Searching through the vastness of this cruel world,
seeking a place of warmth.
Taking solace in something that is not what it seems,
a place of love, filled with hate.
there is no end to their suffering-
it is eternal.
No one is there to comfort and protect them.
The sheltered do not care.
"Why should we help? They are not ours-
we need not worry."
So,
Alone they will stay
Abandoned they will remain
and
Afraid they will be.
Armageddon's Grasp
The end of existence is upon us wholly
Yet they embrace it's slimy touch.
The walls crash down around us
Covering all with dirt
And grime.
The fools!
They marvel at the
Grotesqueness of it all;
The Filth that
Enshrouds us is
Honored and cherished.
An invisible blindness
Overwhelms everyone.
We cannot see the
Truth of the
Wickedness that
Is all around.
Yes I am one
Of them it
Saddens me to say.
I also idolize the
Ugliness and
Dirt.
Corruption has it's
Hidden rewards
In this blasphemous
Den of deceit
In which we live.
I have fallen victim to it's
Persuasive power, but not by choice.
If I rebel it would mean my destruction.
I would no longer be permitted to survive
For the evil is within.
Reflection
by Cat Stone
Eyes of fury, of Anger, of Rage
Weep for all of everything that has gone wrong. Cryout all of my
miseries and suicidal thoughts. Sob away for maybe if i cry enough,
everything bad from within me would disapear and go away never to be
sufaced again.
What are the chances in finding a four leaf clover in a small dying
field? what are the chances of finding happiness inside of me? trying
to find the gold at the end of a rainbow is like looking for
something gone right in my day.
How can you look death in the eyes and say your not afraid?
How can you look a million dollars in the face and not smile?
How can you look into my eyes, not seeing any pain?
Eyes of anger, of Fury, of Rage
are looking down apon me, for deep within i can feel a stare that
would make a mortal drop o his knees and submiss. but not the one,
whos all alone with nothing left to lose. i stand up and face the
evil, the rage, the horror and i see a child, jut as me.. Scared and
Lonely.
A little reasurance enters into my eyes, i remove the mask and find
myself staring back at me.
Me, Myself, and I are all one person, different sides of different
moods make me who i am.
Eyes Of Anger, Eyes Of Rage, were settled once apon me, but never the
once teared being is smiling, laughing, loving.
No Title
The undead live in death,
With pure bliss,
When the most pure a kiss is given and embraced.
To die, without dieing,
To live without living,
Is the ultimate gift of an ultimate friend.
No Title
Death,
The end of my world,
The apocalypse of my life,
My transmigration is essential,
If I am to continue my journey,
With only my soul as my mentor.
No Title
Press in sweet Darkness,
Steal me away,
And drop me somewhere in loving black night.
Awaiting fair sunshine,
To singe my flesh and blind my eyes.
Alone in the coolness of dew, waiting.
Impending dawn, Impending doom.
All beauty, all loveliness,
Must end.
Must die.
We shall die.
Yes, my constant friend, at dawn,
We shall die together.
No Title
Nightmares are insecurities locked in the soul.
Reliving the past,
Seeing the old.
Digging deeper into retrospection, I feel the hurt and condemnation.
Flying , higher to future fire,
I see myself,
The screaming liar
No Title
Companion to our demons, they will dance, and we will play
With chairs, candles and cloth, making darkness into day.
Trifling with your heart, flirting with your eyes,
Twisting truths and pulling at lies.
Watching tears roll down your face,
Each droplet, escaping with spirit and grace.
No Title
Soon you will realise that everything is nothing
And nothing is everything
And all that I am is all that there is,
But all that there is,
Is all that I have thought.
Then you will know what I am.
No Title
Erratic,
Scared,
Angry
And sad.
Emotions of mortals,
The thoughts of the mad.
I see these men,
Clinging to life,
Hoping to find what is real.
Believing in truth,
Is the deadliest sin
But is the faith that lets us look for our kings.
The Magic Show
In Los Angeles. A city located in the USA.
The great red fires burn in the neighbourhood.
The seismic quake caused by nature's hand.
Destruction and devastation are the words.
They spring to mind when the two combine,
Leaving nothing but jagged rubble and blackened land.
Now we jump to Iz-rael.
The delegates sit there and whisper to themselves.
12 pieces of card are passed around.
Each as simple as the next.
Tick a box. Yes or no. It says quite clearly.
The computer whirrs, the men look 'round,
Hoping for a courier, to bring good news.
A small box appears.
It reads unanimous. The buttons are pressed. The appropriate people are called.
Now. An entire nation of people, will be forced to lay down and rest.
Nature and nuclear. Both as graceful as a dove.
Both as deadly as each other.
No mercy, no exceptions to the rules?
Tomorrow we will forget we killed 2 billion people.
