groans and moans,
That a shepherd feeds the bellies of his herd,
But sleeps himself undined, empty bellied;
The labourer though toils day and night,
Yet pants, wheezes for two meals;
The peasant sows and harvests the crop,
And distributes the grain among others,
Extinguishing the fire of his own hearth.
Why the kids: the offspring of the sweating,
Toiling labourer not get the sustenance,
Inscribed, incorporated in the scrolls of fate?
Why doesn’t the mystery divulge itself at last?
Desertedness groans and moans.
by Shahida Latif
Devil’s-Bit
My body was chilled the night I awoke
For a vision was fresh in my mind,
Of a woman I’d seen in a black-as-night cloak
And I swear she was not of my kind.
She stood at my side as I opened my eyes
I could see nor her head nor her face,
Her outline was etched by bright burning fires
At her throat she wore ruffled black lace.
She lifted her hand and touched my cheek
I felt my body and soul catch alight,
I opened my mouth and tried to speak
But my mind was numb with fright.
She turned away and beckoned to me
Mesmerised I got to my feet,
I had to follow if I was to be free
As she walked out into the street.
She never looked back nor spared me a glance
As I walked behind her down the road,
I followed the woman like a man in a trance
And my mind not my body bore the load.
She stopped at last before a great door
In the shadows she stood then knocked twice,
I gazed in wonder for I’d been here before
And my heart was gripped in a vice.
The door was opened and we walked inside
In the church I smelt death in the air,
At the altar I saw a young woman, a bride
She was young and a beauty so fair.
She faced the door figure clad all in black
The candles and chalice the same,
Then the woman who stood silently at my back
Touched my arm and called out my name.
‘You’ve been chosen from many to witness tonight
A marriage between evil and good,
This consummation between darkness and light
Among all of Satan’s brotherhood.’
Then from all around me there arose silently
A mass of creatures obscene,
They stood and laughed and pointed at me
And I prayed that this must be a dream.
The woman behind me then spoke up again
‘You will stand right here through it all,
Feel with that girl the ecstatic pain
For the master will soon grace this hall.’
The door burst open and all fell to the floor
As the prince of darkness strode past,
I shook with fear at the look that he wore
As he stopped and his eyes on me cast.
He lifted a hand that was more like a claw
Then pointed at me as he smiled
I thought only of flight and glanced at the door
But I knew I was already defiled.
‘Bear witness this night that I’m real and alive
And not part of a book that you’ve read,
Remember that good and not evil shall strive
And that evil will forever stay ahead.’
So saying he turned and walked up the aisle
I felt weak so alone and afraid,
My body was shaking and my mouth filled with bile
For tonight a price would be paid.
The girl at the altar stood facing us all
As Satan strode onward towards her,
She drew herself up, smiled and stood tall
Awaiting her lord Lucifer.
He stopped before her and ripped off her gown
She stood naked with arms open wide,
Taking her hands he pulled her down
On the altar the devil took his bride.
I stared at the scene with my hands clenched tight
I tried but could not turn my face,
I experienced it all in the dim candlelight
Until at last he released his embrace.
The devil laughed and threw back his head
My god he was evil and cruel,
He walked back to me, smiled and said:
‘Go look at the woman you fool.’
I slowly walked to where the girl lay
She was bruised and her body was torn,
I looked into the face of the devil’s prey
And I cursed the day I was born.
She lay in her blood all naked and white
Defiled to the end of her life,
I looked into eyes that once shone bright
Eyes that belonged to my wife.
I fell to my knees and began to pray
Surely god this must be a dream?
Then I looked at my bride of only one day
In the church all I heard was my scream.
by Jim Kirby
Dinner Date
Silently he stalked,
Where the nameless walked
Patrolling midnights beat
With heavy, dragging feet.
Creature of shadowland
Lawman, with gun in hand.
Fog smothers everywhere
Shrouding the killing lair.
Evil prowls the dead street;
Echoes of muffled feet,
Silently, people past,
Dripping hearts, racing fast.
Poster on shop window peers,
As photo fit face leers.
Front pages scream in fear.
Midnight ripper, comes here.
Beware this savage beast,
Beware his human feast.
Woman caught, out alone.
Whispers to her cell phone.
Grey form on poster glares,
Transfixed, she stops and stares.
Shadow flits across her face,
Warm heart begins to race….
Scents of fear, fill the street,
Sweat trickles in the heat,
A scream, a trip, fall…
Bold lawman, answers call,
Gently, he takes her arm,
“I’ll keep you safe from harm.”
She flicks strawberry hair,
Relieved to be in his care.
Lawman guides her through town,
Tense face looks up and down,
“You look tasty, my dear…”
Blue eyes widen with fear.
He smiled.
She froze.
by P.J.Reed
Drowning. Not Waving
Weeping in a moaning wind,
The willow waves goodbye.
Rustling leaves, caressing
The shivering grass.
Startled, shrieking
Circling flocks of flapping
Blackness, wheel and fly.
They will not sing for me.
Rogue branches stir the waters,
Heavy laden droplets crash
Deafen my ears, Ripples run
Fleeing from my gaze.
You tried to run away from me,
The footfalls in crushed grasses
Betray your final gasp
As floating in the waters
Your face slips from my grasp.
by P.J.Reed
Hidden Things
I had a dream
I was poisoned with distress
hidden deep in the weeping willow
where all things are dark and gloomy.
It’s a place where all time stops
nothing move, noise
just sadness
there’s so much grief
you can’t imagine the pain
in your heart.
When you’re there it seems like you
go in a trance
from all the sadness surrounding
your life and others.
Was this just a dream
or
Reality?
