Wicked Witches vicious Wishes
Worst of Curses Hexed
Paranormal Victim Witness
Poltergeist are Vexed
Rows of Sixes Superstitious
Sacred Scrolls and text
I see dishes fly malicious
And She is surely next.
Sold Her Soul and burnt the Bridges-
The Devils love Her Best!
*ABAB Witchcraft Contest Entry*
Put a bullet in my brain
as the rain sweeps her out of my arms
and places her into another's.
Put a bullet in my brain
for I don't want to see love slip away
please end my suffering,
for I don't want to dare see her in the arms of another man.
I fear the tear that slips away from my soul
and touches the ground with a splash
as she is washed away by the lashed memories of the rain,
please, someone put a bullet in my brain.
I can't bear to see her with another man
laying in his arms
as he charishes her beauty
just like I did to her.
As she smiles and laughs at his jokes
my heart would not bare the sorrow and pain
that would tare my heart apart into pieces of tainted love.
Please tell the rain to stop,
as the pain grows when rain comes down,
please someone end my suffering,
put a bullet in my brain
and stop the rain
that washes away every memory of her.
Stop saying you miss me
and just kiss me
for I can't take the pain
of the rain that takes you away.
Kiss me and stop saying you miss me
for those are useless words to me.
Love is where it's at, so show me.
Don't go with him, he'll treat you wrong.
Love and laugh with me till the break of dawn
as we yawn the long night away.
Kiss me and don't say you miss me.
For if you go away from me,
I couldn't bare to take a tear and waste it away.
Tears, sweet tears crying for you,
doesn't that mean anything to you?
I ask you, stop the rain,
stop the pain and put that bullet in my brain.
Let the red blood flow from my temples.
Let the plow dig my grave,
for I can't bare to see you with another
in his arms, him kissing you, where I kissed you.
I can't take it, I have to make it,
make that pain go away.
Prayer didn't help, God turned a blind eye
when I came up and said why!
Put that bullet in my dome
and when I lay in the coffin, looking at the roof of the church
you come and kiss me, and then you can really say
that you'll miss me.
Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.”
Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed ‘til night came to end.
When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man, which many name Death.”
The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold.
The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed.
Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged.
The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.
It’s a dimly lit, darkly entombed spot
Here sits a lone black weeping willow tree
Night encroached leaving nothing you can see
Its cold, nothing about this place is hot
Not a ray of light surrounds to get caught
Evil basks within the nooks quite empty
She sits, there on a stump she sits flatly
Devoid of emotion, hope isn’t brought
Expressionless she stands with great power
The tree bows right to her beck and call
She stands mighty and tall like a tower
Grove seems to be protected by a wall
All who happen to see her would cower
All she sees is hate, her soul crushes all
* Left over Halloween poem, I forgot to post this, enjoy!
Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.
The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.
"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.
Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.
The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.
Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?
A single kiss from thy lovely lips,
so sweet and so divine,
yet I taste posion upon your tongue.
Your beauty so glorious,
like a blooming rose so beautiful,
yet, why do mine eyes go blind
in the sight that you walk along with another?
Yes you, walk with another,
arm under arm,
lips touching lips in romantic kisses,
it makes my blood boil,
for mine lips are dry.
For mine eyes have seen your glory,
yet no one here listens to my story.
You are evil, yes you are,
don't try to deny,
Listen to a man of experience,
you might as well save some expense.
I write of our long romantic walks
we took together, under the shade of olive trees,
how we went apple picking in autumn time,
and made love in the foyer.
Nomore of that sweet and passionate love,
nomore silent kisses in the night,
when the wind blows hard against the branches,
that tape violently on my windowpane.
Nomore somber tears shed, when you got sick,
and nomore warm embraces when you shed tears of betrayal.
Betrayal now is a game played by a fool,
such as I,
to think I'd have a happy life with you?
Huh, only a fool would think such a thing,
but now I sit, looking at the foyer,
where we once made sweet, passionate love,
nomore will that foyer be filled with exotic pleasure.
Nomore will you be filled with smiles and exotic pleasure.
I've done my job, as a good man shall do,
now pack your things and get of my stage,
the spotlight yawns for anew,
and the audience grows tired and restless of you.
Now I live life anew,
you too shall see life in new eyes,
walking hand and hand with the blond, blue eyed devil
you call your own.
Shall he take one kiss from your lips,
and die of the posion he tastes on your tongue,
shall he go blind, when he sees your true, black beauty?
He will see the ugly soul, covered up by white rags,
and cheap makeup,
and then he will come to me,
and shake my hand in condolence
and say, "You were right!"
Now you are all alone,
looking for another, as you did many times before,
Now you are alone, walking an open road,
spying on another,
fear of being alone.
Now, you see when you play games with a good man's emotions,
don't try it,
because a good man is not meant to be toyed with.
He who weathers the swirling black feathers
Like a kill laid out by the skinner
One ninety-eight eyes
Across the night skies
With a story to tell the town spinner
And the Old Woman knows
It takes ninety-nine crows
To serve up a man Sunday dinner.
I lay sleeping with eyes wide open,
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning,
I lay sleeping with nothing to dream about.
I lay sleeping with no care and sleep with eyes blind,
I lay sleeping, there with my eyes wide open.
Seeing the dark change from dark to black.
There is no moon, there is no sky
just purple strokes of paint in the sky.
