Category: darkness

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The sun is out and it’s a beautiful day but the darkness will always stay.

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An Ode To The Lord Of The Sea

Oh dear lord of the sea, only if I could write to thee of the great silence within, of turmoil pickings and grand distress.

Oh dear lord of the sea, only if I could write to thee of strange tides, the dark of the horizon where the sun collides while you swallow it viciously.

Oh dear lord of the sea, only if could write to thee of a starless sky, the scent of someone unknown in disguise and the sinking lull of thee.

Oh dear paramount of tyranny, only if you could speak to me whilst I build a temple of doom and malign as an ode to thee, my ever receding lord of the sea.

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The Dead Need No Flowers

In the very beginning of what I’d call the end, I am brought alone to a ghastly place far away from my home.

I’m very aware of the consequences of my delirious nature and I also know that I’m yet another human subject to a grave stone.

In the very beginning of what I’d call hope, I have found despair in the corner of my heart where your hands couldn’t reach.

If I have to choose what I’d want to be today, I would choose to be numb and bring silence to my speech.

In the very beginning when I’d expect myself to be brave, I have found fear, the one that’s insisting to stay.

Amongst all odds, all macabre, all dread and all dark, my eyes beg to pray.

In the very beginning of when I thought I would live a little longer, I am dying at a slow pace, a morbid character at display.

And in my final moments when i’m expected to lie down in fabric and sleep, here I am lonely and flying away.

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Haunted

Of all things strange and dark, I beckon an unsightly form.

Of all things abysmal and fearful, I call upon the deformed.

And when the night is young, my ghost is born.

An abominable whisper leading a world so forlorn.

Of all things ghastly, I destroy what I like.

I reap what I sow, an end to the beginning when I thought I was infinite.

Although my part is done yet I’m left to yearn,

As a lifeless man, that my ghost cannot discern.

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I am, indeed an illusion of what I’d expect to be real, because reality is only a measure of death and other things unimportant.

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Darkness Is A Song, Unsung

I surge and begin to fall, distant cries yet they heed no call.

I begin, only to end. My neck, rather broken then bent.

I lie to the gods in the shadows, to mothers that bring us tomorrow.

I follow you six feet under, a victim of torment that never surrenders.

I’m blessed with alchemy and death, a science of mad, like my hand to the blade.

I’m a wound from a war, a memory I abhor.

I’m becoming what I’m not, uncomely and what the demised have sought.

I’m sacrosanct to the dead, the blood soaked truth but sometimes misled.

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There is a particular silence encompassing me, a silence so violent that it brings the lurid version of me to the forefront and at that very moment I dissever from cognizance.

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