This should simply be obvious..
It's another storypoemthing.
...of Troy
The air is of a sweltering stink.
Everything you've done is for naught.
Heedless voices called to arms stubbornly
sullying something that was beautiful.
Will you beg for it to fade away?
The shouts of dying hearts echo through your ears,
uninhibited by your desperate pleas.
Worlds tear from their axes at the mention of you name,
and onlookers stare in contemptuous envy.
Rest your weary eyes in dreamless sleep,
and hope the sea will drown your tears in salt.
At evenfall, time sits still in memoriam.
Yours is the face that launched one million ships,
far off in the distance,
can you see their banners raised?
Or is the haze of obsession,
binding blinded eyes with impossible dreams of utopia?
Don't you see the faces of the dead?
Or are their screams muffled by the indulgences of fancy?
For years they could storm,
hoping to see your walls as ashes upon the ground,
can't you see they fight to take you?
Drunk on glamour,
would you believe even gifts can be dressed lies,
and sharpened by vengeance,
for the greatest of treacheries,
is the one gifted in the form of peace.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Nos es totus par
Yooo....postedy post..
Nos es Totus par
In death we lie equal,
separated only by cracking head stones,
but coiled together,
in the light of our twisted souls.
Crushed by enclosing walls,
of life's crumbling palace-
left outside its lofty stones,
to feel oblivion's embrace.
The spectral digits,
fondle a fractured soul,
that holds desperately to titles,
hoping gold can buy just one more second.
But the casket is closing,
and gems can't barter freedom,
from the commitment of mortality...
all remains is what never will again.
Darkness falls,
laying an indiscriminate veil
over they eyes of the poor
and kings alike.
The shadows embed
their claws in pasty skin,
dragging away meager possessions,
casting them into the roil.
The curtain calls to rise,
that all will kneel,
relieved from encumbered servitude,
set free.
Two entities once separated,
can be defined together,
by ashes to ashes,
dust into dust.
Nos es Totus par
In death we lie equal,
separated only by cracking head stones,
but coiled together,
in the light of our twisted souls.
Crushed by enclosing walls,
of life's crumbling palace-
left outside its lofty stones,
to feel oblivion's embrace.
The spectral digits,
fondle a fractured soul,
that holds desperately to titles,
hoping gold can buy just one more second.
But the casket is closing,
and gems can't barter freedom,
from the commitment of mortality...
all remains is what never will again.
Darkness falls,
laying an indiscriminate veil
over they eyes of the poor
and kings alike.
The shadows embed
their claws in pasty skin,
dragging away meager possessions,
casting them into the roil.
The curtain calls to rise,
that all will kneel,
relieved from encumbered servitude,
set free.
Two entities once separated,
can be defined together,
by ashes to ashes,
dust into dust.
From the Earthen Embrace
I thought and thought some more on this guy...
AN ADDENDUM. IF YOU SEE RANDOM TYPOS LIKE HERE, WHEN IT IS CLEARLY HEAR...IT IS INTENTIONAL. SOME THINGS ARE THERE ON PURPOSE. WHEN IT COMES TOO STORIES, I'M PROBABLY TOO LAZY TO CORRECT THEM.
From the Earthen Embrace
From the Earthen embrace,
their spirits now soar,
far above the shackling surface
of pain, suffering, and bleak possibility.
The cruelest angels ripped away,
suckling babes from mothers' arms,
even when their love refused to bow-
against the void of death.
Silence can breed darkness and cold,
feeding on the misconceptions of fear.
Who would dare hide warm tales of yore,
with the last promises of Sunlight.
Do you wish for others to suffer?
Why is it you scream their names?
DO you wish to call them back to pain,
or will you simply forget them if you didn't.
Blaming oneself,
is the mark of desperation,
hoping to find answers in pale wanting,
was it truly too soon?
From the Earthen embrace,
they now roam free -
night is no longer haunting
and despair can no longer intoxicate.
Never could promises slake,
the thirst and reverence of their names...
you can swear to hear a wistful voice
on the empty breeze.
From the Earthen embrace,
life was cut from the loam,
and the pain of loss,
won't let a spirit garner peace.
