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Narrative Dark Poems | Narrative Poems About Dark

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The Old Dark House

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

- The Demons Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror -

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!


Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Gary)
September 10, 2016 (Anne-Lise)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Your Undying Legacy

My heart is so keen on you,
It leaves me cold, relentless, impossible
He fell into the love pools in my eyes,
The light you demand me to hide
He fell so lightly into my waters of secret
Only to see I am so far away

I do not blame you Precious Curse,
Though I cannot bring myself to touch upon his life
If I am to give him something, I will give my all
And with you, ever here, ever taciturn, I can give nothing...

Yearning for anything but the pain,
I fall victim to your bloody embrace
I kiss your battered lips,
Sucking the juices, absorbing your settled tears
They are drying upon your cheek now...
I see the ache of love caught in your eyes,
Your fierce, angry brow,
Head lowered, I sigh

Yes, I do blame you... 
I have blamed you for so long...
You kill me slowly, you consume me
Leaving me in bits for your next meal
You leave me to bleed...
And for you, feel...

The longer you stay into my cove of loneliness
The shorter I shall truly live
He has many times promised me happiness,
Taking my quivering hands, he had whispered, "I care for you..."
And in your lungs at last you heave,
In some eruption of sudden passion-
SHE IS MINE.... now LEAVE.... 
Pathetic, I know, my eyes lit up
At last you have shown me your emotion I so crave...

He sees in me, life... Precious Curse,
He is full of life...full of pain
Whenever I must return to you
He knows your destructive ways
He pities me, he grieves you
If only he had known you when alive...

Your smithered claws run through my hair
Feeding on my kindling despair
You breathe in my sorrowful scent
My life, my body, you resent

Though you cannot do away with me, Precious Curse
Just as I cannot let you go...
Your anger rises as my eyes drift,
To the one waiting at the door

He is insistent, brazen, brilliant,
His eyes never blinking, never deterred 
I beg him to go, though inside I plea he never depart
And your hoarse voice warns him to make his leave
I love it when you fight for me
That is the only life in you I ever see

When you realise I am no longer cold in your embrace
When you see love has strung its light upon my face
When you taste the iron on my lips,
You will know, I no longer love you for love's sake
I love you because I must,
And no one else will see us
As I take the dagger that you have many times punished me with
As I promise you, I will always bleed
You will feel...you will feel me tear you to shreds
For your destructive love is not strong enough to grant me death

Choking in my bleeding pools,
I give and I give and I give
As close as can be
The last thing you will see is him and I
Free
Your face no longer capable of crying
Or speaking, or lying... 

Yes, I do blame you... 
I have blamed you for so long...
Now you are gone...truly gone

Sometimes, when my love is fast asleep,
I crave your distant charm
The curve of your assuming lips
Yet well I know I hide all these desires
Deep down in my cove I secretly visit
Knowing your seed grows inside me now
Wallowing in the remnants of our struggle

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God's Light

Ancient Shadows Awaken into God’s Light

Underneath the deep seabed the stirring sands of time have passed on.
Ancient shadows continue to haunt all of us from the oceans’ depths,
And insidious and violent nightmares portray bloody and evil visions,
As an old treasure chest is opened and a gull’s cry foretells tragic stories.

Untold riches awaken Neptune’s deepest waves as the tides turn inward,
And a star-gazing dust trail turns into a golden circle of subtle measure.
The dark moon’s horrid howl sounds in its crimson cradle over the ocean 
As the cruelest beast from evil Hellspawn creeps and invades all energies.

The moon’s beam feasts on poor and lonely souls under the cover of night,
Whilst savagely touching the sad forlorn places between Heaven and Earth.
These unholy places of dark origin beckon the spirit of a vile Vampire who 
Cometh from a deep-darkness creeping around under the Devil’s own aura.

This Prince of Darkness bringeth enchanting soft-sweet kisses of solitude,
Tempting now the innocent silhouette of a ravishingly beautiful young lady
Whose true desire and passion for love leaps over an ice-ruby magical fire,
As her robust heartbeats incite the Vampire’s ravenous thirst for her blood.

The sensual fire stoked by this lady’s heartbeats and lifeblood burn sold 
Down a macabre river of true darkness, all perfect up, as she gasps aloud
For air, wincing and moaning audibly, as she expires with a most ghastly
Death rattle as the Prince of Darkness gleefully smiles at her godless soul.

This gruesome image invokes a blending of human bread eating into the
Suffering eyes of salted fish bait trapped and gasping for air, for mercy,
Just like a trapped drunken sailor now swallowed inside hungry ghouls
Who haunt over dark sea whispers that chill to the bone mankind’s future.

Those souls lost within the land of this living dream bask now positive as
The darkness turns into sunlight in God’s own yard of supreme radiance, 
Metamorphosing into a lovely butterfly emerging from its silken cocoon,
Now so cotton-soft and swallowed by the bright light of the human soul.

The soul’s lucent energy of heavenly radiance comes forth for all to see
As the Devil’s dark beast now sings its paeans of utter joy as this terror
Transforms itself—yet ever so slowly—into a calm sea of true change.
With this miracle change cometh a peace sanctuary of God’s angels!

