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Beware of the elves of the night! the sun is setting the time is near the darkness is calling Beware of the elves of the night! they come as an army covered in black swords unsheathed Beware of the elves of the night! blood red eyes pointy elven ears long sharp fingernails Beware of the elves of the night! the army is here the time has come we must take heed or fight Beware of the elves of the night! as the war cry rises the fear is near it is time to run Beware of the elves of the night! the sun begins rising the elves retreat the evilness is gone Beware of the elves of the night! it is safe once more the fear is gone the sun is high Beware of the elves of the night!


We need to stop this No more fights No more guns No more death It is overwhelming to pick up the paper and read about the way teens act today First it was pregnancy now it is murder When will it end When will it stop What must be done? One more shooting One more death The insanity carries on The day will come When one more will die Something must be done Some one must take charge Something must change all this But who will do it? When will it happen? How will it be done? I do not know But we must go on and try to stay away from the verge of this type of insanity

La Vampyre

you say they are children of the devil they are murderous demons from hell. you say to stay away from the colour of death. but what would you say if you were to find out i am what you have warned me about?


You try to be what they want you to be it just doesn't work it wasn't meant to be. They call you names and make fun of you but they just can't see what they have done to you. You do what you must but it seems you cannot trust. They don't accept you into their crowd. But why can't they see that this is your normal. Yet they don't seem to care what you cannot bare. They make your life like a living hell by what they tell. You just try and ignore the pain and the hurt. It just doesn't work and yet you go on.


the man with the gun marylin manson the satan worshipper the witches of Salem school yard fights the child beater the wife beater the suicidal maniac the homocidal psychopath the man who pleads insanity all these things are they what is wrong? or are they the way these people were taught? what is wrong? is there truly one definition? or is it just that people need to hide their sins by pointing out others wrong? what is wrong?

The Seven Ages Of Death

At first the illness or age, that catches the body unguarded. And then is the time the heart begins slowing and eventually stops. And then the wandering soul drifting aimlessly through pergatory. Then a place the soul has found its second burst of life. And then the time comes for the once lost soul to find a life. The sixth age comes without further adu when the soul decides to be reborn. The last age's time has become rebirth only to happen soon again.

Rising Mist Over Ireland

Behold the threshold to beauty The grassy green rolling hills The endless acres of farmland The sky a beautiful azure colour A few black birds circle above The lambs are herded in the hills below A soft rainfall beats down As the clouds break a rainbow is seen Never before has there ever been such beauty Captured in one small place


We are... jocks preps dancers singers writers loners freaks brainiacs criminals of our own mind free to do what we want free to be who we are We are individuals

Criminal of the Mind

We are criminals of our own minds doing as we please acting on sudden impulses saying what we want Escaping this is easier said than done Try and get away I dare you but 'tis almost a garuantee you won't suceed Once a criminal always a criminal


I want to be alone where I can be myself I want to be alone where I can express myself I want to be alone where I can speak my mind I want to be alone where I can think my thoughts I want to be alone where I can speak to myself I want to be alone where I can listen to the silence I want to be alone where I can see myself I want to be alone


I want to be myself not what you want me to be. I want to say what I want not what you want to hear. I want to be a friend not your follower nor leader. I want to think my thoughts not what you want me to think. I want to speak my own mind not what you want me to speak. I want to be an individual.

Evil Inside

Dark thoughts run rampant in his mind. His crusade of evilness prevails. Forever taunting the innocent. Always laughing in your face. Spitting upon the very hopes that guide you. When the darkest pits open up, allowing him to arise from his slumber, to terrorize another day. The hell-spawn lives, yet dies. A faint figment in your mind. With good there must be evil. The figment flickers away. Nothing left but a black inferno. Empty. Nothingness.

Questions of Life

Who are you? Just another faceless human brainwashed by society.
What is the meaning of your existance? Use it, everyone has their own niche in the game of life.
Is there a God? Prove it, you may have your beliefs but others may not follow.
What is freedom? Enjoy it, your freedom ends where one's nose begins.
What is love? Nuture it, nothing lasts forever.
What is respect? Dream it, chances are you will never receive it.
What is the meaning in life? Live it to it's fullest, you only live the present once.


There's no such thing as true love. That is what I used to say. Until I met you nothing lasted forever.
Seeing your ups and downs. I knew it must be. The obession of you is grand the more I think of you.
The sound of your voice has touched my heart. You've treated me so well. I've never felt this way before oh, how it frightens me so.
Even though we are miles apart this feeling is undying. To you I've given my life and heart. I miss you dearly when you are away always trusting you'll be back for me.
You make me vulnerable in every way. You've captured my wild heart and leashed it. I wish we could hold each other tight though it never will be.
It seems you ARE me. Our time together is not long enough. Oh, how I need you right here with me.
Your touch, your feel, your scent, your taste everything about you. Making me swoon - heart skipping a beat. I wish you where here not there.
Words don't seem to express the way you make me feel. Actions do speak louder than words. Endless nights I've sat with you.
I knew at once the way I felt. And hoped you felt the same. I never knew somoene could feel the same for me it's frightening.
You and I are just a dream, a myth, a legend, a fairy tale. It can never happen. Miles between us block the passage we must open.
Now I must confess the way I feel. Knowing it's meant to be. Hoping, dreaming, wishing it will work out.
Together forever. . .
I love you. . .

