|
Post by Asherian Command on Jun 11, 2014 13:55:30 GMT
All Around Thee
Woe is thee, The man with a foolish haircut, Look at him, Laugh at him, For I am truly inspired by his image. No this isn't a poem, I was bored upon a midnight clear, And wrote this down, with irony in my gut, And stupidity upon my brow, I wrote this down ferciously, Like a lion attacking a zebra. Because apparently lions now attack zebras, For all one has to do is write like this, AND PROFESS THEIR BRILLIANCE, And you behold, A terribly written, BUT STILL WELL FORMATTED and formulated, If I do say so, Poem, of nothing, Nothing, but the ramblings of a writer, Trapped in his cinder box, Trying to wrestle with the fact he should probably sleep, And fall asleep he will, For he knows that if he does not sleep, He will awaken, very angry, and pissy, that he missed his morning run, And woe would he be so, To have his run devastated by the morning rain! WOE IS I, For I know nothing, But, nothing really,
Smile
Give me a smile,
Smile only once,
Do not file it away,
Bring your brightness to style,
Even there is vile that you cannot bare,
The Bile that should cover you from this vileness,
But smile for a while,
Be do not worry for your name is not Lyle.*
*no offense to anyone who was given the unfortunate name of Lyle,
Dire
Dire it is,
That I must be a liar,
Only besought by fire,
Would I ever consider something so vile,
Yet I cross the wire,
It shall sing like a choir,
I shall not tire,
Nor take time to admire,
Yet I shall wear my attire,
I shall breathe my prayer,
As I will transpire to sire,
As i wish I were a squire,
The Night
The Night was light,
I was not put into fright,
For the absence of light did not scare me,
I find solace in this,
I do not fear this flawless blight,
I lay in the night breathing in the cold air,
For I love this air its taste is but a soliloquy,
It was blissful to me,
But my bigotry made me forget this taste,
Misery to the night it seems,
I will relinquish to its symphony,
As it Hear it’s song and I will turn to its tune,
Behold its divinity,
I see it for it’s blessed stature,
But I will see it, and it will entrance me,
It kept me from my sleep,
I will be reckoned by its light,
The Night I see as it goes,
I sleep during the light of day,
I would not be trance by the morning day,
The man of sand will visit me,
And he will not sprinkle me with his dust,
I will not be put to sleep by his dust,
I will not fear the night,
but the day would strike me down.
Dust to Rust
Cling clan the armor sang in the rain,
As the rattling of the storm above began,
The armor’s metal strong and godly till the end,
The knight eyes became watery,
The warrior looked up to the sky and breathed the knight’s last,
Its cloth tattered still blow in the wind.
Flapping to the gusts,
but it was still like its owner,
Who lay still in the armor,
The armor was white,
The steel then began to rust and turn brown,
Days became years, years became decades,
And the armor became empty,
Nothing but dust, Nothing more,
One day, there came a boy,
Just a boy, who find the once great knights armor,
All rusted and broken,
He brought the armor to a black smith,
And the Smith reforged it and gave it to the boy to one day use,
The Boy smiled and played with the sword everyday,
Never knowing of the mystery of the fallen knight.
Note from Author -Eh its okay-
|
|
|
Post by Darko on Jun 11, 2014 18:52:58 GMT
I think people might read/critique more of this stuff if it was easier to read, ie broken up into segments.
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jun 12, 2014 14:12:38 GMT
I think people might read/critique more of this stuff if it was easier to read, ie broken up into segments. Yeah I was planning on doing that. I just don't want to look like I was spamming, (But then I forget this is my thread haha) I will try to do that in a future. Thank you, I will try to do that. I will make clear sections as I edit it.
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jun 15, 2014 21:58:47 GMT
One More Time Once more I ask of you, Once more, can we begin anew? Where I introduce myself to you, Tell me yours and I will smile. And ask you for your interests. Then we will begin with stories. Any Stories of new and old, Stories of those who we know But unannounced will our laughter come, (I Hope) For the briefest second I hope, There will only be us here, Alone with each other, just us.