That’s a thousand of God’s angels now chanting with a pleasured delight
As a heaven-sought change comes to nurture the plight of all lost souls.
With this aura of change, love’s sacred light shineth now so ultra-bright,
For even the darkened heart of the beast can find peace in Heaven’s light!

We await to see where this beast shall go and what shall follow in kind.
Shall this former beast of the Devil himself experience a final epiphany
To be like the blessed butterfly or to return to the black heart of the crow?
Almighty God does indeed move in the most mysterious of ways! 

The Prince of Darkness laughs no longer as his long-lost soul burns hot
And blue-bile-black-red in Hell’s own deepest, darkest inescapable pit!
No redemption for him and for his master, the Devil, confined below.
By God’s holy command, all ancient shadows shall awaken whole into
Heaven’s eternal and radiant light! All by God’s divine grace and mercy!

Amen! Amen! Amen!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Team Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
November 16, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee

Copyright © Nina Hernandez | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Dark House

This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!

Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behind,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Night Angel

They needed help
Walking alone in the dark.
The man.
The child.
A broken down car.
The child frightened,
But not understanding
The terror
That would soon
Come her way.
Her parents petrified
That their baby was gone,
Agonizing
Over forbidden images
That crowded their way
Past ice cream sundays
And birthday parties
And wedding days.
A passer-by.
A doer of good deeds.
He stops.
He sees.
He looks into
the little girl's eyes.
Bravely
The girl speaks,
"This is not my dad"
And the coward
who took her,
He runs.
He hides.
The passer-by,
Believing he saved
A child
From a long, cold walk,
In reality
Saved a child
From a long, cold death.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Halloween Eve Black Mass Incantation

We Pray In The Name of Our Father Lucifer, 
Which wert in Heaven:

Boil, Boil plague-ridden rats and toads in oil,
With a pair of gleaming snake eyes too.
Mix in fresh hen’s blood and a rabbit’s paw,
With a touch of horse dung and a lizard’s tail too.
Add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater.
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
During Vespers for Our Midnight Black Mass on All Hallows’ Eve.
Serve this unholy sustenance to Our Coven at midnight,
As we pray in Great Lucifer’s name for his guidance
In defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
We do this in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
We seek Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
As Our Coven has the power of His Power as granted
By His Unholiness when the full moon’s shadow
Crosses the face of the Earth. 
	
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 5, 2014) (Narrative Incantation poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

The Empty Tissue Box

My heart was in such pain
I felt like I was going to go insane
I just don't know what to do 
And my eyes full of tears that distort my view

I fell to my knees and felt the urge
My muscle tighten and pin needles struck me like a surge
My body was warm and with feelings so confused
My mind felt sadness had fused

I could not conquer my fears
I just sat down and fell into tears
When some close to you passes on
It felt like a warmth has gone

So I raised my hand towards a box that was empty with no tissue
I first was embarrass and had a little bit of issue
All my friends hugged me and said sorry for your loss
So now I cry in my bed and toss


April 14, 2013

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

I'll cry tomorrow

Sitting dying alone,
In this dark and dingy place 
It has now become my home..
The only open bar 
In town, I needed something to heal my broken heart
I'm on my 8th round, Going on Nine now!

Swaying on this broken bar stool
As the bartender shouts 
his “last call”, As I'm looking down
and this shuffled ground
As I try a re step my footsteps home
Walking them back In my head
But I'm a stumbling mess

My heart feels like shattering glass
I'm slowly breaking,
Sink-in, Drown-in in the dark-nest
I'm Gasp-in, For breath, Each one Hard-er
than the next!
While the whole world around me are breathing
Fine, I'm falling back into the abyss, 
Broken heart-ed 
This vodka has cut my skin so deep
This broken glass with it's hard edges
Digging, Silting into me
Tho some of my pain was self inflicting 
My heart's beat, is barely beating
That's why I'm drinking
This gin 
Now swallowed, why cant I
swallow my pride With
Dignity, I'm openly seeking darkness 
I'm sorry farther “For I have sinned”
Those sin's I've harbored
Now my hollowed soul's giving In
To that darkness....

My body trembling ,The outcome's looking bleak
I've become so weak
Shaking knees, I can barely stand up
My eye's become teary 
They say its this alcohol that's depressing me
But it's soon becoming my dependency
I'm finding hard to leave it be, I'm hooked....
...To a drip, Anything so I can get my fix
It’s another chapter I've my book
That''s needs to be ripped, Apart
Because I'm hiding be-hide a mask
My face is smiling but inside my heart is scared..

I'm writing this at night 
I'm tired... but my mind's racing fast
while my eyes are wide shut
I'm Trying to sleep..but my mind's
Not giving up..whilst
I'm lying on my friends sofa
I'm unable to get up
Morning rises but I'm slowly dying..

I'm hung over
Pondering on my life and wondering
what it would be like being sober
How can I achieve anything in life
When my only motivation is getting high
And the other half of the time
I'm crying inside 
Too depressed to write
But I wipe my tears 
But I'm still here, On my bar stool from 9 to 5!

The same broken record playing
Saying “I'm going to quit” But I'm not facing
My problems to begin with, I need a Fixative
I'm not telling myself I got a problem to be able to fix it!
Sitting here, Ripping the label off this toxic beer, bottle
I can't look at look at this mirror and face him!
Face it you hit rock bottom...
I cant believe what I have become
I wake up drunk
Where will I end up?
As I look along, A sedimentary I come a pone, A grave with my name above...

