I am the people
the people are me.
My individuality is blurred
into a still hating
still loving
society.
Category: Dark
Dark poems from the dark corners and corners. Those dark places that have no names or addresses in my psyche.
There’s a Storm Coming
Storms
The curtains bulge forward
Waving and flicking like snakes tongues
Dark
A pit with no end beyond the shattered window
Sharp
quivering arrows
from an invisible bow
flash past
come nearer
but never hit
Cold
like sharp teeth biting at your will
The wind
An invisible net
thrusting at the haggard rubble and curtains.
The Grave
I found it beneath the little statue with the freshly turned soil. How had I not seen it before?
Looking down into the grave I saw my undead child and the rage within me burst yellow, blazingly bright and a howl of hate tore from my throat and shook the earth.
It was a rage of hate and smite. It was a rage that would destroy anything to blame with no conscience and all the malice to be painted with as much blood as possible, as much pain that could be crushed from wet bone.
Fuck I have vivid dreams.
Slide the Key
Slide the key
into the slot
Cruel memories
I forgot
Inside I slowly
gently rot
Slide the key
into the slot.
So long a silence
stains my fears
I remember to forget
all my years
Try to cry
no more tears
So long a silence
stains my fears.
Shadows follow
where I lead
In your blood
I see the greed
On your flesh
I’ll slowly feed
Shadows follow
where I lead.
Will it be
for me to see?
Is it you
who are free?
I was going to try
but then I knew why.
To continue on would be a lie.
Knowing the answer before you start
numbs, kills, defeats the heart.
It wasn’t hard
for me to become
cold and strong.
My Verdict
Faces on the lace.
Masks for the outside world.
Change
eyes and nose,
mustache.
It’s all so simple
all so difficult
when I can’t control my small world.
That’s everything to me
when they have control
of all I hold dear
and their hold is pain.
It rips through my heart
my eyes seep salt water.
My mouth wrinkles
crinkles in disgust.
Frustration in deep hidden corners.
Bursts in pain
chokes in crying.
All so complicated.
All so simple
when the lace of lies
is drawn back.
My calm
tender heart exposed
for so few to see
for so few to see
when it crinkles and jerks
in hurt
in angry sobs of crying.
For yes,
I do love
and I do hate
and I do live
unhappily
in my sorrowful fate.
The Disciple
I watch.
I see.
Catechumen sitting on the stairs
strange and distant.
Confusion between his cradling hands
his head the babe.
The mind cradled in the child.
*
He’s sitting on the answer.
The stairs.
Eternal
Ephemeral
Up
Down
Spiraling no end
Each ending abruptly
a scale on a snake
Each step a piece of life
and so it goes on.
A feather floats
Silently
Haphazardly
Creating it’s own geometry in the air
It’s own geometry waltzing.
Distant music.
Shallow hum of people.
Laughter, shouts
Distant
All texture the air quite pleasantly.
*
And still he thinks.
This catechumen
still pondering.
Me watching
like a teacher – no
a god.
Distant, quiet
respectful of his wandering.
Me, dressed in black.
Typical of a god of war,
no – destruction.
Leaning against a wall
drink in one hand,
cigarette in the other.
Simply observing.
*
I could give him the answer
but that would be too
convenient.
Too awesomely devastating.
I have had many masters:
music
television
time.
All sour and sweet
I have been a loyal disciple
to The God
to a god
to all gods
and still I find only one.
Only one to be true to.
*
I remain a disciple to myself.
New Age Warrior
Prays for peace and love
Yearns for bloodshed and hate
*
Forever wanting the fight
as water forever wants the sea.
Trusts no-one but his own.
He walks through alone.
Wearing masks
behind which no-one will know
who lies.
*
A lost love did this to me.
I have become twisted and arrogant
I trust nothing and no-one.
Don’t trust even my own eyes.
Not even my own feelings.
I will feel something, anything
enjoy it for a moment
then cooly drown it
like I would a baby in a bath.
*
I live only for myself.
Enjoy.
George Powers
I’ve got George Powers
He’s bad.
So I keep him in the back.
In the dark passages of my brain.
He’s bad.
So it’s black where he lives.
Black and dirty and I don’t like it there.
So I don’t go there.
*
Sometimes George comes out.
To visit.
He’s bad so he doesn’t like the light.
So he doesn’t stay long.
He fantasizes about the dark
out here.
He likes to cut people.
It doesn’t matter how.
He likes to hurt people.
Midnight Horror!
Darkness closes in on all
as the witching hour draws near.
Festering hands reach from the ground.
The night holds a profound fear.
*
From the graves of evil folk
rise the carcases of hell.
Their coffins also rotted weak
the corpses neither taste nor smell.
*
Searching for the air of blood
the cadavers shuffle round.
The night is in a silent flood
They don’t utter a single sound.
*
Cadavers there and everywhere
in their search for flesh.
They do not think of what is fair
for they are in a wicked mesh.