Pain is something you can NEVER escape.
By Danielle
I Will Wear Masks
In times of trouble and insanity,
I carry masks to disguise
the pain I carry
secure behind my eyes.
I can never let out again
the misery I hide.
To hell with my dignity,
to hell with my pride.
From this day forward,
and forevermore,
I will mount this mask
that will be my lore.
No reaching out when I am weak,
no solace will I seek.
When you look for answers,
when you say your prayers,
all you will see are masks,
and no pain that I bare
By Joe Dirt
Im All Alone!
I’m fine in the fire,
I’m right where I should be,
Don’t try to fix me!
I like the pain,
I love the darkness,
I’m used to it,
I’m broken forever,
It’s impossible to fix me,
I cry myself to sleep,
I cut till blood pours,
I have scars on my wrist,
I love screaming music,
I see things that aren’t there,
I guess the devils speaking to me,
He chose me,
So there I will go,
666,
My favorite number!
I’m fine in the fire!
I’m all alone
By Tabbatha P.
In The End
I implore with the word’s strength
in front of the empty throne
all the Gods that I know. No one
answered me. I hope that is not too soon
or too late to enter into the Autumn’s secrets.
I’m closing the window, my heart
falls down within my chest and I try
to conjure the Moon’s light to come closer
so I could reborn from your body and soul.
I remember my mother’s face… The tornado
is getting closer and closer… The sky
is above me, the water plays with my feet
beneath the Earth’s crust… Torches are burning,
going through the endless night.
Silence is waiting, my soul is waiting,
bitten by love, I sprinkle blood on everything
that still breath, on everything that has been
a part of you. On the hills only the horses
stay still, without fear.
I can’t do this no more, my eyes are closing,
I’m falling down and the wind’s fury swing my being from side to side and above me a hole is growing till no sky remains. Suddenly I wake up.
Open my eyes and I see the Blue Angel’s grotesque face. I’m not afraid, I’m ready for this sacrifice. He screams and swallows me.
P.S. Nothing is better than a new beginning!…
By Gemma
Just A Small Cut
Crimson red fills the bowl and I think I’m going to be sick.
With every thing spinning so fast I cannot breath.
Walls closing in and everything fades.
Fashes of light come by, one, by one.
Feeling sleepy not knowing your name.
Not knowing mine.
There it is. my favorite thing of all this,
ah the feeling of pain is gone from before and new form enters me.
Laying here waiting for you to come home.
I open my eyes and see flashes of you and me from before you went.
You walk inside.
You call to me and wait for an answer.
You hear small light breaths coming from the bathroom.
thinking it is me, you walk down the hall with a smile.
the kind that makes your knees go week.
You walk in. Oh god, is all you can think.
I’m trying to look up at you but I can’t move.
a cold chill comes over me as you pick me up.
You say we are going to the hospital and that everything will be ok.
You rush me in.
Blood running down.
The nurse rushes you to a bed so I can lay down.
I can hear you asking her something.
But I can’t make out the words.
I feel something cold and wet touch my face then my arm.
I feel the prick of a sharp object go in my right arm.
The nurse says that I need stitches because the wound is to deep.
I feel the thread go in and out through my arm.
And a band-aid go around and around.
After I have slept for two days they let you in.
I can move again and open my eyes.
You say that I got 76 stitches because the cuts were way to deep.
And that I almost died.
I pull off the band-aid and look.
I see over 20 cuts and begin to cry.
You tell me its ok and we will get some help.
About 5 years later.
We have two to deal with ourselves.
Jake and Emma.
A beautiful baby boy and baby girl.
The scars are still there.
Some times I wish I could go back 5 years and change what I did do so I can make it right.
By Kassie
Losing Myself
My eyes close.
I’m holding onto
my memories
and hatred.
My slumber
all alone in my head…
so silent.
I can’t explain the way
my tears run blood along my veins.
If I let go of my pain,
I’ll cease to be, give into the plague…
War is coming,
I can hear it in my heart.
Blood will flow
along the grounds of the innocent.
I can’t deceive
the darkness anymore…
I’m letting go, I’m losing control of myself…
you beat me down,
so low and now
I’m crying my soul.
I’m losing control.
You led me to
a place where I
can’t feel my face…
Death is just an anesthetic
for what’s to come.
A body left behind with no face,
feeling numb.
All alone, I cry here,
fading into nothing.
All alone I lie here
dying…
…losing myself…
By Remnant
Mind Decay
From a dark room came destruction,
A twisted plot to kill the world.
To show the power of one mind’s corruption,
From a dark room, his plan unfurled.
He set to work, it gave him pleasure,
His fingers moving with skill and ease.
He took his time, he felt no pressure,
The intention, built by this wretched disease.
But then something surfaced, a force of resistance,
To combat his thoughts, stop them completely.
They shattered his dreams, put an end to his visions,
They caught him in hiding and killed him discreetly.
His ideas were never copied, his plans, never set in motion,
For his secrets died with him, at the bottom of the ocean.
by Jeffrey T. Bender
Mulberry Circle
Jack’s back.
That jack’s an ass.
He’s so damn crude.
He’s all I hate.
He’ll catch me unaware,
embarrass me,
make me look crass and rude.
He’ll itch me
till I scratch and people stare.
He got me in such trouble
in my youth.
Around and round we go.
But he’s no fool!
The stupid grin’s on me
as he speaks truth.
He must be very wise
to be so cruel.
At night his weasel eyes
invade my dreams.
I’m calm. I’m cool.
He’s planning his attack.
The better I become,
the more he schemes.
I’d kill him if I could.
But I am Jack.
I ought to let him out,
yet I buy locks.
