Chained

 

 

https://hiveminer.com/Tags/shackles%2Ctorture/Recent

Rain and shine

the water was divine

there was fire in my soul

they had encompassed me whole

 

I only wished to see, to say, to show

the lonely nature of my foe

long gone was my spine

a coward stood before me

 

fleeing in the dead of night

a face hidden by shadows and a deadly fright

there was no end in sight

there was no future before me

 

Life, Laughter, Love

gone to a deadly poison the mind alight

In terrifying fright

once again the end was no where in sight

 

Waiting, Watching, Wanting

I couldn’t help but see

there was more to me

but there was no one to see

 

Falling, Failing, Fearing

I couldn’t do it

the coward I see

stuck in the mirror in front of me

 

I couldn’t flee

wishing to light my face without the dark

I wished to see the end

there was no end for me

 

I only wished to know, to say, to show

my foe had gotten the best of me

broken and spineless

a lonely fool stood in front of me

 

Fires and lies

they had no hold on me

my soul was alight in failing might

the light was swallowing me whole

 

https://hiveminer.com/Tags/shackles%2Ctorture/Recent


This poem was made from a feeling of loneliness that goes away and sometimes doesn’t. This was something that can go into determination or anger, it feels like shackles. Writing about an emotion like this, makes it easy to turn into something vague and something big and scary to something not big and scary. Either way its good material.

About Nothing Much

https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/541698661413237494/

This is about all the silent guns.

Bullets that left the chamber without a sound.

They left some very silent corpses.

Heavy things, corpses.

You wouldn’t think so with the soul so out of it,

but the beating heart of the drum in it was gone

and that made all the difference.

 

About the tape plastered over their lips

“Was that necessary”,

asked the detective

“When really no one listened in the first place”

“Probably”

said the corpse,

“I didn’t stop, after all”

“And besides,”

“my teeth know their skin,”

“they taste blood.”

The detective closed the body bag.

Corpses don’t talk,

he needed a drink, he got a therapist instead.

 

“I don’t care,”

three words, three syllables.

Makes it important, doesn’t it.

Only if you think so.

Some people believe in the rule of three.

Others would never even consider it,

the rule of seven must be more important

 

“Nothing.”

Is all she ever thought she says.

Its all anyone listens to.

Why talk when the light of reality,

only shines on you to say,

“no one needs your words,”

“If they did they would care,”

“about what you said.”

 

Warnings go unheeded

When the

PoP.

Bang.

Of guns,

shower into the night,

louder than the rain upon your window.

Silent as the grave,

you lay over the covers

covering your breathing.

As if it will help.

 

The souls of the innocent,

they don’t stay, they don’t haunt.

They’re innocent,

not brave.

You wonder if they notice,

the lack of heart,

beating in their chest.

 

The last thing anyone saw about her,

was the pit falls and dreamy smiles,

was the shiny hair and shiny teeth,

was the fake lipstick stains and the faker laughs.

Whoever saw anything other than that.

Whoever dreamed that the bulldozer,

she drove,

drove bodies into pits deeper than her eyes.

Whoever caught her die.

 

Another moon above the stormy ocean.

Sailing and sailing the sailors started to beg.

Water they needed.

Lungs they had filled.

Drowned men before them.

Begging for a cleaner kill.

Water was the only thing they couldn’t get to.

Not over the water logged corpses.

 

Many fled the streets in panic.

The gunshots followed,

not a single bullet wasted.

They made a point not to hurt the innocent.

None were innocent in this war.

 

Conviction followed the steely eyes,

and the guns that never stopped firing.

Lighting fires of desolation,

in the hearts of weary men.

A message to them all that day,

“they will not stop”

“they will not perish”

“until we make it so.”

 

Loyalty in the hearts of men,

breed love in the hearts of brothers.

They would.

Fight.

Love.

War.

Together and never apart.

For that was the family they loved.

 

When the black coats of hunters

stood before them.

They’re dreams would be haunted,

until they could hope to return the deadly favor.

With silver bullets and bloody knives.

A flash in an alleyway.

Nobody left alive.

 

“An eye for an eye.”