But no matter the scorn and cries,
or the screams that echoed the skies-
nothing can bring them back,
even if the Earth could reach to Heaven.
AN ADDENDUM. IF YOU SEE RANDOM TYPOS LIKE HERE, WHEN IT IS CLEARLY HEAR...IT IS INTENTIONAL. SOME THINGS ARE THERE ON PURPOSE. WHEN IT COMES TOO STORIES, I'M PROBABLY TOO LAZY TO CORRECT THEM.
From the Earthen Embrace
From the Earthen embrace,
their spirits now soar,
far above the shackling surface
of pain, suffering, and bleak possibility.
The cruelest angels ripped away,
suckling babes from mothers' arms,
even when their love refused to bow-
against the void of death.
Silence can breed darkness and cold,
feeding on the misconceptions of fear.
Who would dare hide warm tales of yore,
with the last promises of Sunlight.
Do you wish for others to suffer?
Why is it you scream their names?
DO you wish to call them back to pain,
or will you simply forget them if you didn't.
Blaming oneself,
is the mark of desperation,
hoping to find answers in pale wanting,
was it truly too soon?
From the Earthen embrace,
they now roam free -
night is no longer haunting
and despair can no longer intoxicate.
Never could promises slake,
the thirst and reverence of their names...
you can swear to hear a wistful voice
on the empty breeze.
From the Earthen embrace,
life was cut from the loam,
and the pain of loss,
won't let a spirit garner peace.
But no matter the scorn and cries,
or the screams that echoed the skies-
nothing can bring them back,
even if the Earth could reach to Heaven.
Grains of Sand
I love this poem...don't ask why. HAH.
Grains of Sand
Pray all the sanctity
of the abode remain hollowed
as you lay into darkened slumber.
The shadows that lurk among the tapestry,
are dancing and snickering,
silent jests at your horrible delusion.
Damn and forsake!
Words that creep into your thoughts,
ironic confessions of the macabre,
If you abhorred your intentions,
would phantasms feel that insecurity?
Grains of sand,
spin mockingly in an hourglass,
unscathed by time's skeletal caress.
Sleep well in your obsessions,
thine eyes need not see the truth
Fleeing from nothing,
the shades drink in the light,
and you breathe out abysmal silence,
internal shivers of an old man.
Fear slithering up your spine,
is the death throes of the old.
You're sealed within a dark cist,
and laid to rest in ashen robes.
Cries for mercy fall on deaf ears,
as slumber hushes the warmth from your breath.
Grains of Sand,
dusted on the eyes of the weary,
ushering a mind onward to peaceful rest-
enthralled and encompassed by desperate ravings,
that all things can be eternal.
Grains of Sand
Pray all the sanctity
of the abode remain hollowed
as you lay into darkened slumber.
The shadows that lurk among the tapestry,
are dancing and snickering,
silent jests at your horrible delusion.
Damn and forsake!
Words that creep into your thoughts,
ironic confessions of the macabre,
If you abhorred your intentions,
would phantasms feel that insecurity?
Grains of sand,
spin mockingly in an hourglass,
unscathed by time's skeletal caress.
Sleep well in your obsessions,
thine eyes need not see the truth
Fleeing from nothing,
the shades drink in the light,
and you breathe out abysmal silence,
internal shivers of an old man.
Fear slithering up your spine,
is the death throes of the old.
You're sealed within a dark cist,
and laid to rest in ashen robes.
Cries for mercy fall on deaf ears,
as slumber hushes the warmth from your breath.
Grains of Sand,
dusted on the eyes of the weary,
ushering a mind onward to peaceful rest-
enthralled and encompassed by desperate ravings,
that all things can be eternal.
Condescending Eden
This would be an old poem I have decided to edit a bit... for the most part, it is the same. I had a lot of influence from religion, clearly.
Condescending Eden
We are the rekoners,
the heralds of misinformation;
leading your souls astray,
an exodus of souls.
We can stumble from golden gates into the pit.
Entranced within the eyes of a serpent,
we're condescending Eden,
expending the knowledge once coveted,
hoping ignorance can wash away memory.
