Category Archives: tragedy

Witch Trial

Morning, folks. S’pose I can’t sleep; I’d say it’s the perfect time for a haunting melody to drive you mad. I can also say that I’ve not had an especially easy go of it these last couple of months, and I really appreciate everybody who lets me know how excited they are about my new poems. While things certainly will get better, for now I’m finding it somewhat difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I hope you all have a blessed holiday season and may we all find peace in our time. Without further ado…

Witch Trial

Always turned away

with never a question answered,

until again I saw you

with no questions left to answer.

~

Tepid rebuttals

become angry retorts,

and painful things of so many sorts.

~

I looked again upon a forgotten vessel,

sweet image of hair so tussled;

I’d forgotten I had the muscle.

~

Trials that do

simply pass

in untoward recess.

~

Isolate, away, on the outside of a faraday cage:

Trapped by freedom’s vaunted embrace,

I simply could not look you in the face.

~

Never the same,

and forever lame.

I thought to play an uncertain game.

~

Buried now

in the iron maiden,

a lover’s quarrel,

beneath the soil.

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty solid little poem for you guys today. Little sad, little whatever. I hope you enjoy. Without further ado…

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Beautiful there,

as it was,

there at the end of the tunnel,

bleak as it is,

a glimmering light.

Fingers trace,

in the dark,

the cool, dripping walls

on the way to the light.

I am surrounded by a calamitous black.

I cannot see the etchings,

nor identify that liquid which covers them.

I am alone here,

unbidden,

clawing my way forwards unto that little hope,

that distant light.

The darkness drives me.

It is not the light that I seek,

but the dark that I fear might take me.

I listen to the droning footsteps of the cavalcade that follows me,

their pacing only feet behind.

My heart has long since stopped racing.

Amphora

Good morning! I’ve got a poem inspired by ancient greek history for you today. It’s been one hell of a year for me so far. I finally graduate in December. I suppose I’ll have to change the About Me page. Exciting! Without further ado…

Amphora

Empty vessels,

these amphorae,

they stand the test of time

with so many stories

laid upon their old and tired skin.

They tell the tales

of long-forgotten ails,

of ancient whales

and ill-remembered pales.

On them are the histories,

the scorching, burning blisteries

that would assault you

at a touch.

They care not for you today,

locked in everlasting clay,

locked in everlasting decay.

Blood trickles down the face

of an ancient warrior

entrapped by monster’s embrace.

Entranced as you are,

you cannot stray,

you cannot look away.

Not from the sight of such dismay.

Crimson pools at its base

and soaks your filthy shoelace.

Perhaps there’s something to this old and empty place?

Battered and bruised,

you’ve made good on this chase

but coming to a head,

now you’ll realize that there’s just far too much red.

Purgatorio

Good morning, everybody. Happy Saturday! It’s been another little while since my last post, but I’ve got a really great one for you today. This one throws in a little bit of greek mythology for all you nerds out there. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

Purgatorio

Bounding, pounding, resounding…

nothing takes the pain away.

Medicate, premeditate,

nothing takes the shame away.

~

So very still

does he sit,

upon his perch,

looking down at all the things;

“Why,” he wonders,

“are they all so far away?”

~

“The One who put this all together,

can you see the very lies that you have told?”

“Can you see the very lives that you have sold?”

He would ask these questions of that One,

thinking himself so bold.

~

No answers will be given,

only grievance will be wrought,

and on his high-up perch,

he thinks he’ll roll a die.

~

“One to three and I’ll be me,”

he trills to no one in particular.

“Four through six…,”

he laments

as he slowly turns his hand

and the die is cast into the Styx.

Cheap Wine

Afternoon! I’ve started labeling these posts with the poem titles. I figured that might be easier if anybody wants to search. At some point I may go back and rename others, but I also kind of like the titles those posts have. Apt in their application, though outdated now as I have outgrown that period. We’ll see if it comes back. Growth is not a linear process. Without further ado, please enjoy today’s poem.

Cheap Wine

Red wine drips from my lips,

descending now

in a gentle cascade

like the slow dripping of a broken faucet in an old, old house.

How could I ever forget the taste of copper?

Like a mouthful of pennies;

far too hard to swallow.

Should I try it again?

The wine, my dear?

I didn’t like it the first time;

or the second.

Do you think I should try it again?

I’ve no real recourse.

Not now, anyway.

It is as it will be.

Every day the words are harder to find.

I should think that, one day,

I’ll not have them at all anymore.

…

Do you think I should try the wine again?