As the bar door's are now closing
My heart's ripped open Soaking
In pure emotion
Bartender “Give me two more shots”
And ill mend my way's
Not before a quick pit stop 
To get more drink from this shop
Because I'm getting sick of these sad song's that play
From the broken jukebox!
Or this it me?
And my pain that's eternal bleeding
Thinking that every sad song is talking to me?
I'm leaving.. 

Because I'm lonely
I wonder if anyone get's me?
The feeling of looking back hopelessly
At the bottom of the vodka bottle
Describing my feelings of feeling empty!
I've been here before so it can't be rock bottom

The only thing I adore 
Is my trusty red Pen that's my Savior 
It's a metaphor...it's my blood, That's in its ink
When it hit's the paper
It's that pain, I'm writing with!
Because that inspiration's bleeds through my veins
Just for me to scribble to words on this page
Just so I can throw them away!
Because I think anything I ever do 
Is not good enough for you..
Maybe I should do, More before I get taken away
Maybe if that ambulance had been late
I wouldn't been standing here today
But I still cant make that change

Because My vision, Impaired by the flashing lights 
Of that ambulance
So If I die, today 
At least they couldn't say 
He was just an addict
Who abused his talent...

But I'm still here I tried To drown My 
Sorrow
But I'm Drowning In tear's That I'll cry 
tomorrow!

Copyright © Jamie Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

THE OPAQUEST NARRATIVE

In Michigan, the weather can change for the worst in October.
This particular Halloween came a blizzaring.
The lights went out and in a dark, dark room, candles were lit; therein, the opaquest 
narrative was captured.
* With the shape of With figment With look I will invent the human. Through the mind Via light With aspect The being I will project. I saw sadness. It stared directly at me. I gazed back. It begins to glare. I looked away. Why am I afraid? It is an ape, a primate. With child fists, I walked toward this apelike creature and strike out. Finally, I saw more than eyes and it pounces. It is a little child as a man. My hands represented some insight. Would we fight? ** The universe stood as earth. Solar we are to the sky above. Humanity shouts with a hoarse voice. Man, woman, and child stands as an echo. God sent the demons. The sinners are all of us. Through commandment of what Hell is Heaven is not. Demons are with God. The Pacific Ocean is the end of the world. It runs east and west. Why do we not investigate this? [Because our capabilities are limited!] Are we afraid of what we will find? We discovered each other and now we hesitate. Procrastination is a thing that delays knowledge. Are we wise to seek? Demons are with God. Are we? *** Body [body] {Body}! Gut (gut)! Skin and bones wake up! I am a reincarnation of that that is not known. Many have come before me but none was as I am. I am the body for the human to gut a man. However, women are now involved and they want to be in the belly. Instinctive they are but this was only for man to do. Why do they want to be that damned fool? Unconscious to the world that they are within, one would ask self why they want to be like men. The answer becomes to fit in. What if there is one left out? The answer becomes their bodies have been gutted and they are only GI. **** The Moon has no Gods. The Sun is what speaks to us. It tells us prophesy and what the world shall become. We are mongoloid, brown and bronzed spiritual to our existence. Our tribes are of North America. A hundred plus [we] stand[s]. Our land is our strength. We fought. We won. We lost. Died from disease but gave birth once again. Our population stands now and we are healthy. The European man has given our wisdom and knowledge. Our minds are set on our economic growth. We will become political minded. Five hundred nations are we those lost tribes of our history. ***** The mockery of man is a stance of incorrectness. It transforms through government and states that your freedoms are not anything to believe in. You, as people, are nothing but possessions and no one knows who is blessed. You are lucky to be here. Your way of life is given by our nation’s wealth. We are brought together as immigrants and the natives of this country are indigenous. We cannot pretend that we are more than that. We must pedestal ourselves to unity and know that people are only structure to adhere. One came for liberation. Others came via slavery. Nomads were unbound. They let them in yet they were said to be uncivilized. Today we are unified. We are the United States of America bound, bonded, and realized. {We are gratis; free to form our own lives.} ______________________________________________| PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 13, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Sleepless Nights

Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark 
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds

This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained

But,  don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day

The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain

From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night, 
that switches on the light

I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
---------------


For Leonora Galinta's Contest

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative | |

Shaken to the Core

Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me. 
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif. 

Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped 
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body. 
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life. 
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
 
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears, 
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK". 
I lied, knowing it wouldn't.  Besides what could I do with so little to give. 
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.

I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me. 

Copyright © Charlene McCutcheon | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Portrait Of Red

Pain is just another form of medication, feeding the demons that nest inside.
A temporary fix, a band aid per say, covering the secrets I am trying to hide.

I am like the right hand to the devil, with the ability to manipulate others thoughts and emotions.  Exploiting there fears, insecurities and dreams, I can flip in a split second, merely to show my complete and utter devotion.

My eyes and ears are magnified by ten, a gift to some but a burden to me.  I close my eyes to try and escape for a brief moment just to feel free.

Intrigued by the sharp edges of a blade, and the power that it contains.  Just a simple brush across my skin, paints a beautiful portrait of red, dripping like falling drops of rain.

I hurt myself on the outside to kill the evil that lives within.  I'ts relief flowing through my veins, with a rush of instant gratification to make me grin.

