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Apollyon

Poems

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And here's another I especially like:

Fatigue

I'm tired,

And my thoughts, like offspring sired,

Do fall down dead at the sound of the drum.

The days I've passed - an unseen sum,

Not so many, yet still more

Than I want left - this life a whore

Diseased from promiscuity afar,

memories of past do her mar.

I'm bored,

Of all the ideas that once soared

Within my mind as free as birds

Flooding from me in passionate words,

As now they cannot fly above.

And now the singing of a dove,

Is as unheard to me as the newly done,

Or the setting of a different sun.

I'm torn,

Between heart's desire and the worldly born,

'Tween warming love and wonderful hate,

That no matter how many times cannot sate

My mind, my soul my complete being

And cannot stop me from before me seeing

The end of this, my life and heart.

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Lillith

Oh such beauty,

I feel my constance melt,

Oh to touch your hair,

To caress your pale-skinned face,

To undo your bodice lace.

Such care and wicked love,

In the sickle smile slicing

Across that ivory visage.

Drawn to it, I am drawn to it,

A candle in impenetrable dark is lit,

Your beauty to me deep in the ugliness

Of life.

If only you bore not such strife.

The blightful love consumes my soul,

As you stand

In the watery shallows

Of the sandy beach.

Your coverings flap open,

Exposed to the wind.

With bare white legs,

Slender arms,

Your milky breasts,

And attractive charms.

But as world out-shining as you now appear,

The destruction within is still laid clear.

Your fate to destroy, not in evil's employ,

But creation must have destruction in all,

Lest all existance surely fall,

Including your beauty, oh dreadful one.

Lillith, shining brighter than very sun.

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Love your post TMA ;)

Wow, I hadn't recalled this thread for a while... guess I'll have to dig up some of my poetry :) Ode To Colonic sound good? :D

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I wrote this in like 10 seconds for some odd reason...Hell, I've never even writen a poem before, as you can see. ;D

I gaze onto the fields yonder

None of us yield of the morals of humanity

Death in death out, screaming, pain

The lines charge, death surrounds us

Blood stains on my uniform

We are united as one, the last breath

Lights flash, heat beats race, bullets ricashade

And then one blast

One eternal darkness

I am one

I am free

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Here's one from me that I'm really quite pleased about (it could all change though, seeing as I only wrote it 5 minutes ago lol.)

To Paint a Man

If I were to paint a man,

I'd paint the colour of sky.

Dark sky;

Abandon.

The oblivionic tones

Wash upon the page.

And sleeping.

A bed of deceit,

Perhaps.

Maybe I'll etch a bit.

Last minute now;

The sixth day.

I might rest when

Finished.

Piercing colours

Slice up the page.

Maybe they'll cut me too,

Hopefully.

To all that watch:

A curse to you.

You dared not paint a man,

Wisely.

And now the paint is drying

On all the heightened lines,

Drawn tight like wires,

Piercing the page.

And the shadows set in the studio

In which I paint alone.

My work is done,

Nearly.

But the paint changes;

The colour warps.

I expected such of course,

When first I took the task.

It's own devices, though,

Are not the same as mine.

It runs, it pours,

Washing my image away;

Stained canvas,

A beauty to itself.

Today I'll rest a while,

My painting more complete

Than I could have made it.

I hope this picture of a man

Goes as well as it might have done

If I myself

Were to paint a man.

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now here is a little something I made a few days ago...

The Viking dream

As westward we sail

I raise my hand

To a final hail

And bid a last farewell

To the fair Viking land

We set out to the sea

And to lands of wonder

On adventures we be

Bringing home

Riches and plunder

Sons of freeborn farmers

Seeking golden arm rings

In lands that are warmer

Such is our way

Now we are Vikings

In battle we do not yield

We fight on

With sword and shield

Till our foe lie dead

And the day is won

Returning now

From lands of wonder

“Your journey was how?”

Old and young now ask

For now the Vikings bring plunder

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Hehe, you already know I liked it. ;-)

Here's a long one from me (wow, one from me? That is an irregular happening...)

Untitled, because my muse spoke not

'My, my.'

He cried to the wind

And it spoke to him in sculptured tones

'To see a thing be under't.

To be a thing see through it.

And if for both at once you want

Then never doubt my substance'

'Speak unto the mountain solemnly

I tell you, for it may move

A possibility untied

Maybe that reality aside

Said visibly not blind.'

'Call my name? Thou shalt receive.

My friend, I say,

I sayest 'thou'.

An enemy of me I make?

Or an enemy of you I'll take?

Nonsense, man, I Iisten not,

Begone from here, where time forgot.'

And the wind was gone.

Ripping through the trees,

A rippling wave of leaf

and bark

and blood.

Blood? Might you ask?

The truth is hidden;

Hidden by the trees.

And in the boughs of that mighty oak

A bird resides in a grassy nest.

A calming thought

How now,

The man rode on

Rode on a steed

As white as coal

As black as light

And that light shaped the path ahead

A binding arrow forth four sent

A blinding flash - two - to them sent

Fell away from the road on which he rode

Fell away from the road on which the road rode?

