Dark Poetry Thread

Here, let me have a go!

I have some dark times and giving that there is a thread for such. I think I'll put something to a future task and see what decomposition I might come up with. For now, I'll drop this little gem.


“Unending Trails”


Pain and suffering, Suffering and pain.
The pit and the pendulum darkly bide inside.
The crush of the lies and the spear of tear’s and anguish.
Eyes exploding wide.

Where stumped and akin, the fever sweats the trumpet call.
Yet, the swelling of blasphemy occludes the soul.
Rush of the friction, of the race of unforgiving thoughts.
Escaping a wicked toll.


The Mystery Valiant
6-16-2002

"I wear my sunglasses at night!"

More

Give me more input to feed the darkness within. I crave it. Do not disappoint me.

Then Feast, Beast!

Now this one will curl your short-hairs.


“Denigrate the Young”

Cram the dead cold, old things in our head.
To reminisce of a failed dog.
Your foul, muttered issuance,
the scum upon labor nuisance.

I looked upon your corrupted castles,
buried within the earthen soap.
To the war about the devil's heart.
The sifted sulfur, stained the final part.

Spoiled sorrow and angers bite,
most fisted cuts slugged for shattered spite.
And then the sharp, pin-point and brutal right,
to bring a wasted, most voided night.

Smash fury and vain-glorious in damage pain.
As if you were dark in a mind of murdered clot,
all your howl and malevolent heart must boil.
Done and gored this sucking gag and quietly sit coiled.


The Mystery Valiant
6-22-2006

Anorexia

you're so pretty with your skin
p u l l e d t i g h t
over your brittle bones.
like a sick china doll that everyone wants.
(are you so much like a doll that if i

d
r
o
p

y
o
u,

will you crack and break?)
everyone says you're so beautiful and delicate.
but i see a dusty pile of bones,
held together by your SuperModel skin, and
*disinegrated* muscles.
(you know, they have a Name for your disease.)
our society has deemed your SuperModel look as
Pefect.
"not eating?
it's ok! i'll look like those magazine girls!
i don't mind that the hunger keeps me
up
at
night."
....let me take your
C i a o l
h n D l Frame of Mind
and smash it to pieces.
let me make you realize you're already
BEAUTIFUL

He can remember those high dark walls
with barred windows where pale faces
pressed for freedom howling soundlessly
the beautiful grounds of manicured lawns
scarlet flowers like blood on the ground
lost to the impatient patients inside
looking out for one another

now the windows are empty of faces
the gardens grown over the blood
lost to fallen leaves and weeds
he can hear the howling now
on the streets muted by the medicine
of the world weary who look out
of their own barred windows
and pretend it is all right.

H0llywood said:

you're so pretty with your skin
p u l l e d t i g h t
over your brittle bones.
like a sick china doll that everyone wants.
(are you so much like a doll that if i

d
r
o
p

y
o
u,

will you crack and break?)
everyone says you're so beautiful and delicate.
but i see a dusty pile of bones,
held together by your SuperModel skin, and
*disinegrated* muscles.
(you know, they have a Name for your disease.)
our society has deemed your SuperModel look as
Pefect.
"not eating?
it's ok! i'll look like those magazine girls!
i don't mind that the hunger keeps me
up
at
night."
....let me take your
C i a o l
h n D l Frame of Mind
and smash it to pieces.
let me make you realize you're already
BEAUTIFUL

Click to expand...

A sad truth, beautifully worded. Welcome to Lit!

Thanks... it didn't post it just how I wrote it, but eh.
Woohoo for creative writing class.

Beg you pardon......

i just wanted to say that "Uneneding Trails" was mentioned by My Erotic Tail yesterday. If this is a portent, then I should write more.


“Pounded”

My world has been wasted and nuked!
And the voice hidden in the sky,
has declared me the last survivor.
The exalted “King of Ashes.”
For the dust that billows and boils,
mingled with the remains of a bitter society.
No life endures and the most terrible sound,
that echoes my single, exposed heartbeat.
With my crown, bent and askew,
I am given a shattering gift.
Immortality!
So I may mourn the faithless numbers,
and countless ghosts,
who bend their knee to my voided title.
“King of Ashes.”
The avalanche of silence, rings in my ears.


The Mystery Valiant
2-16-1998

Outsider

turn off the world to turn off the pain
no more sadness when reality is lost
insubstantial surroundings
ghost world haunting
or am i the ghost?
underwater
liquid barrier protects the world from my touch
prevents contamination while draining life
unhappiness retreats when the world becomes a rejected ideal
daily environment a fake backdrop
observe all with apathetic curiosity
a foreign reality
lifeless, bland and peaceful
when observation loses emotional connection
pain is erased
and existance never was
this makes all bearable and empty
odd how this existance without life no longer feels wrong...