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jun 16, 2014 18:01:27 GMT
I wrote something using only six words, This is no different, but someway not, I’ll show you all tomorrow but must… I must rest my mind before it goes, I must fall to my comfort of sleep, My analytical mind can only do so much, In a single momentous day of ideas, This Life has given me a mind, One that I cannot compare to another, For it is unique in its own, But now I see all the dots, All connected, robust, and beautiful beyond compare, This is not the time for it, I must rest my mind, before I, Before I lose my mind to darkness, But I wrote this before, yes before, This was written with seven, yes seven, And only Seven words per a line, For seven words are all I need! Till the last Drop of Poison That Night was unlike any other,
It bludgeoned me to near fatality,
Where I was a twisted mockery.
A falsity of who I was.
A demon of my past life.
I had once thought it dead.
For six times did it ring.
Six times did I deny it.
For within my mind was shambles.
AS the passion was whisked away.
The poison dripped from every pore.
Unbeknownst was its evil within me.
I drank it till nothing more.
My sorrow was truly my undoing,
As I wept for what was.
And what had become of me,
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jun 27, 2014 22:46:16 GMT
The Sea I do not wish to fall into the sea
Because that is all I can foresee.
Yet all I wish do to is flee,
I will bend the knee to this seed,
For all I see is the sea below me,
Yet many will celebrate in glee from my absentee
But I will stay away from the sea,
As it is the key to being free,
Yet many will act as an emcee,
Where many will act as the trustee,
Yet I will fear the sea,
As that is all I can Foresee.
The Forest For I have been lost in the deep
A haven to fall asleep
The forest shall come with its beats
For the wolves will creep over while I sleep,
The forest will coy and how its treats,
For it shall show its feat
Though shall reap itself into me
And it will seep into me.
The sky will weep its songs, for wrong,
But not for very, long, in those steep trees of old. The Wolf of Meroth The Wolf it comes,
Its claws are sharp,
It howls in the night,
It came to the newborn god,
The god riped its heart from its chest,
And it howled its last.
And howling was heard across the forest,
For the wolf is never alone.
Lord help me as I touch my brow upon my head
Where I unfurl my pen upon this paper that the pen tread upon,
For my stead that I grasp with my hand,
As my paper is fed with the ink,
My imagination will dredge through,
The darkness is dangerous,
Yet I will recoil at the sight of rain
I will cringe upon the coil in fright of something vain
I will tether at the sight of a fringe,
But Lord I know the taint that bothers me
I will give it heed
And then once it has been freed
I will not use this syringe
Or I will binge on this tinge.
The Origin of the Bloody Shore There once lived a Maiden on a shore,
She knew a man,
A man that she loved,
She waited for him every day of every year,
She waited for him when he was young and stupid,
He would come to her and love her so,
She waited for him when he was gone to the market,
He would come to her and love her so
She waited for him on their first child, which embrassed him so,
She was no longer a maiden, She was a lady, But he loved her still,
For what is love without pain and suffering?
She waited for him when he was gone to war,
With his child did she wait, till the child was grown and had left,
He would return to find the child gone,
but he was different somehow,
He got on a boat one day and sailed away across the sea,
She would wait for him,
He did not return,
She died as she slit her wrists on the shore,
But she died happy,
Knowing she had outlasted him….
as I contemplate the problem above,
I cannot see what is before me,
All a Darkness of consecrated,
It will prevent me from compensation, and it will only be a complication,
But it will conjugate itself upon me,
As it strolls its way too my heart,
Stabbing me with spears of iron and steel.
But a phoneix shall emerge from broken form,
As if unhindered by the spears that had pierced my heart,
For why would I congretate to a single issue?
If I was prepared well against the Ill?
For I will be grilled as if I were a brill.
I will use my quill to describe this shrill,
Cruel it is that must take of this distilled issue,
As the ground below begins to quake and break,
The problem had begun to wake and shake me from my slumber,
Protruding its many heads from its shadow.
But I will be tethered to it, but I will weather this storm.
But I will try to get together my things and whether I complete it,
I shall never know, nor will I ever know.
Till I try my hand upon this issue
But I will reissue this to my standard and hold it high above me.
For it will be slandered and but it will be anchored strongly here.