And I see it now afore me vast:

Acropolis, necropolis,

Dead inside a populace.

And I ride to it upon his shoulders broad.

Broadened rivers poured

Across the path by man, not wind

Before he spoke to me and he

And he and me.

I'm sorry, I.

Through the gates of Hades.

But all drama swift aside,

Through iron gates he hip-hopped;

Dark and black,

Not dark and white.

And on the earth below,

Were feet and snow;

A microclimate.

Pathetic fallacy perhaps.

He shivered to the moondrops

As they glistened on his skin;

Red skin;

His name was Mada, maybe.

And the black light fell

As the moon rose again,

Its beautiful light extuingishing the sun:

Just an absence of dark;

The lie is light, the light is a lie.

Bye-bye.

He fled away from the castle, into the castle

With nothing at his heels.

Grinning and spinning,

His beard needed trimming.

On the road for many a day he had rode,

Glinting madly.

A king greeted him,

A servant of the slave,

Showing that glinted man unto;

Unto the domain

Of his Royal Lowliness himself.

The almighty servant atop a throne

Looked up to him from his purchase above.

And he spoke in silence,

The silence spoke through he.

And it whispered ever quieting madness

So that everyone could see.

It gave them eyes, you see,

Least now you do, I hope

Facillitator of all.

I am, that is, not hope.

That crawling thing in mental dwelling.

Inside your skull cavity it's swelling.

Swelling and swelling till...

BANG!

And it's gone again, echoing cautiously

Through vacuous space.

He blinked, the sanity passed.

'Thank God, yer'lord, you saved me.

You rescued me from being sane

A never-present danger often plain

Despite my words before,

For it is common.'

'I am now about to speak,'

Said that wily old servant, young.

'Yes I'm speaking, nearly, nearly.

There.'

And he spoke.

And that wandering glinted man ahead,

Was made enlightened by the his wordful silence.

A torrent of information in a momentful of eternity.

As he spoke to me, and he spoke to he.

To me and he, I'm not sorry, it's not 'I'.

'Twas 'him' all along.

It always was.

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Originally written in Finnish, the translation actually ruined it.. :-

Your presence so warm

And as hot as

Fire

Without you,

Eternal winter rages

In my world

Without warmth

Without Light

I travel

Searching you

To my yearning

I cry and grieve

The world's upside down

As cold as Ice

But I can still

Love you

Quietly I whisper

To you,

But you will not hear,

Even if I scream…

I yearn you so

Please come back

Drive my winter away

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If you want people to comment you have to comment yourself.

Well your poem is really very clichéd but I guess that's alright but maybe you could try something a little more original? Other than that it's not bad.

A Citadel

Singing songs?

A desolate place

Echoing with grief and hate

End with all the prejudice of fate.

A green castle high;

An architectural sigh.

Blight upon this landscape perhaps.

And a whistle on the light;

The light of sky above the white night.

Stepping stones,

Upside down,

Inverted as they are.

Step to fall.

And in the cooking pot,

To stew a soul.

With grubs and worms

And blood it churns

Until it is without.

Without the walls,

Outside the calls

That whisper on the shortened wind

And creep along the far-off ground.

I hear a stunning thing

That you heard just the other day.

Maybe I will crawl a while.

Maybe I will leave.

And so he went along the path

Unto the green castle high.

To form a thing.

This is, he feels.

To do it backwards,

The result will be the same:

Backwards and wrong.

Stepping stones

And whitened bones.

And as they write

This fate of mine

On destiny's line,

A kink in the wire

Bends into the mire.

Muddied at the marsh

The line is cut.

And this is how it will fall.

How all will come to pass.

And you can pray for else.

You can hope for life.

You can wish for kindness.

But all that will remain

Is the destruction wrought by your own blindness.

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Steel black faces, swords, and fire,

Better not wake the Emperor's ire,

Tearing, ripping, slashing, burning,

Sent many to a doom in sands ever-churning!

Legions of hate, fear, and might,

Cut to the face, and no more sight,

Blazing, charring, rending, reaping,

They see you even when you're sleeping...

Marching along to warriors' drums,

Feeling no fear when the Bashar comes,

Shouting, roaring, screeching, growling,

They leave behind the weak and crawling.

Raised from birth in a prisoner's world,

Carving flesh with knives that curled,

Fighting, Shooting, Stabbing, Killing,

Never had so much blood been a'spilling...

Here they come, no more time for words,

As they grin, they draw their swords,

Coming to kill you from a distant star,

No one stands a chance against Sardaukar.

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good stuff, at some point it reminds me of my first poem, This Final Blaze of Glory, I don't know why though...

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Y'all need some good chick-like poems in here.. so I'm going to pleasure you by doing so.

Worth It

I

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Yes, very chick-like  ;). It's good, especially the beginning. The 3rd stanza doesn't appeal to me that much, though. Anyway here's one by me:

In the Darkness Blinded

In the darkness that is binding me

The redness hurts my eyes.