“Doesn’t it leave the whole world blind.”

The smoke curled over the gravestone.

“By this grave,”

“I’d rather the world be ashes than blind.”

The oath burned his tongue.

 

Roses fell with abandon.

Blood dripping like black from ink

from red petals.

They never saw it coming.

They bought roses regardless.

They knew she liked tradition.

She didn’t like roses.

 

Gold and silver only glittered in sunlight.

They glittered then, in the light of the fire.

Ashes and ashes.

Bitter and black.

Oil paintings burned like kindling,

and the money rained and railed.

 

He smiled a vicious smile.

A baring of teeth.

An oath kept, by the light of day.

Shackles

 

https://zsazsabellagio.tumblr.com/post/34341425410/nimbusfuck-la-fleur-des-murailles-on-we-heart

 

A hundred weights on her shoulders and she couldn’t move.

Her body turned to stone, a spirit gone.

twinkling starlight,

rained from above,

They were accustomed to outlast her;

mocking her in every breath,

watched from aloft.

The eerie dark, streaks towards her;

nameless, wonders, seeking, wanting, believing.

Never moving for they have gone to stone,

like the spirit they have outlasted.

She walked and dances no more.

She looked like a king,

built like a god,

She is a queen,

and all loved her,

a thousand strong.

Yet fire and brimstone, down they went.

Rebellious and turned,

all they needed and wanted, could not save them.

Out cried the abandon and the void;

Upon them descended, beckoning and calling

the reckless and the hateful, they are accused,

they shall fall forgotten,

beyond snow caped peaks.

beyond the horizon, touching over the sky.

They followed and followed,

the trails went cold

the emerald leaves fell to earth

the great beyond beckoned and called-

over carcasses decrepit and eerie,

over vast structures with no end,

over little shelter from rain and snow,

spectacular views with little ways down;

the earth calls beyond.

they followed and followed their hearts forever silent,

Breath forever displaced, gone among the lost

they followed that which should lead them astray-

the cawing birds, like thunder and theater,

and the mountain wisps, leading in perfect circles;

They don’t see-

be still as the light- color that flies,

fleeing from glinting metal.

They walked the tight ropes and

their heart crawled out of their body,

leaving a trail, bloody as it might be-

their crystal balls are still cloudy.

But they looked into the past

To the story about you-

which is the death you create,

They learn too late.

For they saw to early the birds flocked-

to long illusions of cackling power,

they feared, they wronged the crows,

Did they think they would win?

Did they think they would get away?

They long and long to meet their kin-

to know icy bones and dead finery-

to see to hear to feel,

Just once more, they know

that they look down to see one who fell

Astray from concealing shadows and thundering birds

They saw one who may just be better than all this-

gesturing greatness filled with volume

and beacons in the sky that never leave

the world filled with a dying laughter-

a stolen breath that they could feel

could know in their bones,

The world filled with desperation and salvation saw the end is nigh,

for the wreathed crown swallowed them whole

and never left.

Dodging footsteps,

calling out to you,

here you are-

and here you belong

filled with folly and a part of the dawn

With the scales and comets-

with tails like mermaids flowing through the darkness.

The feel apart of stars who are just angels,

With burning souls

O mortal, O son of man,

don’t look at them to long.

For they don’t quite care.

As they colour an illusion, the lights a trickery

nothing is as bright as the sky is scorching-

Blink, and you’ll miss the nights

With its dying sunsets in the glowing dawn,

The dawn that set and rose upon another

Those that needed a new victory,

crowned with honey and roses

with hidden thorns the righteous bleed

and the horns blow and bellow their defeat,

bear their arms so they may see-

the beauty in your bloody armoury.

That fails in desert winds of howling danger

Dying upon red filled ground, rent with blows

They seek to fill you

With a keen sense of storms, so

you will know, a turning when you see it

See the ocean that drank their blood gladly

hungering for more, for the fools upon her seas

Dipping their hands in,

it came back with fell deeds-

An ocean of blood, dying with the poison of tears.

