Category: darkness

Regular

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.

© Aniket More

Regular

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.

© Aniket More

Regular

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.

Aniket More

Regular

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.

© Aniket More

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Regular

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.

Aniket More

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