The truth to any story always has an open window, it will sneak it's way through.  The eyes can be read like a paper back novel, every word, every image, a tragedy but true.

I'm always aware of my situation and my surroundings, even though it appears I am not paying attention.  I see all, I hear all, studying anyone and everyone requires my full concentration.

Fantasying about death and the peace it brings, oddly is what makes me smile.  To finally put an end to my journey in hell, only keeps me in denial.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion at the end of everyday, I lay my head to rest.  I think to myself that maybe someday, I will finally pass life's test.

Copyright © Priscilla Ford | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Emo Girl Explains Why She Cut

My picture of pain,
Exists with a slight twist,
I place a sharp razor on my wrist,
Dragging it vertically and horizontally I make slits,
Feeling the urge after every heartbreak,
Feeling the urge to cut with every mistake I make,
Someone help me, but please do not refer to me as insane,
I’m not seeking attention; my body gets numb to the pain,
Expressing the pain I’ve felt emotionally by hurting myself physically.
The endorphins which releases from each cut causes me to fell high
If you ask what’s wrong I’m going to lie.
But as you can see the truth, I am not fine
I’m slowly breaking down inside,
But I cover up all this pain with a smile and pull down my long sleeves,
That cover up the all the memories that each scar leaves.

Copyright © Sedain Sangster | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

- The Old Dark House -


This tale of “The Old Dark House” is one that’s replete with a
most horrid sense of pure evil and macabre, and is worth being
retold each year during the deep-dark hours of All Hallows’ Eve
before the chime of midnight, when the thin veil separating the
land of the living and the dead momentarily dissolves, bringing
both worlds together until the break of dawn.

Beware of this house’s mythical and ethereal presence in the
shadow dreams of the innocent, and be forewarned to never
conjure its image in your unconscious mind. If so conjured,
The Old Dark House shall become an unending reality to the
innocent and uninformed, and on All Hallows’ Eve, the evil
“Demons of Hell” shall come for your very soul!  

The Old Dark House is one that is bathed and cursed in utter
hellfire and damnation by Lucifer himself. It’s one that creeps a
chill and frozen reminder into the very frame of its nasty, putrid
structure. It shall guarantee you the worst possible nightmares as
your very soul cries in agony and pleads unrelentingly for mercy!

Your nightmares are, in turn, amplified and born into the very
structure of this house with ivy creeping as you palpably sense
the wretched ice-cold fingers of Hell opening the doors to the
cavernous basement were evil shadows of goblins, ghosts,
ghouls, vampires, and werewolves parade openly from past lives.

Everyone suffering the curse of the damned was captured here
when they visited, becoming prisoners to the darkness of true evil,
far away from the light, goodness, and eternal mercy of Almighty
God Himself.

Six generations of my family actually dwelled beneath the rafters
of The Old Dark House where demonic forces were constantly in
play—as hot sparks burned the tongues of lost souls who cried in
agony, and their world would enter the vortex of darkness whilst
blood-curdling screams could be distinctly heard during the night
on All Hallows’ Eve. Ghostly images would appear out of nowhere
supported by the frightening ferocity of Lucifer who is the true dark
presence and ultimate tempter of mankind!

The horror I felt as a young boy trapped in this existence is truly
unimaginable. The image of The Old Dark House still haunts my
adult consciousness, even today, as I would shudder in the cold
night-sweat of sleep to purge its eternal presence from my mind!

Cruel pictures adorn the hell-hole hall of imagination as a gruesome
and unbelievable power underneath wields its vice-grip of hideous
words, whispering in the coldest of ice without the living being able
to breathe in a cloud of mercy and forgiveness, within an ancient
language of evil and evil-doings that twist the shape of words to
suit one’s human fears and cold shivers!

I still don’t understand the full measure of things being lost in this
dark pit of Hell in The Old Dark House. It’s a place that’s devoid
of human meaning and worth as shrunken heads are disembodied!
I hold on to what remains of a past shame, hovering high in the air
as unclean spirits of a crooked vision-circle wander aimlessly as a
Blind Sheppard leads our lost souls to the depressing Dark Land of
Nowhere and Nothingness!

Every October as the full moon rises high in the dark-sky evening,
a ritual fire is set by a local coven of witches to celebrate the advent
of All Hallows’ Eve. These witches know well the power and evil of
The Old Dark House. Their burnt offerings and black magic spells
echo hauntingly as Hell’s own fury is unearthed, challenging all
things virtuous in mankind’s existence and in God’s world of beauty,
hope, kindness, and light.

These evil images of black magic and witchcraft haunted my sleep
entire. I couldn’t sleep at all before dawn. I constantly sense now
an awakening madness in my soul, as if it comes from hidden graves
yet to be uncovered. Images and bad memories of The Old Dark House
push me now toward the opening of unknown tombs. I can actually
now smell Death’s Sulphur-burnt flesh!

Doors begin to rustle behind me as I hear loud footsteps of a pin
echoing deep in my mind. The echo shatters any illusions I have
of human sanity and forgiveness. I feel the sheer horror and begin
suffocating as the stale air is trapped in each breath I take!  

I sit up now—immediately confused, looking directly at a lonely
and empty Black Void that goes on and on and on—to infinity!