They cupped with dark hands and drank for salvation,

For they could not see the rose and the blade,

all honey and need,

daring and dealing-

with glinting teeth

and forward brightness

rosey poison mixed with

spilled beauty, mistaken for fallen

upturned earth and swirling skirts

what they needed, you see, was

The tortured graves of the fallen-

and the bloody grins of the victorious.

A reflection off the blood moon, told them they had it, for you see,

joyous and in strife,

the hope of the lost rested upon slim shoulders,

and for once the steel of ancestors,

shone through,

“here is one,” they thought,

“here is one they could follow.”

For she bowed to no one.

Not yet was it to be, for hope burned bright

and was stolen in the night,

in a tale for a need for a deal,

they saw through the night

and didn’t despair,

-for they were born into this birthright.

A birthright of balance, and order

all fiery and gold-

not always this way,

but there was something to share,

a hope that was not lost-

merely stolen and nearly returned.

They called for it to be soon, for you see,

it forgave, never forgetting.

The graveyard made of night

The stars burned bright inside,

And the angels, ever vigilant, turned to the mocking moon

that was sunny and bright with stolen fright,

they saw the return of one that would help,

someone to Tell The Tale Of Gods.

 For once more it was heard

Among the wolves and foxes

who bayed and howled, they called and

The night seemed long, not a sound was swallowed.

And down fell the stars, void of wings

To kill, to slay, they wanted blood and marrow

but to their deaths they fall

down upon the summit of every shadow,

They see, the breaking of the sun-

as the goddess of the moon

looked upon all.

And called for benevolence

As she saw her time and,

hailed a long gone faith seeing to

A girl, vigilant as stone, a spirit for all

Dancing and wandering,

built like a God

She is a queen.

White Flag

http://the-great-dreamer.blogspot.ca/2013_07_01_archive.html

I cry to.

I wanted to yell it to the golden havens,

I cry to.

They do not see me stop,

they do not see me bleed.

 

Another war cry and an,

army spills before me.

Like the blood they spill,

they stay in shallow graves.

 

I cry to,

but they do not see.

 

I cry to,

Holding the dead tight,

My shoulders ache,

My colors blur with theirs and-

I cannot let go-

no matter how my hands,

calloused and blistered,

hold the shovel tight,

and dig my own grave,

six feet deep,

and filled with the blood of my enemies.

 

I see their blackened flags.

They soar in the wind,

and my heart roars,

and dies,

and tremors.

 

They don’t see me cry.

They hear the horns on the wind,

my war cry calling out.

 

Fear the golden havens.

 

I glitter in the sun,

but its their blinding convictions-

that make me falter-

I don’t stop.

 

I falter and stumble,

falling and dying.

 

But the dead hold on,

and I can’t stop-

Their swords of ivory,

raised in triumph.

 

I can’t break free,

the chains of a burden-

burned into my skin.

 

The golden havens are no more.

My skin burns.

My hands ache.

My eyes see no more.

 

I follow the black sky,

the red hearts,

the dark farther,

the tightening noose,

I can’t let go.

 

They are before me-

 

Let my arrow fly true.

Let them heed my call.

Let the dead rest true.

 

Gone is the forth wind,

Gone is the wild,

Gone are the clever hands,

 

Rise the dark dawn,

 

The army will not back down,

they stand and fall as I once have.

The wrath of the gods,

Golden and pure,

Red and gone,

no ash left,

there is nothing to stand in my way.

 

Hell begs to have me.

They cannot keep me.

 

I am of the disgraced,

my holy grail,

shattered underfoot,

the coffin of pine wood,

lighter than my body.

 

My armour rent with blows,

My shields lost to the tide,

My sword lost in the night.

 

Paths of dust and rain.

Oath’s lost.

I walk, chasing a shadow.

Never look back.

 

The disgraced don’t go back,

They drink to an early grave.

A shallow grave.

 

To hell’s fire,

and the fire of the night.

To the dawn of golden stars,

and destroyed loyalty.

 

Shot from the heavens,

Gone in the west wind,

No longer a friend.

 

The storm swallows

and dries the crops.

Parched are the needy,

they beg for a sip.

But gone is the giver,

gone is the disgraced,

 

An army fallen-

out of grace-

and out of favor-

out of luck-

and out of gold-

out of love,

 

They fall and burn.