One hand on lid
I shove him in his box.
by Glen Martin Fitch
Nesferatu – Bled Before Your Dead
Wherein my art do hearts perceive,
Of fear for what’s conceived? Concealed!
Behind a veil where phantoms lurk,
And apparitions dream. To seize!
The thoughts which tangle as they irk,
And visions of what feels deceived,
Are images in eerie need,
Of words of trust
– Relieved! What grieves,
For graven shades of pale?
In bodies now anemic, frail,
Their shadows grasp for what they know,
Are lives of those who cannot glow,
From inside tombs of darkness…… caught!
By crypts of dreams and nightmares fraught,
And nothings real cept sinews taut,
In depths of earth where all is nought……… and
-Slow…… And vaults are now the shell you’ve found,
As trapped you are beneath the ground,
Reflecting all of what he’d tell,
In shrouds of tales that cast their spell,
On those who live despondence, once….
A stranger, who amongst us wants,
Forlorn, to friend ….. we never tokened as our end.
A nauseous patient tempted wait,
Requires the lives of those whose fate,
The Nesferatu longs to find, create,
A newly founded sense of state.
Through veins destined to drain, to ache,
When dried to brittle sense of break.
Until no longer mortal bait,
Their emptied by his needy wait.
And then he’ll sense depleted hate,
Until consumes another’s fate,
Someone’s life who’ll linger, sate
His craving yearns for thirsts abate.
And so in fleeting sights his greed,
And need for blood…….
…….To gush……..,
Shall glimpse your life because you stood,
Before his specter, you’ll be led,
Attracted by his grace and dread,
Toward a lifeless grave you’ll rush,
And scream eternal fear unsaid,
Within his spell, now cast undead,
To dark and sculptured forms you’ve fled,
Whose arms carress with charm, the harm,
Ensures your bled, before your dead.
by David Hollywood
No more but faith
My world is rusted
and don in a hoarfrost coat
to make a bard of hustler
gods had to skip the code
this may seems wild
but gods are making things
not always as mankind
no soul have wings
and yet it’s rises all along
or wind – a jolly lad
despite the lack of tongue
still whistles like a mad
my world is straight
and narrow as poet words
demands no more but faith
of ever-anxious gods
by Marcin Malek
October Requiem
The bruising fist of poverty knuckles you into place
The spiteful howl of wind and rain lash your human grace
So cold your fingers raw and cracked
Shredded numbness sharks your back
Looking for somewhere warm and safe
But thundering skies kill your fate
You hiss and wheeze
You try to breathe
Chopping for air as Nature bleeds
Weeping clouds drown your cries
And rivers of pain cradle your sighs
A swan of beauty lifts you through
Anchoring you to a sea of blue
Calm now sweet, painted clear
A crown of hope blunts your fear
As pink geraniums blush your heart
And dreams of better trumpet the stars .
by Saira Viola
Out Out
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.
By Robert Frost
Pain Became My Friend Today
Pain became my friend today
She showed me how to hide
She’d been watching from a distance
Every tear I cried
Pain became my friend today
She reached out her hand to me
Then pulled me into darkness
And introduced me to misery
Pain became my friend today
Emptying my heart
Staying as my constant companion
Tearing me apart
Pain became my friend today
She isolates my soul
Without her I am nothing
In her I’m consoled
Pain became my friend today
When she saw me kneel down and cry
Then she lay down right next to me
To kiss my joy good-bye
Pain became my friend today
She introduced me to the sorrow
Who showed me how to dwell in agony
And fear the break of tomorrow
Pain became my friend today
Making my heart cold
Pain became my friend today
The only hand I hold
by Shannen Wrass
Parting
Only a frigid zephyr left from her trace-
Reigned over the room that was once a warm place;
Only a pale moon sheded light on my dim view-
Showed but a shadow that have lost you.
Tranquility of the night wafted voices in my head-
Past voices serenaded like songs for a dead.
Nostalgic reminiscence had nothing but reminded me-
To utter sorrows I sooth beared after glee;
Filled with blue, sat impassively in my arrest-
Died down by sorrows of loss with sluggish gest;
And heaved a deep sigh of despair-
Retired heavily on my old made lime chair.
My vapid eyes were closed like asleep-
Just to repulse myself not to weep;
Yet my heart teared desperately at that moment,
And have thought to myself these are where I meant.
I should stick out every night in my life-
The pain like a stab by a knife;
That the wound doesn’t heal after time,
But gets worser like a chronic crime.
Thou tempest won’t still-
Inside me, that keeps me ill;
With my regrets from my deeds,
Render void only upon death leads.
Set sail in the sea before heavy waves,
Aboard the unwilled captain who craves;
Longing for something does not exist before him,
Will turn his voyage a null and dim.
I should have not steered this course,
What beauty it’d brought, without thee was just a curse;
That blossomy flowers were meaningful only before thy ears,
Morning light was been so promising only when I saw thee for some years.
It could have been me feeling thy warmth from thy love,
If only I treated it as greater as above;
I should have gave thee comfort,
But rather the one that caused thee discomfort.
Thou I, what a fool thou hast been,
I wasted the most ever queen;
Too late to realize,
That your love had come demise.
Time and space are before us to shape our fate,
Once given unto us, treasure it and celebrate;
And we shall commit none any mistake,
It only comes once, so hold it firm that nothing could ever shake.
by Kim Amor
Primrose Rose
Silently, they stopped to stare,
At the freak with raven hair,
His eyes rings of Dante black,
Angry looks burnt through his back.
Strange black clothes flapped in the air.
Flying back to darkened lair.
Primrose Close, closed its eyes,
Abnormals were despised.