Your father's forsaken,
are smitten by the snake's bite-
drawn into that virulence,
like wounds swollen with poison.
The patriarch witnesses,
our subtle betrayals.
Your lusts and avarice,
follow you from the shades of light.
Condescending Eden
We are the rekoners,
the heralds of misinformation;
leading your souls astray,
an exodus of souls.
We can stumble from golden gates into the pit.
Entranced within the eyes of a serpent,
we're condescending Eden,
expending the knowledge once coveted,
hoping ignorance can wash away memory.
Your father's forsaken,
are smitten by the snake's bite-
drawn into that virulence,
like wounds swollen with poison.
The patriarch witnesses,
our subtle betrayals.
Your lusts and avarice,
follow you from the shades of light.
Friday, May 18, 2012
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
Oh yeah, back to me and back to posting thingamajigs. This poem definitely has all kinds of meanings without actually dictating them out. Have fun figuring it out. ^^
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
The cloudless hue,
was but the enveloping
mist that surrounded us.
Are we the ones judged to be taken?
Bright lights,
hide intentions too sinister,
motions and thoughts that we can't understand-
voices in our minds we cannot decipher.
It's cold,
too cold for the tears
that well into my eyes,
blinded by the fear of that radiant halo.
With the great wheel of fire,
we went as they,
subjects all,
to the implacable wills.
We aren't mere pawns,
tools to your dark transfiguration.
Or puppets to be twisted
to your inquisitive abominations.
Left,
hollow and forgotten-
as madmen with tales of lunacy and perverse fantasy,
But we speak truths you won't here!
Why can't we remember!?
All that remains is a scratching paranoia,
a dark scream echoing in our minds;
nightmares bathed in blinding lights.
Dreams of pale faces in eyeless sockets,
creep inward to silence lost memories,
cryptic tendrils
saw anamnesis never spoken aloud.
4 Kids in Needless Distress, Salvation
The cloudless hue,
was but the enveloping
mist that surrounded us.
Are we the ones judged to be taken?
Bright lights,
hide intentions too sinister,
motions and thoughts that we can't understand-
voices in our minds we cannot decipher.
It's cold,
too cold for the tears
that well into my eyes,
blinded by the fear of that radiant halo.
With the great wheel of fire,
we went as they,
subjects all,
to the implacable wills.
We aren't mere pawns,
tools to your dark transfiguration.
Or puppets to be twisted
to your inquisitive abominations.
Left,
hollow and forgotten-
as madmen with tales of lunacy and perverse fantasy,
But we speak truths you won't here!
Why can't we remember!?
All that remains is a scratching paranoia,
a dark scream echoing in our minds;
nightmares bathed in blinding lights.
Dreams of pale faces in eyeless sockets,
creep inward to silence lost memories,
cryptic tendrils
saw anamnesis never spoken aloud.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Guilt
------> Blah <------
Guilt
Opening your chest with a ruined vice,
mirror the pain in my eyes,
show that wounds of flesh cut more shallow,
than words dipped in poison.
I stepped on your throat,
to quell the pleading echoes,
that expounded my faults,
as I ripped my last shreds of dignity apart.
Watching resolve melt away,
was hearing an inner voice speak, "you were wrong."
Like a whispering demon,
it perched on your back with weight unbearable.
If only the words had come,
but they stuck in the back of the throat,
all I wish is to plead, "forgive me."
but the words die back to their rest.
Guilt is the rainy cloud,
that walks your footsteps quietly,
the chip on your shoulder that bleakly
never allows your mind to rest.
Opening your chest with a ruined vice,
mirror the pain in my eyes,
show that wounds of flesh cut more shallow,
than words dipped in poison.
I stepped on your throat,
to quell the pleading echoes,
that expounded my faults,
as I ripped my last shreds of dignity apart.
Watching resolve melt away,
was hearing an inner voice speak, "you were wrong."
Like a whispering demon,
it perched on your back with weight unbearable.
If only the words had come,
but they stuck in the back of the throat,
all I wish is to plead, "forgive me."
but the words die back to their rest.
Guilt is the rainy cloud,
that walks your footsteps quietly,
the chip on your shoulder that bleakly
never allows your mind to rest.
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