The bold wails of the night-

don’t stop.

 

The disgraced broke.

 

They don’t stop for love and laughter,

stop for the dead,

stop for loyalty.

 

No one stops them,

they shatter and shatter.

The sound of laughter to loud,

To harsh,

to unforgiving,

they need the mercy of death.

 

Perhaps its time.

An ocean burns,

and the tides turn.

The sun’s dying rays,

set into a bottle and-

drunken at sundown.

 

Ready for battle,

ready for fire.

To let out a cacophony of sound-

twist and fall,

let the arrow fly,

did it land?

 

Only the gods know,

But the golden havens are gone.

 

The arrow flies,

the blessings of many cry-

don’t die,

don’t die.

A red dawn,

blood is spilt tonight.

 

Feathers blacken in the wind,

the hate glides right through.

Gone are the golden havens,

right the wrong that never was.

 

 

None can find the spinning dancers,

lips like gold and

dresses spun of moonlight-

and secrecy.

 

They are burdened,

their chains burn,

they feast tonight,

with the kings of old.

With the soldiers of iron,

and the men made of bones.

The women of shrunken colors,

and bright dresses.

Plastered faces

and arrow wounds.

 

Hey, there’s a hole in your chest.

 

The heart beats on,

into the night,

out of the light,

beyond the river,

over the mountains,

 

It beats-

the drums of war-

It calls-

the horns of death-

It beckons-

toward a death of glory-

 

of light,

to a red dawn,

to silver scales,

and angel wings,

 

Victory do right by us

and righteousness be gone.

Let the dead drown,

let their sins drag them down.

 

Gone is the love.

Gone is the light.

All but a candle flame,

waiting to be extinguished.

Distinguished from its brethren.

They glitter and shine.

 

An disgraced,

graces the empty bottle,

with its presence.

 

The dead are carried,

by the shoulders of the wounded,

they do not make it.

 

Another day another night.

Another death another life.

 

The beauty of the war-

is not lost,

by the makers,

by the generals,

by the newly hardened.

 

New weapons.

New shields.

New armor.

 

The disgraced don’t look back.

They do not come back.

 

Let them lie-

a bed of fire,

a shallow gave,

a haunting spirit.

 

They laugh,

and burn.

 

But hell cannot hold them.

 

They thrive

They survive

They live

 

And gone are the red army’s of the dawn,

gone is the laughter.

 

A child cries

 

A golden light

pierces the haven.

A war cry

the living are burdened.

 

Heavy

and gone

 

A war cry

 

The dead are many, varied,

and too much, to bury.

 

Runes and dust,

they cry

they scream

they die

 

Gone is the the graced

 

Here they fear,

they tremble,

and they know,

the disgraced won’t.

 

They won’t,

not ever

not for the dead,

not for broken loyalty,

not for golden glory,

or dying flame,

hell could not hold them.

 

The dead have been reborn

and they

Won’t wave a white flag


This is an emulation from the song White Flag by Bishop Brigs you can find the song here

I’m a mostly happy with this poem, though i didn’t have any plans nor did I know where it would go when I started writing it, but it turned out mostly how I expected it to. The warrior in the poem, was inspired a bit by how even if one goes down a white flag still doesn’t have to come up. The warrior is a better fighter than everyone around them and so as their friends die they choose to carry them around with them.

Letting Go

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35105293-gate-of-airTiredness seeped into my bones, right into the metal like rust, and Holy Fuck did I want to sleep, just wanted to close my eyes, they were so heavy. It wasn’t good to though. Not now, not when I was so close, not when I could very well make it.

Not when I could feel it like the screams right behind my teeth, clamoring to come out. When all odds were against me, I had to keep going. When I wanted to lay down and give my self over, when I just wanted to close my eyes and pretend that when I go to sleep I won’t ever get up again.

I couldn’t stop, when it wasn’t the end yet, and it wasn’t going to be for a long while. No matter the amount of tired I was, no matter the metal in my bones burning down to dust and grime. No matter my blood screaming at me to stop, just stop.

It wasn’t the end yet.

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