In nominis mortis amat

The love is dead, the way we felt. Scorned am I. Spite and hatred fill my soul. The wish; that you too could feel the way I feel. Your soul ripped out, beaten on a rock. The pain I felt, searing through your bones. The falmes licking up across your body. Fingers wrapped around your neck, forever strangling you; holding you down. Your heart, stabbed through, twisted, shaken. Eyed gouged upon, eaten, empty. Your head, smashed upon the cement, brains splattered. The hurt, the pain, the way I felt. It all means nothing to you. Your anger leads to violence. Words used against I. Hatred building, explosions ringing. The way it was, is gone. Scratching my fingernails across your skin, making you bleed. The pain I felt. Kicking your broken, beaten, torn body. Making you feel the pain I felt, seemingly insurmountable. Drowning you in eternal darkness, the feeling of betrayal. The way I felt. You no longer care. Your words have hurt me. Your anger made me cringe. The fight; left me crying. Adieu; to the love we had. Nonexistent. . .

Friends Poems...

Who am I?
I am me
Who is me?
Me is I
Who am I?
I am the truth
The truth of what?
 --Shower Girl

A hero emerges from the shadows
His strength is in his silence
He is secluded in his solitude
and his focus is clear
There is one man that he is after
A man that epitomizes evil
This ill man is the leader of a disastrous clan
destroying anything in its path
Their mental and physica torture
afflicted much agony upon past warriors
The clan's unfair tactics
became the law of the land
In past battles, bodies were bruised and beaten
warriors clothes were tattered and torn
laying on their trembling bodies
Only then to be branded by their sinful symbol
Even the greats had fallen
left laying stitched and scared
caged and shackled like animals
Many thought they had ended the rein
but the war still raged
and the good suffered for their triumph
Even in the darkest hour
there was still hope of a hero returning
carrying a flag of justice and victory
The hero was lied to beaten and impersonated
It was his loss of friends and kin
that drove him into his seclusion
But it is love and hate that will bring him back
The love of his people
and the hate of the evil
will drive him to return
The champion of justice makes his return
This is the fateful day
As the hero arrives on the battlefield
a vulture follows knowing of future carnage
One man versus many
a battle to estriy evil
The hero draws his weapon
points it at the leader
He sees the cowardice in his eyes
the fear and frustration make the evil one weak
but the hero is nto alone
warriors and friends of the past join him
An all out war for freedom begins
It is over the black evil institution crumbles
the evil one lays in the clutches of the hero
His pride and bones are broken
On this day a flag rises
a new era begins with victory

Celtic Poetry

Part wide the veil
That I might see the unknowable.
That I might seek the unknowable.
 --Riley Wilde O'Manion

I am the wind which breaths upon the sea,
I am the wave of the ocean....
I am a beam of the sun,
I am the fairest of plants....
I am the wave of the ocean........

Misc. Poems

The Eagle
He clasped the crag with crooked hands
Close to the sun un lonely lands
Ringed with the azure world he stands

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls He watches from his mountain walls And like a thunderbolt he falls

Winter Ocean
Many maned scud-thumper, tub
of male whales, maker at worn wood, shrub-
ruster, sky-mocker, rave!
portly pusher of waves, wind-slave.
  --John Updike

The Seven Ages Of Man

All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like a snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is the second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. --William Shakespeare

Beware: Do Not Read This Poem

tonight, thriller was abt an ol woman, so vain she surrounded herself w/ many mirrors
It got so bad that finally she locked herself indoors & her whole life became the mirrors
one day the villagers broke into her house, but she was too swift for them, she disappeared into a mirror each tenant who bought the house after that, lost a loved one to the old woman in the mirror: first a little girl then a young woman then the young woman/s husband
the hunger of this poem is legendary it has taken un many victims back off from this poem it has drawn in yr feet back off from this poem it has drawn in yr legs back off from this poem it is a greedy mirror you are into this poem, from the waist down nobody can hear you can they?
this poem has had you up to here belch this poem aint got no manners you cant call out frm this poem relax now & go w/ this poem move & roll on to this poem
do not resist this poem this poem has yr eyes this poem has his head this poem has his arms this poem has his fingers this poem has his fingertips
this poem is the reader & the reader this poem
statistic: the us bureau of missing persons reports that in 1968 over 100,000 people disappeared leaving no solid clues nor trace only a space in the lives of their friends --Ishmael Reed

The purpose of the entire journey is
 to find Truth

And then to return to Truth wiser and better equipped to serve it and ultimately to be it.
The very act of incarnation is the statement of a soul's yearning to become one again with the Light. -Emmanuel, Emmanuel's Book

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