Close people; pillars of good,
Bedrock, of their neighbourhood.
They must be rid of this thing,
It was either Close or Him…
Nice rose woman grew flowers,
Tending garden for hours,
Poor old woman left alone,
Husband ran away from home;
Roses blossomed pink and red.
Left no trace where husband bled…
City Banker, number One,
Works in cat shelter for fun.
Brings home strays of the City.
Model of care and pity.
Fur coats are her only vice,
Never wears the same one twice…
Number four is Dr. Pace
White coat and a kindly face.
Some patients give him pleasure
He enjoys them at leisure.
Watching limbs lying twitching.
In glass jars in his kitchen…
Hidden in the smallest nook.
Shy, school teacher ticks his book.
Enslaved with education
Spends evenings on Chat Nation
Befriends lonely teenage girls,
Loves the ones with Mommys’ curls…
Freak flew home, the Close stood still.
Silent curses of ill will.
Hidden in his bedroom lair,
No one saw his hungry stare.
White collars bored him to tears.
Blank people with stagnant fears.
The loathing ripped through his heart.
Close and him were far apart.
They would never feel his need,
Watching Normals’ fear and bleed.
Deathly pale and feeling ill.
Slunk out silently to kill…
by Rainbow Reed
Rain
Rain
it’s like it never goes away
it explains all of my fear and pain.
Do you think it will ever go away?
If it does
I wonder what will happen
maybe a rainbow will appear
and all of my pain will disappear.
Or maybe the love of my life will come knocking at my door.
But until, that beautiful rainbow of my love appears,
My life is shadowed by the pain and a windowsill covered by the rain ! ! !
By Amanda
Ribbons & Pearls
Ribbons and pearls, so tender is the age
All dressed up with nowhere to go.
I know your secrets to your hate and rage
A little girl— one too many has tried to know.
Deep behind the garden and around the bend
Daddy’s hands always seem to find you there
The tears of shame escapes you when
You comb your long, blonde hair.
And the demons only come under the moon
Lock the door and close the blinds.
The virtues of shame have bloomed much too soon
And the innocence is left behind.
For loving eyes have wept
From many eyes have been kept
And tomorrow is a new day.
Father’s arms are always open and firm
Mother’s eyes are always closed or turned
And the powers that be have fell this way.
So the silence is never broken
And the words are never spoken
But I see your pain.
Trust is someone you’ll never know
Happiness is something you will never show
And your past, — you will never regain.
So look beyond those deadened eyes
Far from those painful cries,
To a place where no one will hurt you anymore.
Hold up that pretty chin
And fight to the bitter end
Because there are things worth fighting for.
by Timothy Cole
Sheppard’s Quest
They talk to me, they guide me to here,
I push and push, but still they lead,
Madness is creeping in, but still the voices feed,
Feeding a drive, pushing me to near,
The source, and still they lead,
My soul is tearing, my sanity is sheared.
They have guided me, to the man in black,
The voices have ceased, my mind is calm,
I sit with the man, he begins to read psalms,
He preaches to me, no waiver no crack,
His voice is peaceful, my mind is calm,
He finished, then pulled cards from his sack.
I am the last guardian, the first Sheppard,
He pulls a card, the first of my flock,
One by one he calls them, then the shock,
He called her name, I can only move forward,
She died years before, the last of my flock,
How will I gather her, the last pulled card.
I slept that night, her face haunted my dreams,
How she was taken, how I was so weak,
I couldn’t fight, how I was so meek,
Yet fates cruelty, irony it seems,
The nightmares filled my mind, I was so weak,
I slept that night, her face haunted my dreams.
I arose the next morning, needing a flock of six,
There was no man in black, just ash and bone,
I set out to find the first, I head out alone,
How will I find them, no games; no tricks,
The first is an elemental, element of Earth and stone,
My quest begins, finding a flock of six.
by Shawn Ervin
Since you asked
I’m nothing but a shell
of what once was
Coming out of a personal hell
Where, although I did not choose to stay,
still often I would dwell
Unchained but in a cell, it seems,
made from the very cells,
Which make up my physical being
This me
What I am I cannot tell
For it was dark and too inhuman
The pit into which I fell
Clutching before my unseeing eyes
a soul, unwhole, to sell.
Well in my darkness a revelation came
Which raised a chill
No nefarious soul
Would barter its gold
for a spirit appraised at nil
And mine was one such spirit
Shattered, broken, grave, and ill
Filled with foreboding thoughts
and self loathing
Disgraced by my wasted skill
And lack of conviction
Faith, love, benediction,
Consistency and basic will
Still often I’m haunted
By the unwant of the unwanted
So bitter I taste it still
by Radames Antonio Cruz
Solitude
Unrequited love
Could cause the most confident conqueror unease,
Unrequited love
Could not my deepest desires appease.
Showered her with attentions, but my affection she endured.
As pseudo-lovers we discovered that love can be obscure.
Yet when the light of the world was extinguished, her essence fuelled my lamp.
But we were of different stations; she was the lady and I the tramp.
A lifetime with this creature imbued me with a peace so profound and pure,
From the minds and hearts of my fellow man, I yearned to learn much more.
Never before was there a woman as stubborn as was mine,
“Forsaking her presence relegated me to a rank lower than swine.”
She blatantly refused that I should make the company
of those brutal, ruthless fiends, who comprised humanity!
O woe my unconscious became so active and so grave!
Each night he pestered my good sense, I wished he would behave.
O woe my unconscious had now become my worst foe!
Every night he painted scenarios of drastic ways to go.
One night, with some rope, I hung a noose from a tree,
O imagine when she wakes to see, her doll hanging hopelessly!