Cell doors in the house basement were always closed tight with
rusted iron links bound by heavy chains. As a poor child alone in
this house with other condemned children, there were nice rooms
upstairs that were always barred and shut to us as we suffered in
the filthy basement below. In Lucifer’s Hell!

I recall now too, in my memory, a gallery of special portraits in
The Old Dark House, which formed a ghastly mosaic of pure evil.
These portraits were of key human disciples of Lucifer who had served
him well through the ages. All of these images were grotesque and evil
when taken as a whole.

What did I learn? Evil is what Evil is! And Evil does what Evil does!

I’m free now from the eternal curse of The Old Dark House. I escaped
this mansion of the macabre as a young man and found my soul path
to Almighty God and stepped into His holy light of forgiveness and
redemption! 

As a very old man now, I sleep and dream a lot. Usually my dreams, 
thank goodness, are pleasant as I draw toward the end of my mortal
existence here on earth.

Yet, despite all the good things in my life now, during October of
each year, as All Hallows’ Eve cometh closer in the deep recesses
of my mind—I remember clearly that the ground floor of The Old
Dark House always had these frigid-cold wind gusts that spoke 
chillingly to one’s very soul. As young kids we would run upstairs
in this evil house to hear the “Demons of the Night” moan and cry!

Old Hob always had a way to speak to all of us as kids in His House!








Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 7, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

A Dark Man

         This piece is dedicated with love to J.E. Gauthier, Jr. Active addict and father. 
Only by the grace of God may he be saved from the error of his ways.

 For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin
 
 Back then life on the road meant drugs money and women far as the eye could see
 He said he'd never look back 'cuz he was born free
 
 Life grew emptier as he grew older
 The drugs grew heavier as his heart grew colder
 His four children left behind with no place to call home
 From day one they made it in this world alone
 
  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin

 Every few years he'd arrive unannounced offering money and a hug
 All while using the garage to hide his drug
 His spitting image could smell his guilt a mile away
 She rolled her gloomy blue eyes in unison with every false word he had to say

 Today his girls are grown raising girls of thier own
 December came and went
 February turned to Lent
 On a stormy midnight he still turns to his blue eyed spitting image
 As the clouds clear she is again lost in the scrimmage

 She lies awake with a bottle of wine in hand
 On her mind weighs a dark man
 His ways make him lonely and lost
 Yet to her death she will fight for him at all costs

  For years a dark man walked through a seemingly revolving door
 Steadily leaving his wife and kids as he searched for something more
 Occasionally calling home every now and again
 In his voice they could hear the taint of black sin

Copyright © Sara Beaderstadt | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

Hypnotic and Deep


               I inherited a magnificent antique natural black diamond ring,
it is an impure crystal from Central Africa, it is entirely opaque;
     a precious gem, absolutely beautiful and quite valuable,
a mesmerizing color created by nature, it touches my very soul.
          It inspires me with it's hypnotic quality taking me deep,
and I see it's power in my accessories, always black and sensual;
                the black diamond is mysterious and shrouded in drama.
many a death has been cast by a particular black diamond stone.

               I did research and found out-  a famous black diamond,
was pried from the eye of a statue in a sacred shrine temple;
     in Pondicherry, India by a travelling monk thief, so the myth says,
the theft created a cursed diamond called the Eye of Brahama.
          The myth then states that the diamond caused three deaths,
people would throw themselves off high buildings by suicide;
             later the diamond was cut into three breaking the curse,
of course, my ring is not one of the pieces, yet is still lovely.

               The days I wear my ring and my lovely black accessories,
I transcend this world, my makeup and hair become magical;
     seeing the world with my third eye and it is so very amazing,
I am a different girl-   dark, sensual, and so very mysterious.
          And when I take off the black ring and accessories,
a mere girl stands in front of the mirror, natural and glowing;
          the magic is gone but the inner peace remains and inspires,
I think what we put on our bodies should have a soul- 
                                                                   hypnotic and deep.

_____________________
August 3, 2016

Narrative


For the contest, Black Diamond
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

Feeding the Parasites

I wept, my insides swelling
Despising every fiber of my body…
I focused on the glassed scenery before me
Longing to be a bird…so I might fly so far away….
From the searing pains of my present
The end to all of my hopeful dreams and fantasies

I knew in my heart…I must return
Back into the presence where these tears began
I recalled many lonely nights without that presence
I remember how empty I felt, how moist the pillow was
As I rested my burning head through the misery of ‘what-if’
My body feeding the infestation on my bed…
I let the critters bite me for so long….
Wishing they would eat me all away…

And I wished, my hands pressed against the hot glass…
That I had that bed again…
Staring out that window, wishing…writhing 
Longing for a downpour as the sun beat mercilessly
Fighting to hold the excreting despair

A lonely hall I stood in…once so full of life…
I now stood alone there….
Shaking in the buzz beyond me

How long must I stand here?
After all these years….that’s all he had to say?
I didn’t care….today was the end….today was the very end….
My strength was gone…sucked dry….
Just as I allowed my tears to disappear…..