Take that morning dew smell and close your blind eyes.
Smell the morning, that smell that clicks in your mind.
The smell of childhood dreams,
that as an adult never came true.
Sleeping bare in the nude with your eyes wide open.
Thinking of her, as she is five thousand miles away from you.
Wanting to love and hold her, but no use in crying.
Sleeping their with blind eyes in the dark that dances in the light.
Your lamplight turned down low,
as life trickeles down in its nightgown and yawns for sweet slumber.
Tired from longs days, and sometimes long nights,
wanting to curel in bed and close its blind eyes.
Dusk will soon peek its head through the blinds
and awake life to a new dawn.
She sleeps in the morning, and walks at night.
When he sleeps at night, and walks with a bare nude heart in the morning.
Life climbs over yellow mountains,
and meets her fellow compainion
a handsome fellow with broud shoulders and blessed with an ego
as I sleep there with my eyes wide open.
As I sleep with my eyes blind to what life has intented for me,
and as I raise to walk the lone streets at the break of the dew covered lawn
at the first sweet smells of dawn,
I can see life go on with the handsome man
and I blind and wanting to go to bed.
I dream of dreams that have no meaning
Gardens of cluelessness and raging emotions
tare me down and I am confused on which way to go.
Do I stay here and dream away, blind and half awake
as life slaps me across my broad cheek?
Or shall I walk on with life hand and hand
and regain my vision of the world,
Start to sleep with dreams that make sense
and dreams that are made of gold and have no end?
Dream of fancy dreams that show love and happy endings
I would love that, and I would love to walk with life,
but she is out of my leauge.
And my bed is so cozy and I feel like sleeping.
So I shall sleep on more restless night chashing life down.
I lay sleeping with my eyes wide open.
I lay sleeping with dreams that have no meaning.
I lay sleeping waiting for life to come back from the mountains
and lay beside me.
I lay sleeping with hope of regaining hope and salvage
what is left of my spirit at hand.
Saul & the Witch of Endor
“7 Saul then said to his attendants, “Find me a woman who is a medium, so I may go and inquire of her.” “There is one in Endor,” they said. 8 So Saul disguised himself, putting on other clothes, and at night he and two men went to the woman. “Consult a spirit for me,” he said, “and bring up for me the one I name.” 9 But the woman said to him, “Surely you know what Saul has done. He has cut off the mediums and spiritists from the land. Why have you set a trap for my life to bring about my death?” 10 Saul swore to her by the LORD, “As surely as the LORD lives, you will not be punished for this.” 11 Then the woman asked, “Whom shall I bring up for you?” “Bring up Samuel,” he said.” 1 Sam 28:7-11 NIV
King Saul sought a medium—
He totally rebelled against God above.
Consultations with mediums were banned,
In accordance with the God of love.
Rebellion to this instruction
Is still prevalent today;
Mediums and spirits are sought
To lead the unknowing astray.
There are many like the Witch of Endor
Communicating with evil angels.
Most portray themselves as benevolent
And helpful to earth’s rebels.
Do not be deceived my friend
For you are being mocked.
King Saul met his death the following day;
By evil he’d been trapped.
Spirit guides can speak truth
And quote the Bible too,
But they are rebellious to God;
Communication with them taboo.
Many are deceived these days,
Just as in the days gone by.
They fail to talk to the Lord,
But on evil angels prefer to rely.
Saul and the Witch of Endor
Is a perfect example of rebellion.
God told us not to talk to the dead;
To this command, He made no exception.
Evil spirits enter men and women,
And place them under their control.
God wants us to surrender to Him;
Through His Holy Spirit, His power to enroll.
© Copyright 2012 Maureen LeFanue
What I do to deserve this heartbreak,
this horrid and unnatural pain,
this cleche of events that strike me simultaneously
as the time ticks away,
and as the grinning faces pierce a whole through my soul
and my heart turns pale and slowly beats.
My heart is torn in two,
and I cannot find the doctors to stich me up.
I ask an old man,
how does love go about,
he smaked me in the face and went on.
The pain and the sorrow,
it is too much to feel,
too much to gain in one serving,
When I eat, I taste posion, not passion,
familiar faces turn grey, with ruby eyes and sharp fangs
they hiss at me, like a cat to a mouse.
I don't understand why I deserve this.
I am a good man,
who loves with open arms and a big heart.
With every hug I give,
I recieve a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds,
suicidal tendencies roll through my mine,
but I quickly throw them out,
because Mama didn't raise no coward.
I see the blow, I clench my fists
and swing away,
God cries wanting to stop this madness,
Death laughs and soon joins in,
people join in and punch away.
I lay there on the concret blood everywhere,
my heart torn out of my chest,
each with a thousand knives stabbed in it,
as it slowly beats,
I lay their on the pavement,
looking up to the heavenly skies,
and as it starts to rain droplets of hope
I ask myself,
What did I do to deserve this?
Then, I shall close my eyes
and rest for awhile.
Inspired by all the betrayal and heartbreak I've faced, by so many cowards who didn't want to recieve my love. People I had thought who were my friends, came with invitations of humiliation and hate, and now I see who my real friends are; this pen and paper... Have a good day.
P.S. No one should ever be shown this much betrayal and heartbreak. I wouldn't even wish it on my worst enemy. Have a good day!