But the intellect of my mate I clearly underestimated,
For when I awoke, my studio, she had already vacated.
She’s gone, I thought, I’m free, so I made the acquaintance of
some remarkable human beings who’ve shown me lots of love.
One day, quite unprovoked, while amongst friends she assailed me,
Beads of sweat laced my brows and my palms grew cold and clammy.
My autonomic reactions betrayed my anguished mental state
Her return must be an omen, had she once more sealed my fate?
I pleaded and supplicated but she refused to go,
I hated, no, I deeply despised my new, old foe.
That night as her chest rose and fell, I glared at her asleep
Like a lamb before the slaughter I thought, then plunged my dagger deep
into her heart, lungs and intestines; punctured her five times,
As she spat and sputtered blood, I felt a peace so sublime.
She will forever remain dormant, never again will she stir
In the end, she was no better than a common cur.
So I killed her and I’m glad
For those who think me rude,
I killed the filthy bitch
We all know as solitude.
by Kelly Francis
The Cremation Of Sam McGee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursèd cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’tain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; … then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
By Robert W. Service
The Demon
This journey I make alone, down further into the brimstone,
I enter the realm seeing nothing but anger and hate,
A stench of death and decay, the feeling of the prey,
Before it is destroyed by the hunter, the feeling it’s too late,
It comes for me; I can feel the anger in my heart rate,
I can feel it in my soul, it comes for me.
As I proceed forward, I hear the screeching of death’s bird,
Its eyes are red, its soul filled with hate and wickedness,
The demon plummets down, spiraling and crashing to the ground,
From the devastation claws rise and hoists the evilness,
Of a creation born to kill purity and goodness,
I can feel it in my soul, it came for me.
Fire and barren rolls from its eyes, as it swallows hope in a cry,
A shriek that pierces my core and inner being,
Something familiar about that, the screech sounding flat,
It sounded young and innocent like a child’s scream,
Perhaps the soul of the wrongfully taken it seems,
I can feel it in my soul, what has come for me?
It swings it claws at me, I parry aside breaking free,
I draw the sword from my sheath and ready to defend,
We sidestep and flank, the beast towering on the bank,
Of a river of sorrow and damned souls flowing to no end,
The beast’s claws and the sword clash, the battle begins,
I can feel it in my soul; the beast is here for me.
I duck and strike the demon, it shrieks fearing the end,
It sounds so familiar; I’ve heard the passion in that cry,
Then my heart drops, anger and sorrow fill me to my top,
Distracted by the realization the beast grabs my soul and pries,
My son is in there, his soul taken and swallowed, I cry,
I can feel it take my soul, the beast is killing me.
The pain and anguish filled me, Tears filled my eyes; I couldn’t see,
I remember the day I remember when he died,
He was so full of hope and joy; he was such a beautiful boy,
I couldn’t keep my life together no matter how hard I tried,
This beast took him from me, “You will pay”, I cried,
I can feel my soul; the beast will answer to me.
I grabbed the beast by the gullet; I pull my soul and capture it,
My hate grows and grows inside of me, to the point of rage,
My anger is pointed to a focus; saving my son is a must,
I must free my son; free his soul from that monstrous cage,
This demon will answer for its sins and it will feel my rage,
I return my soul; the beast will die before me.
I drop the sword and attack, wildly assaulting it front then the back,
The demon drops to the ground face first as my attack is wild,
I claw and rip at the beast, releasing souls that was once feasted,
I tear deeper into the fiend hunting for my child,
Until finally I find him, his soul is released and unriled,
I freed his soul, the beast will answer me.
The demon will answer to me; I’ll show no compassion, no mercy,
I strike down on the creature again with no result,
I pull back for another blow; something grabs my arm from below,
I turn to see my son holding me back from my assault,
He stops me from killing, from being at fault
I can see his soul, the beast has become me.
He smiles and cries at me; my baby boy I can see,
The compassion in his eyes, heart, and soul,
It’s not the living that you, have the final answer to,
But the dead who will pass judgment on your soul,
My son grabs the beast while God pours the seventh bowl.
My son freed my soul, the beast is taken from me.
by Shawn Ervin
The Final State
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
we’ve hit the boundary of human reach
out here in the republic of the dead
there’s no necessity to get ahead
once we have heard the words of the last speech
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
for this we struggled long to earn our bread
and bowed low as the vile old friars preach
out here in the republic of the dead
where are are equal in the weight of lead
but none will listen as the poor beseech
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
at every sound that penetrates the head
while silent men walk up and down the beach
out here in the republic of the dead
where none dare speak and all the good are fled
and what we learnt no one could ever teach
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
out here in the republic of the dead
by Fragano Ledgister
The Grave of Charles Baudelaire
Snug within your rainy cave,
There are stanzas which rise
From the grass of your grave.
Beneath the languid moon you hypnotize
The rare passersby
Who lay their fresh bouquets
Over six feet of earth,
Over the wooden casket in which you lie.
The lawn plays above you in the sunlight’s summer rays.
And when no one is near your mouth gives birth
To a new protest, in spoken verse to the starry sky.
And when the stars are eclipsed by the darkness of the clouds,
You ascend from your crypt, strolling amid the burial shrouds,
Among the tombstones devoid of light,
Alive once more in this world you thought to be banal.
And you recite as a specter in the cryptic night,
Below the mysterious, haunting trees
Les Fleurs du mal
In the ghostly breeze.
by John Lars Zwerenz
The Graveyard
The spider and the lizard have made their home
Within my mind where they accuse me of sin,
And all things inhuman, brutal, amid the din
Of despairing corpses which grasp as they roam
Through my black, sable psyche where poisoned blood
Runs like maddened, wild, wailing wine.