I refused to cry no longer…
Dry….dry faster….you mean nothing!!!!
For the presence has made himself very clear
In cold existence… though at distance…
Warm…beautiful…true…
It was his way….and I couldn’t change that 

Like so many others around, the one I loved….
Couldn’t even spare a fleeting look
I had no one to blame but myself…
Though a part of me begged me to believe he was different

And no one questioned my solemn walk to the lone window
So I cursed my body, my soul, and heart
I cursed what I had trusted to make my mark
I wanted to just…fade away…
And though granted existence to this presence,
Acknowledgement remained a strained formality 
A distant dream of something more…
Walking briskly through that double door…..

“I was impressed…” He had added, with no emotion.
No conviction. And no love.

Why do your eyes wander as you speak?
Is this broken heart even worthy of your gaze?

…..trust me…..
I no longer live for your acceptance, you fleeting presence
I no longer write to you…though often about you…
No longer speak of the beauty I have once seen
But there are still times when my eyes moisten,
As I imagine where you once stood
Imagining those sickening ‘what ifs’….feeding the parasites….
Imagining what could have been…
What will never be again….

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative | |

Brothers and sisters of Eden

A world changes course 
expelling the good grim reaper 
twisted joke 
entering this forbidden zone 
called democracy 

Careless acts of violence black and white
mothers burying their children 
so much tears soak the very grounds 
salt of this earth 
where moral order breaks down 
in societies failure 

A bad replacement shapeshifting demons rule
Where no longer they care about peoples suffering 
removing God's teachings from schools 
so our forefathers died in vain blood of our ancestors 

Taking away human rights 
amnesty international laugh a minute
lawless democracies without proper vision 
killing without just cause tyrants bragging ill will
Without facing the justice of all lands 

Murder is murder so says the judge above all 
stealing is robbing without deeds aquired 
laid down by the Lord on stone himself 

We all know its the devil's playground now
Darkness of your souls reek with many lies told 
When fancy coated words fall out vomit 
from the mouths who ware suits 
As that is a trademark 
of the biggest robbers there is 

Stealing even by stealth or forced to ground 
poisionous morals killing the seed of truth 
sewn from the garden of lust dark or light

Open your eyes blind beggars of hell 
disfunctional greedy merchants and war criminals 
alike you all sign a pact together like wolves 
we see the suffering and torment of your weapons 
tipped with poison blaming everyone but yourselves

Creating hate through your neverending violence 
amongst the innocent victims raped of everything 
God be merciful unto your rotten souls

Damning the victims with your pride filled agendas 
we all become victims if we sit without a voice listen pride 
Peace is the way forward that looks above and beyond
stand down dark spirits  your lust knows no bounds 
drunken with greed 

Light of our saviour will come 
one day supreme commander 
I will kneel to the creator 

When this earth goes into darkness again 
we need to pray for salvation 
no longer do we walk 
but stumble in the pathway 
of his loving ways 

Rock of faith we stand strong 
for our childrens sake 
to give them a future generation 

Mercy shake hands 
make Eden beautiful again
The signs are coming to pass
to celebrate the happiness and joy 
Heaven above the angels will sing

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

LIES

Oh, I'd seen the sea in many ways
I heard so many lies coming from he
darkness is a playground 
for the lost and never found,

Lies is in his eyes
Lies is in his soul
Lies is all he knows 
I'd seen better days 
but that was sometime ago ,

Dying is the place of grace 
dying is to rest your head 
dying is the grave 
that holds your name
its the history of who you are,

Life was slow and sad
but Dark Angel was always glad
when someone was made
I was crying alone 
but again this is his darken throne,

He is the angel of all lies
He loves to make me scream
and give me a life of darken dreams
He loves to tell me stories 
that will make me weep,

Dark Angel is so mean 
I watch the sea turn red
I seen so many painful things
but most of all 
I would hear the lies of the dark side.

Poetic Judy Emery (c)

Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative | |

As dark clouds

Descends over the mountains 
a blanket of suffering thunder
The fork between two tongues sings 
truth always comes to light 
under angel rays expelling echoes 

A thousand ancient whispers 
striking home babbling silently 
gathering tongues cry to the vain
Gale force in the mind blows fuse 

There is so many power hungry nations 
fed by constantly spilling innocent blood 
keeping people down is such a falsehood
God be with all victims of crime committed 

Wounded knee echoes of past genocide exist 
as does the Emerald Isle 
an open book clearly speaks volumes

They who should be held accountable 
by countries of this world 
brought to justice and face the facts 
freedom is a democracy 
to live without chains attached

Sweeping under weeping souls chant 
Spirits haunting winds cry 
over many plains in song 
There is no love of God present 
in them who take another's life

Rustling through branches 
many tales of woe Armenia cries out 
Battle reduces men into animals 
through their blood thirsting hate scars

Filled with rage and bitterness gas used 
inhumane violence stormy seas fuels the desire 
to kill every living being poisonous mushrooms cloud 
with hate consumes 
wiping out countless women and children 
destroying nature without a care for this planet
 
Always innocent parties unto such vile acts are addressed openly
Wipe away the cobwebs from over your eyes world 
Taking life from the living forbidden 
no good disturbing the balance of peace 
Love is far from so many people's heart's these days

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

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The Demon's Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror

This tale of “The Demon’s Shrill Cry of Dread and Horror”
lives on in the mountain village of Gpeth Tor in the outlying 
region of the “Dark Forbidden Forest” known for evil, death,
and lost souls. This tale passeth from generation to generation,
to the present, and still frightens all people who hear its grim
message as it sends an icy-cold chill that stabs the heart of one’s
holy eternal soul!