Unbroken Silence

silence trickles down the wall,
its substance invades each crevasse
filling hidden holes with it’s pervading essence...

it’s existence rests in delicate balance...
one slip, one frightened exhalation,
and the silence is shattered...

on the other side of the wall,
wind whispers uncertainly...
it knows what hides on the other side,
but dares not disturb it...

a distant shriek, just barely heard,
dwindles as the breath dies
the victim resigned to the inevitable...

a forbidding cold begins to settle,
tenderly wrapping unknowing innocents
in its fatal embrace...

shadows draw nearer,
slithering over the cracks and pebbles,
they creep towards those lying huddled
in frozen heaps behind that wall...

no longer is the stillness threatened.
only the dreaming moan of those beyond sleep
can tempt it’s power,
but they are now only
a faint shadow of illusion...

RhymeFairy said:

You cannot touch me deep.
I have painstaking placed
steel armor all over myself.
Shackled my tattletelling
heart to the guillotine.

Knowing you would try
to reach deep, pry
feelings from frozen
veins, those I shipped
to anartica.

No fire can melt,
nor love can breeze through.
Showing no mercy. Showing
not one tear.

Click to expand...

I like this, but you could cut a few unnecessary words.
example:
Painstakingly,
I have armored myself,
shackled my tattling
heart to the guillotine.

I know you would try
to reach deep, pry
feelings from arctic veins.

No fire can melt,
nor love can breeze through.
Showing no mercy. Showing
not one tear.

WickedEve said:

I like this

Click to expand...

Since when?! And what happened to your head? I mean your AV (ok, your comment too). Dark texts and beheaded Eve's comments.

Watching a tree being cut down, South Kensington

I watched him behead the tree
as if he had done it before,
carefully angling the chainsaw
blade above its corrogated neck,

before muttering a prayer to God
and then with a silent swing, let
its stinging sole carve the wooden
flesh; singing a hee-haw as it spat

dust with every chew. After he had
finished, I looked at the debris laying
on the pavement and made no prayer -
there were no gods here today.

Senna Jawa said:

Since when?! And what happened to your head? I mean your AV (ok, your comment too). Dark texts and beheaded Eve's comments.

Click to expand...

I don't mind encouraging a poet who is trying to improve. I think the poem is a good one for RF.
And I bet I will make many more comments in the future that will totally befuddle you. I look forward to it.

WickedEve said:

I don't mind encouraging a poet who is trying to improve. I think the poem is a good one for RF.
And I bet I will make many more comments in the future that will totally befuddle you. I look forward to it.

Click to expand...

Senna is definately a grain of sand you shake off your shoe - When you say something, Wicked? WELL - people listen.

this thread still alive? goodness!

Barren tears

indignance snorted
"I do not cry,"
yet letters dripped
slow to running rivulets,

slopping ink and paper
into pooled words
of mushed pain.
Mayhem swirls

as the quill
fluttered and tripped
over released prose
of some kind I suppose.

At least denial
is accounted for,
acknowledged as
another soggy kleenex

turns bluish-grey
and leaves watered streaks
of misery upon
this scratched barren table.

The Dark Side of Religion

All of what could be
or should be about US is
dimmed by desert winds. Our name,
sacrificial lamb
lives on the sidelines
of creed created by greed,
gathered into our federation
penetrating trinity 'til the blood thirst of
three becomes One...

No

.
mud shoe, heat crusted
choke water deep, deep and black
in bent air’s last breath
the taste floated, bloated
dead
dead
dead
dead with pink backpacks
pigtails and a smile
in a photograph
..
..
..
..

suffer

I won't pretend this is about children
smashing the skull of a wren
or just being kids, natural and brutish.
This is no crop circle;
this is an autopsy.
The skull is human
just like yours or mine.

The cause of death is clear
but otherwise it is murky. I mean
when is it okay to bully?
When the target is unattractive?
When the target's IQ is lower
or, god forbid, higher? And when
is it okay to raise that fist? Three
points? Twenty? Is it okay to bully
if you don't like another's style?

What if the bully is your friend?
Do you cheer at the beat down?
Do you extend your hand? And if so,
to whom? The bully or the target?
And is the hand empty as the wind?
Or is there a crowbar in it?

(written after a workshop on bullying in which the workshop leaders identified 3 cures
to bullying: healing the bully's dysfunction, encouraging targets of bullies to talk openly without shame about what's happening for them, and encouraging bystanders to be brave enough to intervene.)

Misunderstanding, suspicion, paranoia ... call it what you want it all leads down the same path to the same place, she's crazy, crazycrazy with thought. Is she really the one to bring this all on? Back and forth in mind, bearing the bruises in new places with his spittle on her arms and chest. He does not trust her, whores for housewives he SCREAMS and shoves his hand over her face, to silence her plea's and apologies until the crack happens and she can't breathe. Then he stops, she is lucky he say's...so lucky that is all she got this time.

I understand a cat who miaows at closed doors.
After all, who knows what wonderful things
what amazing pets or treats
might be on the other side?
I understand that need to be let in
or out. But what
if nothing is on the other side? If the
room is empty? Or it's just a closet?

If the cat keeps miaowing, even after
she is shown that nothing is there for her
to see or long for, just empty space, what then?
It's as if she's singing to a ghost.