Just the title.
Guten Tag und willkommen, Freunde. Ich habe hier für dich ein neues Werk. Ich hoffe, dass Sie mögen es. Ich habe sehr hart daran gearbeitet. Bitte genießen, meine Lieben. Mit ohne weitere Umschweifen…
There is a horse
With human eyes
~
too many, too short
those legs of that sort
~
The cavalry approaches
in Phantom Cavalcade
~
set there at the edge of the World
by hands that thought their conduct kind
~
I think they’ve gone and made me blind.
Good afternoon, everyone. You have died. You stand here, like those heroes of old, on the banks of that sacred river Lethe. Your ascent to the heavenly realms of Paradiso now secured, you step carefully into the dark and starkly opaque water. Your sins, desires and memories washed away in sacred bliss. As a child again, you are innocent, no longer condemned, but redeemed. Welcome to the rest of forever. Without further ado…
Haunting orbs
drift across the water.
They come towards me,
stealing away my light.
I am fading.
I flash and flicker;
I am the torch over which your fingers
quickly pass.
The specters
take my flame.
They wear it
and make themselves whole.
I am as the hearth
in that certain dearth
that follows November.
Swept away,
is all my heat.
Through the mist
is seen defeat.
I know why they’ve come:
The debt of one infernal sum.
I cannot pay,
I’m ashamed to say.
This will make their day.
Good afternoon, everybody. I’m having a pretty good day today. The things I thought were hard have turned out to be easy, and the things I thought would be easy became the trivial. I will spend the rest of today enjoying the beautiful sun and some time off. I hope the rest of your day, however, will be spent reading all of my wonderful poems. In that regard, I have for you a new development! Please enjoy my latest work. Without further ado…
I thought I knew what it was to be cherished,
cared for,
doted on.
I thought I knew what it was to be loved
and I would have died for but a whisper of that
one,
single
idea.
How in my own peculiar way I expected that it would always be so.
But alas,
never was it meant to be.
It was my studying of the minutiae of this great and terrible array of feelings that led me to a single, forlorn conclusion.
I will state it thusly:
There is no such thing as infinity. The train will always hit you when you’re lying on the tracks.
Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty cool little story today that I think you’ll love. Let me know what you think in the comments below. Without further ado…
Penance? Penance. For a crime I did not commit. Why then? The sin of being born? Original and pervasive as it is throughout my bones, my nerves, my veins. Why is it I, he who requests to not be named, that must suffer the transgressions of others?
For there in their brilliance and shine is it done. The light. Seen through these eyes of mine, filtered through a red haze. Have you ever been so angry? Have you ever felt this rage?
Thy will be done, Lord. It is You, that one who hath wrought such pain and suffering. One who hath shown such endless indignation in the face of your children who, tired of your inaction, sought the help and the praise of other Gods. Perhaps, ones who might listen. Perhaps, ones who might act.
This is a world succumbed to sin, though the fault lies not with its people, but the God who chose to abandon them. A God who decided that his children were no longer worth saving. We are already in a Hell created by indecision and thoughtlessness.
It is not I who will repent when the day is done, for these crimes are not mine. They are yours, Lord. It is not we who must repent for you, but you who must sacrifice for your children. Our will be done, lest you lose your place on your golden throne.
Good morning, all. I’ve got a short poem for everybody today. Let me know what you think and please enjoy!
The light of his eyes
escapes
and wanders through you,
venturing through all those many layers
of your most precious soul,
finding lamps that light the winding path
that leads around a gentle knoll.
It searches along
meandering paths
into all your nooks and crannies,
working your mistakes
and knowing all those things it takes
to truly see the heart that breaks.
You rest with him in sleep that wakes.
Poems by Sam