Outlined blackness 'gainst the sky.

A sky of red, a rumbling sky.

An alien world where I now lie.

A world so joyous in destruction.

A world created by perfection.

A world of blinded misdirection.

And the sky is shattering,

Just like a bloody mirror.

The lines of fluid drip down

-The searing stars,

Like lively droplets on a window

As they dip and fall below.

The energy disperses,

Uttering its final curses.

This worldy life is gone,

Just as mine will be anon.

But I've learned a thing through twisted fate,

A thing imparted thus to you:

The only freedom true to be

In this world or fallacy,

May not be freedom afterall.

But I live for this hope as all men do,

That I'll be free just as a star

When I reach that golden shore afar.

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Wow, that was really good, but obviously "really good" is a vast understatement.  Here's my latest work for you to ponder over.

Untitled

He walks away, doesn

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As I look into your eyes I see the past

The days where I loved you, the days that were right

All I see now is recollections clouding truth

A faint person of who you once were walks in your midst

I cry seeing what you

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Good work both of you. I like the turn around at the end of your poem, snc. Ghosthunter, why don't you try writing something longer with more than one stanza? That one there is pretty good in a cliched kinda way (nothing wrong with cliches hehe). Anyway here's another from me:

And the door was opened.

My reaching imagination;

A grasping hand set free.

Ferocious in intent.

Dark;

My intent.

It found a door,

Another place;

Pooled water set free.

Deep

And flowing.

The light that was cast down,

Illuminating blossom.

The trees sway lightly.

Bright;

This sunshine.

The gentle wind

Stroked the face of time,

Pushing with non-urgent haste.

Breathe

And believe.

And the pooling water 'neath the blessed pines

Shines with a radiance cast above,

Shimmering in the daylight like

A wink that's lost on darkened sunsets.

How I longed to see your heart

And how I wished to touch it,

But now the sight that greets me;

Swollen.

Swollen with the thought.

Swollen with the word.

Swollen with the images absurd.

The sun is dipping low now.

It's telling me its over.

I gasp and struggle;

A fish on land.

Those pools below me,

So inviting as the darkness falls.

I fall beneath the canopy of green.

The green is setting too;

The sun is dying.

A red glow cast long 'gainst bleak horizon.

And the blessed tears ensue.

And I can see my mind retreat,

The images flow backwards.

Torrential;

A dowpour.

A door. A door. A darkened door.

And I'm here again.

The coffee steams.

The lights buzz.

But over that horizon

Sun shines down

And I see a little thing:

Pooled water.

It is set free.

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As I look into your eyes I see the past

The days where I loved you, the days that were right

All I see now is recollections clouding truth

A faint person of who you once were walks in your midst

I cry seeing what you

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One thing I'd found... something I simply sat down and wrote off the top of my head, not actually intending to make rhyme nor metre (especially given I'm not at all fond of the former, and don't believe the latter's worth the effort when prose'll do). Hence, a curiosity, rather than any real work.

Time can be thought of as a train, where everyone faces whence we came.

We see where we are as we go faster, though only clearly when too far after.

But there are those who can turn their heads, to see for sure where we are being led.

Called fools and cowards, they are neither, for they alone see we have no driver.

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you are quite the poet nema! that is really good, really powerful. I really like that a lot.

I do disagree with the entire idea though that we hve no driver, you know that though. ;)

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one of the few ive ever written, had to do it for english.  inspiration comes from apollyon...

A door is like a gateway,

Protected by a key,

No matter what you do,

You still cannot break free.

Behind the door, voices cry,

They want out, I inside,

In my mind I know I can,

My pride takes over, and now I am,

An untamed beast, angry and irritated,

I must break in and free the tainted.

I begin my charge, blinded by rage,

My sparking soul, true and unchanged,

I draw nearer now, hearing their voices,

I scream in my head, shunning them out,

And as I hit, all noise is drought,

Replaced by a sound, so deadly, so quiet,

Thud.

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While I'm at it, I'll post a new one 'cos I haven't in a while. Make sure you all read Salvatore's poem though.

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After reading some of the excellent work in this thread, I hope I'm not spamming it up by posting this.  If I am, then Ghost (or who-ever): I will have no qualms if you delete it.  But if anyone appreciates it, then all the better.  It is an adaptation of a once-popular song from the days of yore...

My Old Man's A Dustbin Man

My old man's a dustbin man

He wears a dustbin hat

Took me round the corner

To watch a football match

Fatty passed to skinny

Skinny passed it back

Fatty took a rotten shot

And knocked the goalie flat

And where was the goalie

When the ball was in the net?

Half way up the goalpost

With his boxers on his head

They put him on a stretcher

They put him on a bed

They rubbed his bum with Pedigree Chum

And this is what he said

My old man's a dustbin man

He wears a dustbin hat

Farted through a keyhole

And paralysed the cat

The chair couldn't take it

The table broke in half

And all because of my old man's

Supersonic fart.

... I know... you all hate it.  :'(

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