A young boy who just turned six years heard this tale so told
by both of his parents who shivered with a great palpable fear.
Their story of the Devil’s Demon of the Dark Forbidden Forest
mesmerized this young lad, giving him gruesome nightmares,
whereby the Devil’s Demon whispers cruelly to him in the 
darkest corners of his mind and in his deepest moments of sleep!

The young boy’s recurring nightmares show him running each
night deep into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest while both 
shouting and screaming his desire to see and to serve this foul
Demon of the Wild, while forsaking Almighty God in his thoughts!
This ghastly dream world each night is like morphine to his brain,
as this young boy suffers, feeling the chains of its merciless torment!

But this story of the boy is now 22 years ago as he’s progressed on
to manhood—driven to the very depths of depravity and insanity
as he witnesses nightly in his padded cell the evil actions of both
Ghouls and Ghosts who’d open up the graves of past rotting souls.
This insane young man now sings paeans with a fulsome alacrity
as he celebrates the shrill and haughty cry of the Devil’s Demon!

Does anyone really believe in happy fairy tales when Hell itself
corrupts the mind and spirit of the young and unsuspecting?

Does anyone believe a young fairy princess who kisses a frog
and says that the frog is now a dashing, noble prince?

Does anyone really understand and believe there are real monsters
who roam the maze of one’s mind crying now into a dark abyss,
while Goblins and Ghosts float freely robbing the living of breath?

The Dark Forbidden Forest of this evil lore does indeed exist, and
it lives freely in the dreams of young village children so frightened 
and terrified by the dark-demonic-visage of a bile-black-blooded 
Bogeyman who resurrects himself nightly in their true dreams of a 
sweet innocence in the place where scars are born every waking day,
as the lid of terror is lifted open, spewing legends and tales of the
macabre stealing the very life-force of heartbeats leading to Death! 

The local people of this legend in the village of Gpeth Tor speaketh 
freely of shrunken heads in large glass jars deep in the bowels of the
Forbidden Forest, where the threshold of pain and absolute madness
knows no bounds of moderation, and tortured beings and lost souls
cry out loudly as the Dark One takes his due while the broken bones
of those who remain are crossed—weighted so heavy like an anchor!

Invisible and evil forces at the Devil’s command have taken control
of the Forbidden Forest, where nasty beasts with a rabid blood thirst
for torture live in the very cells of the chained and forgotten souls who 
have lost their way to Almighty God and His Angels in Heaven above.

Grotesque stories still abound to the present time in this century of the
perverse and maledictory nature of this dark forest that borders so close
to the ancient village of Gpeth Tor—of what can happen to those who
dare to speak of the unspeakable, as Specters of the Undead feast upon 
the heartbeats of innocent victims until they are fully consumed, and
their souls are condemned to an unending damnation and agony!

It’s been so many years since I graced my presence again in this ancient
“Village of the Damned.” Mea Culpa! Forgive me! A difficult journey!
I’ve now lost my way into the light and to the holy path to God Himself.

Gpeth Tor and its people live on into this twenty-first century as it is.
The frightful memories and presence of the Forbidden Forest are real,
and are still devouring the very living thoughts and ideals of the young.
Many moons later the sacrilege of this reality still lurks and crawls now
beneath one’s own human flesh as the divine answers to “God’s Truth”
lay, locked far away in the depths of Lucifer’s Kingdom here on Earth!

Gary Bateman, Anne-Lise Andresen, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 20, 2016 (Narrative)

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

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Just for Me

In the past I remember how things were so simple
When I was little my cheeks had such cute dimples
Looking back I remember how sweet I was as a child
When I think again my heart told me I was so wild
Yet, in time my simple choices was revealed as true as anyone
The reason I was the way I am today, I did things, to get done
Finishing lots of my undone ideas was so incredibly hard
So I figure my heart and choices should never hold in no bard
I never thought I would learn heart aches and pain
With such under statement I did things for no gain
I was a child who held true to what he has learned
But as we got older those kinda perspective would get me burned
When I made up my mind that people was not kind
I led myself in a confusion that I was blind
In the past I do recall that seeing is believing
So I was the one who stood their with friends leaving
Alone, I felt I did not belong, I cherish each person who knew me
I got older too see how the world works it stung me like a bee
The feeling of tingling ran through my vain
My view of the world and people who knew me was stained
Now I know they are out for their selves with no kind feelings
Life I know is just a joke because of who I hung out with seeing
Today as I look at the world it is in such shambles and astray
And rather fallow everyone I just walk away

Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2013

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Face Of Modern Slavery

A shameful act in this world we live today
surely an educated mind can clearly see the truth behind a mask
Ignorance is the hardness of heart manifests in such violence 
The horrors and inhumanity of it heartbreaking reality reeks
A mortal sin attacking the vital principle within us all
slavery is very much alive and growing each dawning new day

New bigger than ever in the 21st century, returning evil dawns
Turn a blind eye poor unfortunate girls without a voice cry for love
India has the largest number of slaves in the world we live in
The dark side of such a beautiful country an evil vice grips hold

Taking a new form, bride trafficking exploiting the poor
those unfortunate falling prey to traditional arranged marriages
some are sold off like objects for as little as 160 euro's, up to 225 euro's 5000 rupees 
Vulnerable young women exploited forced into hard labor some injected with drugs e.t.c they say their life is Hell not worth living

