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*Powercut*Climbing stairs by candlelight
Darkness thick with mystery
Alert to danger, cold with fright
Curiosity this dark night.
Candle's flickering shadow
Dance macabre clearly seen
I'm not intrepid blood runs slow
Sinister spectre, malevolent glow.
Frozen moment on staircase
Imagination likes to tease
All is well powercut ended
Electric light - the stairs a breeze.
The Puppeteer's WifeThe Puppet Master of the woods
Who births his dolls of bark and leaves
And sits among the robins' nests
And giggles madly at the trees,
Had grown 'longside his godly lust
To shape faces of redwood skin,
The need to touch and pull the strings
Of carven hands so feminine.
He lifts her weight up by his hairs
Her scarlet flesh still warm with sap,
Stroking the feathers o'er her ears
He places her upon his lap
And rears and clangs his bamboo boots
As as he cackles to the moon,
Whilst lost within her empty eyes,
He swears he hears her laughing too.
The Princess is DeadHer survival was hung on a thread
For her body was covered in red
The only taste she had of life
Was quickly ended with a knife
For, alas, the princess is dead
She lay in her eternal bed
As her deep wounds slowly bled
Death clasped her soul with malicious grace
As lifeblood taints her gorgeous face
For, alas, the princess is dead
The young girl was then led
To a place to escape her dread
She watches the spirits through sun and snow
Her home now Hakugyokurou
For, alas, the princess is dead
A Day OffOn a day of no responsibilities my conscience sleeps
allowing me to become a part of a movie,
fly through stories as I read,
time with loved ones who are so much more than friends
reverberates laughter sweeter than music
and lets me slip into myself, completely relaxed.
I lay, stretched, looking like a cat in its blissful state for relaxation
dozing and waking, dreams and daydreams blurring as I go in and out of sleep
Soft sound comfort me, and I sing along to the musics
Tunes from movies
mingles with parodies made by friends
all recited in a lazy perfection, as if I were seeing the words in front of me; reading.
No one watches my actions, or attempts to read
my thoughts so that I might never relax,
instead I surround myself with old friends:
warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a forever sleeping
doll. Our story rivaling those in movies
set to instrumental music.
Should I choose to make music
through flipping pages as I read,
or setting a soundtrack to the inevitable movie
that will follow
When There's Danger on the HorizonWhen there's danger on the horizon
We will all dry our eyes when,
The ditch is being filled.
So don't be surprised when
There's danger on the horizon;
Less which it's you that's killed.
Willows and WarThey used to meet there every eve
beneath the willow tree
and then war came and there it ended
the stillness of waiting peace
yet every eve he crossed the bridge
to the other side of town
and waited neath the willow tree
where they used to meet
rain and fire
bombs and tired
he still traveled every night
several years passed and yet
of her there was not a sight
he went there one last time
marking when first they'd met
and found her neath the willow tree
A Sestina on Growing UpI had always been a timid child
One who hid from monsters
And shrank from daunting roars
Which threatened to swallow me whole
And, I think, I used to be more afraid
Than most, for people terrified me too
When young, I used to feel too
Much - others were un-emphatic and this child
Was loathe to not be afraid
Of the way humans were monsters,
Those who appeared hale and whole
And then turned and taught with roars
Louder and louder, grew the roars
I braved the jungle of courage but it, too
Large - tangled - chewed and spat me - still whole
Onto the minefield of maturity. Which child,
When confronted with such deceptive monsters
Would stand fast and tall, yet not be afraid?
I, it appeared, was brave - and afraid
I stood fast - slouching - but the roars
Were harmless - I realised that the monsters
Would not harm me, and this too
Clicked, connected with a thought. I was no more a child
Who ran and hid from the behemoths - I was whole.
This happy thought was fleeting, but whole
The creatures r
Judgement, Part 1until you breathe against your will
for long-lost hope, caught in a lie
by desperate screams for one last pill
to stop life warping, but your eyes
still see, and insomniac fear
(from blood-soaked wrists at two a.m.)
twists the world you once held dear
to shreds. Only you can see Them,
eyes mocking every crimson smile
you paint - but it's the only way
to hide yourself, just for a while
before they whisper: that girl's cra...
Chaucer's YeomanI might be neither handsome nor wealthy
In thy dazzled eyes of youth, laddie;
But to me, I am the richest man
That ever roam'd fair old England.
My farm is large, my livestock strong;
My fields are green all summer long;
I have no wife, but content am I
To await an elf that tells no lies;
My work is good when wood is given;
My bow is supple, and mine arrows glisten
With the grace of God and the breath of Wind;
And though the sun hath brown'd my skin,
I worry not of my countenance.
My masters call'd me to journey hence,
To Canterbury, where St. Thomas martyr'd.
With six-and-twenty others we depart'd
From the farm on which I've toil'd since childhood,
But I'm glad, ne'ertheless, to pass through towns and wood.
Fatal Slip - A Steam Punk PoemFatal Slip
A Steam Punk Poem
The timbers blazed,
the ship's been razed.
The captain made one fatal slip.
The alarms made no sound
as we neared the ground.
And Fear held us in his grip.
They closed our eye
so they could hide.
And the console didn't blip.
The sky ran red
and we knew we were dead.
As the pirates boarded the ship.
Crown of ThornsShe wakes up with red staining her pillow
and the taste of blood like iron in her mouth
It stains her teeth and leaks from her lips, and as she
rinses her mouth out, she can’t help thinking that
it’s better than dirt and ashes
it feels like she’s wearing a noose
of broken promises and shattered glass
that tightens around her throat with every day that passes
She nails a smile to her face
and doesn't let herself think the word dying
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More