Tomorrow so shall we forget about what natures cruel hand did.
No matter though.
We will not forget where we live or where we work.
We will not forget our girlfriends birthday next week,
Or that cash bonus the boss will hand out at Christmas time.
We will never forget the.......Important things.
Goth/Morbid Poems
To Santa Claus & Little Sisters
Author Unknown
Once...he wrote a poem.
And called it "Chops,"
Because that was the name of his dog
and that's what it was all about.
And the teacher gave him an "A"
And a gold star.
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door, and read it to
all his aunts...
Once...he wrote another poem.
And he called it "Question Marked Innocence,"
Because that was the name of his grief,
and that's what it was all about.
And the professor gave him an "A"
And a strange and steady look.
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door, because
he never let her see it...
Once at 3am...he tried another poem...
And he called it absolutely nothing,
because that's what it was all about.
And he gave himself an "A"
And a slash on each damp wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door,
because he couldn't reach the kitchen.
Broken Open
Author Unknown
I am trapped within myself
banging my head against a surprise wall;
I'd forgotten it was there.
I can see the night above the rim,
the bricks are lined by moonlight.
I sink and sleep, defeated
broken and bloody, alone--
I hide my knives within my veins,
my claws within my scars--
I can hear you laughing, dear
from your sanctuary in shadow
as I fall into dreams--
your struggle comes later.
Sun
Light pours forth on blinded eyes.
I face the truth of my demise.
I'll not resist, though pain is strong -
The ending notes of one last song.
Deprived of thought, my mind is numb.
At last this final day has come.
The hand of death wraps 'round my throat
As devils cloaked in sorrow float
Around my body, scorched by sin,
But I won't let the demons in.
The image of your face appears.
I cannot wipe away your tears.
They fall so gently to the ground
And say so much yet make no sound.
I reach out toward the brilliant sky.
I've lived enough. Now let me die.
Journey into the Mortal Soul...
As we lie in our beds, thinking of the horrors of night, our mind opens and allows exploration
into the darkest of memories or fantasies. Our soul lies vulnerable in the pit of our stomach,
flowing through each vein, coursing outward into the realm of the real. We know not what lies
within, but seek with earnest anticipation of truth. One taste, one touch, one life not real. Or is
it? Who is the keeper of these poor lost souls? Only WE can take control of our own, letting
others float through the realm. One must protect and nourish their inner-beings, giving it the
sustenance it craves, WHATEVER that might be. As with my own soul, I live only to feed this
hunger-crazed entity, willing to give up my own life or search for others that would sufice.
Your soul will live on forever, feeding on life, taking others'. You get used to the
eternal-internal pain and torture of this awesome hunger, it tears at your mind and pulls at
your blackened heart. Sometimes knowledge is not enough, you must feed it lifeblood and
within that comes the quenching of the thirst for knowledge and truth.
Shedding her Skin
Letting go of the past
and finding renewed strength
The blue-eyed childe awakened
refreshed and alive
So far from the heavens
but so close to the light
She cleansed her mind of all the
pain and suffering
And the darkness dispersed
leaving the soul so clean
She closed her eyes and waited
for nothing at all.
Prince of Darkness
Bleeding through my ears
the sound of your voice
haunting my mind
shielding my eyes
from the brilliance
that is you
standing, wading
through the darkness
searching for comfort
in your arms
so far away
dying inside
each day
without you
here
in my arms
showing your love
piercing my soul
your eyes flaring
with passion
fading, melting
into my heart
floating into the night
drunk with bliss
overwhelmed with ecstasy
sleeping with my prince...
Title Unknown
Author Unknown
the forest whispers my name
black candles dance to an overture but i am drawn past their flickering lure to the breathing forest that surrounds the rooom
where the vigilant trees push out of the womb....
i sip the blood red wine my thoughts weigh heavy with the burden of time
from knowledge drunk from the fountain of life from chaos born out of love and the scythe the forest beckons with her
nocturnal call to pull me close amid the baying of wolves where the buildings of christ are down trodden with scorn in the
dank odiferous earth.....
we embrace like two lovers at death a momumant to the trapping of breath as restiction is bled from
the veins in my neck to drip roses on my marbled breast i lust for the wind and the fury of leaves and the perfume of the flesh
on the murderous breeze to learn from the dark and the voice between
Famous Poems
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
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 mortals 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 blest 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 further 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 in 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 lamplight 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!
-THE END-
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
I'm going to make this short for the time being: If anyone would like to contribute poems to this page, please do.. Just send me an email at the address below (subject: "Poetry") and your poem will be posted up here as well.. Thanks =)
BACK TO MY HOMEPAGE
SOULS VISITED:
C'mon, email me at: blairs3@ix.netcom.com ..You know you want to *g*
