Category Archives: tragedy

Entombed

Good afternoon, everybody! I’ve got another little piece today. Something sadder than the last one. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Entombed

The writing, my dear.

Scrawled there on the wall;

can you see it?

Those old runes…

What could they mean, my darling?

Chicken-scratch, sure.

But what if?

What if there is something to them?

What if it’s about us?

What if it means something?

All of it.

Can you read it?

Interpret for me the symbols of antiquity?

You always were smarter than me.

I am confused.

Something you’re all too familiar with.

It made me angry before.

Now?

A hollow sadness.

Memories and dreams reverberate through old and decrepit halls.

Could you…

Could you help me remember?

What am I doing here?

Where was I going?

Who are you?

Who…

Who am I?

The Plight of the Firstborn Son

Good afternoon, everyone! I have been so incredibly busy that I have hardly had the time to write though it is with a glad heart that I would present to you a new piece written by, and you may have guessed it, yours truly. While I hope that you enjoy it, I do hope that you don’t relate too strongly to the images it paints in your head. That would break my little old heart. Without further ado…

The Plight of the Firstborn Son

The plight of the firstborn son,

that one,

the only one,

his hazel eyes.

Reflections,

refractions,

green and gold and amber…

Nothing quite like him,

you know?

I look into his eyes,

my eyes,

seeing someone I never recognize;

someone I never fully realize.

His eyes, they change in the light.

If only it were,

that you could tell

what he’s supposed to be.

What is he supposed to be?

All alone

inside his head

through stained glass

I peek and peer.

What is this man?

A boy who sits upon a pew?

A man who lies when you already knew?

No pattern,

I don’t recognize…

There’s nothing all around.

Kingdom of Heaven

Good morning, everyone. I hope you’ve all had a wonderful last couple weeks (especially without my writing cluttering up your feeds). Please enjoy the piece today! Without further ado…

Regicide

Painfully wrought

in chains of iron,

the things they’ve brought

of ash and ire.

I fall asleep

astride the clouds,

falling deep

into the crowds.

There is some meaning

to be gleaned

from things demeaning

and things uncleaned.

Unsafe again

inside my dreams.

There in the fen,

that fetid light gleams.

Perfect, porcelain, helmsman

who thought himself a vase,

pleasing, pristine, a madman

who thought himself in diapause.

One braggart

who swaggered

and told them all his plans.

Deserted now,

his many lands.

The Mare

A short poem today, though perhaps not the shortest. I would sincerely hope its words do not resonate too much with you, for it is in my deepest sorrow that they come to me. Regardless, my friends, I do hope you enjoy. Find some solace in it? Without further ado…

The Mare

Adrift again

upon that familiar sea.

The waters below,

through them I can see,

all along the seafloor,

memories of the dead.

This sea of dread

upon which I have found

fell waves and foul beasts

that weather and wear

my flimsy raft.

Of sticks and fibers

and stones for ballast

I’ve crafted from the isle

my life-saving companion.

Always does the Lord provide.

Dread timbers sail

and flags forgotten fly,

almost as if

the ghosts mean to help me along.

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

It’s a rainy day today. I hope everyone is staying warm and dry. One hell of a season, this winter. One minute cold, next minute less cold but also wet. When will I be able to wear one outfit the whole day without changing? No one may know. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Spiders Dare Not Spin Their Webs

Teardrops fall

on an aged turntable,

one that creaks and winces

at every drop.

Once upon a time,

its exquisite design

and joyous notes

filled halls with envious glances

and raucous applause.

Gilded then,

much like the age,

in silver and gold

now tarnished and old.

Like porcelain and glass,

now precious vinyl degrades

as its uses and users too fade.

I remain by its side,

this sweet and beautiful turntable,

until the drips form stalactites

and I myself subside.