The sea of the graveyard is of a tawny brine,
Giving up its dead in a grisly flood.
And as I clutch at the sky,
Bereft of all light,
In the horror of my godless night –
I am already dead – and can nevermore die!
by John Lars Zwerenz
The Hexed
Don’t give me your attention
Because I’m not good at pretention.
You were never in my eyes
And I cannot offer you lies.
I can’t blame you for being like that.
You have your own mind and heart.
But don’t blame me for being like this.
I would never ever blow you a kiss.
Don’t ask for anything from me.
I can’t give you something and I’m not sorry.
I may not understand you as a being,
But know this: there’s a monster in me that I’m keeping.
Little by little, you’re forcing it to uncage.
Sooner or later, you’ll be a victim of it’s rage.
But that’s not the only problem in this story.
A beauty in black called hex is smiling inside me.
by JB Nuique
The Mask
The Actor lay in a crumpled bed
with a crumpled and uneasy mind.
His resolve cracked, worn down by the grind
of pretending to be, not who he was
but rather the appearance of being decent and just.
He lived his life worrying, not knowing what to do
Never finding the time to utter even a simple I love you
Spending his days in a malaise of uneasy
Never still, in a state of constant queeze
His mask served him well, for many a year
People thought him so happy, so noble, full of cheer,
Little did they know, as he was to blame.
The only thing real, was the ink of his name.
He knew not who he was now, so sad byt so true
Masks have a way of affixing to you,
Not just a visage, or disguise of the day
Sometimes they form a part
They don’t peel away.
He lies awake once more
Eyes always on the door
Awaiting the figure enrobed.
Memories cloud him, a mist of illwill
He’s alone in this world
His spirit long since killed.
He tries with no luck to look on himself,
But this is a mask that stays not on the shelf
A perfect fit, too perfect perhaps,
He wore it so long, decades elapsed.
Watch out for masks, though they seem your friends
They have a terrible habit of staying on til the end.
And when you looking in the mirror and see the dead eyes
and realize that the grin is your permanent smile.
This is a warning to the faint of the heart, watch out for the masks
They’ll tear your life apart.
by Conor Keane
The Monster
Dark blood trickles
down sharp ivory teeth.
His wicked mark,
a clotted piercing bequeaths.
Evil deeds done,
implanted in twisted minds.
Seduced inwardly by
his demonic presence entwined.
He lives forever
lost in insanities’ endeavors.
Desiring only blood,
through victims’ jugulars severed.
Hot on the track
of another victim tonight.
Drawn to sweet blood,
waiting for the bite.
Driven by fresh
and virgin meat senseless.
Insanities flame,
in his brain quenchless.
His desire to live forever
beating in his head,
Hunting relentlessly
his last victim now dead.
By Mike Hazelwood
The New Faces
If you, that have grown old, were the first dead,
Neither catalpa tree nor scented lime
Should hear my living feet, nor would I tread
Where we wrought that shall break the teeth of Time.
Let the new faces play what tricks they will
In the old rooms; night can outbalance day,
Our shadows rove the garden gravel still,
The living seem more shadowy than they.
by William Butler Yeats
The Ongoing Battles With My Demons
I peek through blinds that are tightly drawn,
Shocked by the glow of the breaking dawn.
I shun the brilliance of another day.
Enslaved and entombed, I stay hidden away.
The night was long as I lay awake,
Anxiety choking like a poisonous snake.
My self-hatred grows like some malady
That I pray will soon be the death of me.
Being hated and scorned is painful indeed,
And that love can be torture, we all must concede,
But to be ignored and forgotten can vanquish one’s heart
Until it’s in pieces, just shattered apart.
To feel nonexistent is so hard to abide,
When you know that your heart is still beating inside.
And how do you save your sinking soul,
When you feel yourself plummeting into that hole?
My dreams don’t provide any rest or relief;
They only replay my regrets and my grief.
I honestly don’t know how I came to this place,
But it’s clear to me now that there is no escape.
You may call me weak and lowly at best.
I’m trapped in self-pity, I must confess.
I long for some quiet, just a moment of peace,
But my negative voice refuses to cease.
My greatest enemy resides within,
But how can I battle myself and win?
I find this a callous, duplicitous life,
Not worth any effort to fight the good fight.
Surviving, instead of living each day,
Sheltered inside sturdy walls I create.
Fleeting moments when hope will linger so nigh,
But those feelings of wretchedness still once again rise.
Getting through every moment and each empty day,
Feeling lost and panicked in this chaotic maze.
Still not giving up and not giving in,
With my greatest fear being that it won’t ever end.
Patricia A. Fleming
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
By Edgar Allan Poe
The Wicked Path Of Destiny – The Death Of Mankind
I walk the face of earth once more,
a mindless puppet; my strings are torn.
The creaky bones, the bad eyesight,
yet the chance to turn wrong to right.
Wars-a-waging, old man’s guilt,
the world’s now on more then just a tilt.
Parents weeping, children slain,
bloody thoughts, fear will reign.
I look in the shadows, a creature did lurk.
He whispered to me, hiding a smirk.
“Thou shalt be killed if thee can’t find
the demon lurking in thou mind.”
So off I ventured to quench my thirst,
of corpses piled with hearts-a-burst.
And on that quest what did I see?
The wicked path of destiny.
By Joseph
The Wild Old Wicked Man
Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,’
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
‘Not to die on the straw at home.
Those hands to close these eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old man in the skies.
Daybreak and a candle-end.
‘Kind are all your words, my dear,
Do not the rest withhold.
Who can know the year, my dear,
when an old man’s blood grows cold? ‘
I have what no young man can have
Because he loves too much.