My sword shall break upon this shell,
And it will shatter before my eyes.
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jul 11, 2014 1:57:33 GMT
Soldier of Night We march onwards
But the time of dusk has come,
As the Forest has become Quiet
The creatures do not stir
And yet we march onwards,
Through the forest we go!
The birds have ceased their singing,
Not a creature stalks the night or so we like to think,
And yet we march onwards,
As the animals with vision of night stalk us,
Through the brush they move silently,
Are scent being blown into the breeze,
And yet we march onwards,
As our guns sing their songs into the night,
Fright taking hold of us as those who have lost their clips go amiss,
With the blood on the trees and men gone by the second,
And yet, We march onwards,
As men lay dying and breathing their last gasps,
We march till not but bone on our feet,
Zoning in on our task that we should of done before,
And we march onwards,
Nothing is left,
Nothing, Nothing,
But me Just a Dream I dreamt of fire and ice,
The cold becoming like fire,
Burning me with a freezing touch,
Yet it made no sense to my senses,
For not for its worth,
Yet it was worth something,
I twisted and turned,
As daggers of ice pushed into my mind,
Yet she will come beside me,
And the world will cease its pain,
For there is nothing else but death.
|
|
|
Post by Asherian Command on Jul 16, 2014 1:08:52 GMT
The Road It goes ever onwards This line on the ground Built of asphalt and rock, Burning on a summer’s day. And slick during the winter, It carries much like the rivers old, For what difference is there Other than time and water? Which springs from the ground Never ceasing its sounds, It is beautiful, and sorrowful For the road goes ever onward Imprisoned I would ask of thee, What is it like to be stuck before a plea This is my plea you see? I do not want you to flee, For I have a question for you, and that is my fee, How is it to be liken to a flea? Yet you listen to them every day with glee, Their words spout lies and make you wonder why you can’t be free, Can’t you see? The bars, the shackle, Around that single place Yet you can’t see, the keys, the keys dangle in front of your face, Blame me if you may, but that won’t make me take a knee, Kill the light, Turn on the mute, Go play the flute, Or else I will boot you out. You are not cute or not worth any loot, Honestly, I don’t give a hoot, But let us get down to the root, The core of the tree under the root, I suck at rhymes, But not with thymes So let me chime in, On this predicament of your time, Go and learn what makes you you. For there is nothing more to teach, Other than you are slave to yourself, And to those around, If you try to fit in, You only be dejected, God Willing I know, For I was a once a slave sigh. A slave no more. In the Sea The Sea is dark, yet I will covet the ark that I lay upon, That is my art, that is within my heart, To be kind to what is not mine, For they are not my kin that I might think fine, I have never been her’s, For she is above my whine, Yet I wish to be, To give to her my fine wine. To hold her close and align myself with, For she is not mine, She never was my own to keep, For it is benign. I wish I could be what is only abysmal to me. For I should be scorned and burned, For it will cut her ferns away But she will turn her perm to seek those of another, For what other would it be for? She will wear that blue dress of hers, Oh she will and she will dance like new movements, Moving back and forth and tossing and turn the others around, Somber will I be when she reseeds from me, For it will blanket me, That she has gone away, For its turn, I will burn without its turn I can discern that, For it will be my last urn, Yet I will try to learn, Her movements and twists and turns, Yet I yearn for her beauty still was more great than stern, For it is her turn to adjourn this heat that I feel, She will be something that I cannot see, Yet she can’t forsee, that i cannot agree, That mostly that she cannot see, The Sea that she avoids and is keen to apparently not see, For she is more than transparently gone away from me, But she is lost, She is lost you see. She is lost in the sea.
Fire and Iron The Machine, with its grinding gears and flames spouting from its lips Steel is it’s flesh, interconnected with nuts and bolts, Roaring with metallic wonders, As blood runs from its gauntlets, It is blind and constantly slashes at whatever is close to it, Ripping the skin from its victims, Over and over with deadly percision, lacerating with little tension to spare, It is more machine than you and I, Easily replacable, another man to the machine, For it hums as it gears and treads move, The same path everyday Dredging through with their slick armor shells Man is a machine built of fire and iron.
|
|