Words I have that can pierce the heart,
But what can he do but touch?’
Daybreak and a candle-end.
Then Said she to that wild old man,
His stout stick under his hand,
‘Love to give or to withhold
Is not at my command.
I gave it all to an older man:
That old man in the skies.
Hands that are busy with His beads
Can never close those eyes.’
Daybreak and a candle-end.
‘Go your ways, O go your ways,
I choose another mark,
Girls down on the seashore
Who understand the dark;
Bawdy talk for the fishermen;
A dance for the fisher-lads;
When dark hangs upon the water
They turn down their beds.
Daybreak and a candle-end.
‘A young man in the dark am I,
But a wild old man in the light,
That can make a cat laugh, or
Can touch by mother wit
Things hid in their marrow-bones
From time long passed away,
Hid from all those warty lads
That by their bodies lay.
Dayhreak and a candle-end.
‘All men live in suffering,
I know as few can know,
Whether they take the upper road
Or stay content on the low,
Rower bent in his row-boat
Or weaver bent at his loom,
Horseman erect upon horseback
Or child hid in the womb.
Daybreak and a candlc-cnd.
‘That some stream of lightning
From the old man in the skies
Can burn out that suffering
No right-taught man denies.
But a coarse old man am I,
I choose the second-best,
I forget it all awhile
Upon a woman’s breast.’
Daybreak and a candlc-end.
by William Butler Yeats
The Witching Hour
Inside the deepest, darkest night,
An eerie presence unexplained.
Abstruse dreams jolted with a fright,
My booming heart alert and strained.
A feeble light; my sole defence,
While choked screams fade in cold silence.
Malevolence seeks to devour,
Disquieted souls in this dark hour.
by Norma Martiri
The Wrath of Love
It was an autumn morn; the smell of passing in the air was born,
For my love, I waited my life for this woman that I adore,
In the distance, we heard a bell, towering high, the church of angel,
A shriek was heard as time seemed to stop and silent people began to roar,
Confusion and panic grasped my throat, and I watched my sweet Ellenore,
My love was no more.
I lost myself within her; life has no meaning to the one we were,
We just started our life to all in ruin, no reason, and what for,
Within my thoughts, yet another bell, I gazed to the sky and cursed him to hell,
She did nothing to deserve this crime, to end her life before,
Before you, I renounce you is what you deserve, my hate is yours,
My rage grew more and more.
The pain that you cause me and you take no blame, take responsibility,
For your actions I will hold against you and hate you evermore,
Growing louder was the bell and before me stood the angel of hell,
With my hate I spat at the angel, with my wrath I’ll wage war,
For all who stands before my broken heart I’ll show pain galore,
Spite, hatred, wickedness, and more.
The angel reached into my chest, crushing my heart none the lest,
Hell will be my home and cruelty will be my whore,
Faintly, in the distance a bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
And upon my death, I shall show no mercy, I have no mercy anymore,
You have stained my soul with your reckless will and virtue abhor,
My time grows with panic for spiritual bore.
As I sit full of death, I gasp for one last breath,
Collapsing, clutching my heart, I fall to the floor,
Suddenly I hear the bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
Has come to claim my soul, to torture and to gore,
To fill me full of poisons, blisters, and sores,
Irony, guilt, and more.
I tumble through the lights of amber, as I am singed by embers,
With a brilliant flash of blackness, I reach hell’s floor,
Growing louder is the bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
I lie on the floor in fear, feeling horror I begin to cry and cower,
A mist rose in to dissipate into the angel of God’s lore,
Fear, confusion, sorrow, and more.
As I wait with disdain the devil sits and watches in vain,
Thinking of a punishment to break me to the core,
He rose to chime a bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
Has come to burn my eyes, standing on legs of a boar,
While walking on a sea of souls, he approached the shore,
Pain, cruelty, and more.
He decided on a beast, his very own, and on my soul it’ll feast,
The ghastly horror of an animal causing suffering, while my pain is ignored,
He rang a second bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
Brought to me a creature with horns with smoke rising like spores,
And reeking of pestilence, it held the key to the gates of four,
Bringing fear, reverence, and more.
I was swept to dimensions, showing me all of evil’s pretensions,
I realized their cruelty doesn’t hold a candle to my gore,
Again, he chimed his bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
My instincts came to me so I could settle the scorn,
Amber filled my eyes and curiosity dug into my core,
I was afraid no more.
Fire shot from his ram, his pet, a weanling from the damned,
His eyes glowed red and his hoof stretched to the floor,
Around his neck, he wore a bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
Rose his hand, he twisted my soul, but it was my spirit he tore,
He drug me through all the gates, through every door,
I liked what I saw more and more.
My hate fueled my desire, and anger grew like the fire,
Of hell; it consumed me with delight, I wanted more,
I grew insane with the ringing bell, towering high, the angel of hell,
As the power grew inside of me, my love was poor,
I was blinded by rage and forgotten of my love, Ellenore,
My compassion dwindled more and more.
Claws grew from my hands, fitting; the angel in awe was sitting,
Waiting for me to rise against the beast, not knowing what I had in store,
I took from around his neck the bell, standing eye to eye with the angel of hell,
Attacking me with his malice, and his pain, I stared at the angel and asked for more,
He watched my eyes and soul grow with hate, and I begged for more,
I loved it more and more.
This angel may have been the first, but with my scorn, I shall be the worst,
I see weakness in him as he strikes me, I demanded for more,
I rang the bell, and towered above, the angel of hell,
Every strike pleasured me filling my soul, give me more,
I was addicted to the suffering; I rose reaching into the beast’s core,
Crushing his black heart, pain nevermore.
See this isn’t about fear or power, but the angel’s final hour,
All must come to an end, and in the ash, the start of a new lore,
And now that I hold the bell, towering high, am, I, the new angel of hell,
And I took the dark one by the throat and pulled his soul evermore,
And now that I lay his soul to waste, and take power over the demon moor,
The souls screamed no more, no more.
As insanity fuels my rage, adding to my book of souls page by page,
I will send my army to rape and pillage the world, and for,
My amusement I will hunt you, and stew you in your rue,
Wondering your grave and toil, with worlds of pain to explore,
So I ring my bell for you, and swallow the spirits, for
I am coming for your soul, with regret and malice and evil to the core.
by Shawn Ervin
Time Out To Cry
All alone at the end of the day
The time, just a little past ten
Evening has come for a short stay
It’s time for her sorrow again
The smile on her face she’s been holding
Suddenly, she lets fall
And the feelings begin unfolding
She comes out of her personal wall
As the world settles down for the night
She awakens herself from a dream
And the girl they all thought had her life going right
Is no longer the image she’d seem
She takes off the disguise she’s been wearing
Then opens her heart to the truth
Behind closed doors she’s not caring
About life or love in her youth
So she sits by the mirror spilling tears
And cries by herself in the dark
A whole day of acting like she has no fears
Takes a lot from an empty heart
Inside she’s lonely and sad
But acts like she’s fine in the day
Revealing her misery, secretly wishing she had
A friend, or a promise to stay
She’s ashamed of the truth she’s been keeping
Living her hours in daylight a lie
And this is the reason for in darkness she’s weeping
Taking time out from each day to cry
by Shannen Wrass
Unseen
you are trapped in a cage..
no one sees it.. not even you..
you don’t know what it’s made of..
you don’t even know where it came from..
but you feel it.. it’s all around you..
it is full of strength
that it forbids you to move freely..
it separates you from your wisdom
and it strangles your thoughts..
you are robbed
but you don’t know what was taken..
you’re in a place
but you don’t know where you’re heading..
you don’t even know how you got there..
or who has brought you there..
you know you’ve been through a lot
but your memories are distorted..
it is seizing you little by little..
you can’t stay but you can’t go..
you are trapped but no one sees it..
NOT EVEN YOU..
By Abstruse PSYCHE
Vagueness Petrified
The way you make me miss you,
lead to the growth of emptiness even more effective than a flu.
The urge to speak with you crossed its limits I guess.
But why does the gap which created wounds had the pungent of sweetness ?
Like lightening it struck me that its only because of the charm of your inbuilt magic,
The unconditional love which you sprinkle on me is the only logic.
Your are the best thing I ever got,
I would say that even in dreams, believe me or not !
So, fill in the emptiness with the immeasurable love,
Like the rain in the fields of of life I plough.
by Thonda Sri Indrani
Villanelle: Oscar Victorius
Lock not the door in the face of your fate
The intruder lies dimly in your place
Will he die for you were he your true mate
Soft the dark wind taps in every haste late
Makes your darling come lie by your fire-place
Lock not the door in the face of your fate
Harsh words stifle your heart uttered so late
Behind closed doors locked by fear on your face
Will he die for you were he your true mate
Will he run as fast as feet duplicate
When you tug at the bed-sheets of his race
Lock not the door in the face of your fate
Whose screams you heard in your embattled state
Before four blasts broke the silence of your grace
Will he die for you were he your true mate
Now your voice shrieks still behind the loud gate
What mindless mistake takes you out of space
Lock not the door in the face of your fate
Will he die for you were he your true mate.
by T. Wignesan
We All Win
Don’t ever be mad because it seems like
you lost your purpose.
Take it one step at a time,open up don’t be nervous
“For the wages of sin is death”
So I tied a rope around my neck
I stood still and took one last deep breath.
But as my almost lifeless body swung to and fro
I heard voices that I didn’t know
Afraid to open me eyes
One voice said “suicidal I’m not quite surprised”
I saw death and waved her hi
I’m almost there and you don’t want to let me go
Why?
Frowned faces hovered round me
Voices all together whispered “look at all she had hoped to be
Wet hands glided on and off my face
We all die someday !
I just wanted to be ahead of the race
by keona ashley langevine
Welcome To My World
Have you ever tried to cry
But there’s no tears left to shed
Have you ever seen the face of misery
Or looked into the eyes of dread
Have you ever gripped the pain
Cause it’s all that’s left to hold
Have you ever tried so hard to love
But found, your heart was just too cold
Have you ever just had to accept,
Your agony has no end
Have you ever been so desperate,
You’ve claimed the sorrow your best friend
Have you ever held hands with depression
Wept on the shoulder of fear
Have you ever reached out to emptiness
But there’s nothing to pull near.
Have you sobbed yourself to sleep
Anguish at the foot of your bed
Have you ever been shaken from your dream
To be thrown in a nightmare instead
Have you felt the cringe inside
Embraced by betrayal and hate
Have you ever then just had to dwell
In a world that terror creates
Have you ever been left empty
No Courage to unfold
If you’ve ever known the hurt
Then welcome to my world
by Shannen Wrass
You’re Next
Blood dripping from my fingers
Blood dripping onto my feet
Blood slipping through my fingers
From the once live carcass
Laying in front of me
The body, dismembered, battered and bruised
Hair ripped and on the floor next to me
My clothes are bloodstained
Ripped, tattered and torn
The knife on the floor next to me
The blade stained with crimson
Lifeblood which was once the carcasses
Own.
The blood. Pooling at the bottom of the table
And do you want to know the most important thing?
You’re next.
By Matt Large