Working morning and night beaten in extreme heat raped by family members
Their is a social status manufactured from all this a stigmata deceit and trickery
they are then disgraced known as purchased women

Men and women so called mercenaries in a perverse vice 
looking at ill got wages they act as brokers in a deliberate choice of evil 
This the gravest violation of good clouds and corrupts judgement 
Entrapment and sale of poor unfortunate vulnerable women as brides
victims of greed to an illegal trade one grave offence
Turning away from evil out of fear of punishment 
we ourselves are in a position of slaves

Studies have been carried out the world over 
treating women as baggage or a commodity or an item of less worth
they lead their victims into evil doing without choice 
They do the most punishing of manual labor exploited under extreme conditions
Some have been taken from their families forcefully again'st their will 
then sold many times over as sexual objects and given drugs 
sedated to prevent them from escaping living a life of constant fear 

Tears roll down my cheeks 
law is a broken promise of truth to protect innocence
25 years of selective abortions willfully being practiced
by doctors and surgeons alike
protecting wrong doers cry people oppressed forced in some circumstances
life is sacred a verdict of moral conscience 

Only in the female section a shame and disgrace 
now a population of mostly men seed of their wrong doing
Oppression of the poor cries to Heaven for revenge 
keeping of slaves deprives thee laborer of their wages 
were is human rights in all this God be merciful 

Our blessed mother holding Queen of Heaven sits with the father and the son 
forgive them as they are blind to the truth an ignorance in their guilt
A mothers tears are the most precious love one blessing 
The suffering of these innocent girls, we all seek happiness in the fairy tale end

Rich men acting as brokers dowries a property exchange how awfully sad
How shameful this is slavery returning to the past sins 
enduring a life of constant sexual abuse considered unclean
this should be banned as it turns my stomach were is equality
More the Devil's advocate, such heartache and tears justice a virtue
all because you were born a woman some are taken by force an uneven balance
beaten and battered victims, a sadness overwhelms me 

Sex selective abortions, a blast again'st girls 
if the unborn child is female more than likely will be aborted
Costs of dowries crippling to parents, going into debt 
A woman, one precious jewel in my eyes who gives birth to new life 
in the fruit of love, to be held equal with an equivalent say
contrary to the divine  law
Created from a rib of man 

Families torn apart for what, such reason greed of money
The countless women enslaved live in hope 
unrepented evil brings eternal darkness destroys charity
This new prosperity is but a distant dream for some 
10 million people in enslaved in India

They have an imperialist attitude with political dominance over the poor 
The colonist legacy remains with status 
Some are considered of worthless class
Slavery laws should be enforced abolishing such inhumane cruelty 
in such loveless acts
fruits of charity are joy to behold brings peace and mercy 
as they project something to the outside world that they are not 
Hidden under the carpet their lies the sins of falsehood  





Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2015

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The Death Of A Friend

There was no casket to be set into the earth.
Only memories were to be  burried washed clean 
by the bottles embrace.

Strangers  do we part a vist to a familar cold place 
by the oceans shore.
Words spoken never hurt when you  understand 
human nature.

The dark inwhich  I only know.
A dark river flowing unto the sea.
Its broken current flow's with no true direction.

As children we start fresh only to loose the spark.
Dancing under a shroud of tenderness  apon lifes 
harsh stage.

Bitter souls reflect  anger lost only tears of  regret.
Me i just cast demons down   in some  twisted hope
I just might forget.

Sometimes you gotta realize when you crash through that glass
celling  you only got to look forward to the floor.
The bottle now empty I cast into  the dark waters
eternal bed.
Along  with a memory  I'll pretend to erase.

Distanse is only a thought away.
The road echos  my lifes song.
Underground burried  so deadly the truth
just as sweet as the lie.

Barbwire and daydreams  plague my soul.
Like the bottle that sit's within the depths 
of a water cast tomb.

I know strangers  as friends.
Night as backdrop.
Farewell  seems  fitting as hello.
When the river has run dry    
To whom will go?

Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-death-of-a-friend/#ixzz0suxHEd00

Copyright © John Patrick Robbins AKA Gonzo | Year Posted 2010

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Cabin In the Forest


The year was 1680 and I was travelling,
            I sat in the carriage looking out the window;
The coachman was driving the horses quickly,
      As a storm was approaching us from behind.
Thunder was booming and rolled over the forest,
            Already raindrops were falling on the glass;
The sky was overcast with dark shifting clouds,
      And everything was getting dull and gloomy.
This road was so deserted and remote from civilization,
            I must admit that I was afraid.

Suddenly the carriage lurched and was falling over,
            It bounced through the foliage, twisting and turning;
And then it stopped and all was quiet and still,
      The coachman was dead and the horses also.
Struggling, I managed to climb back up to the road,
            My corseted body, full overskirt of pink satin;
And parchment petticoat unsuitable for climbing,
      The bun on my head loosened and my hair fell.
Oh dear, it was so dark and misty on the road ahead.
            But I started to walk in the inkiness.

The forest around me was pitch black and frightening,
            But there, through the trees a light was burning;
The rain was coming down in torrents that blinded me,
      As I stumbled forward through the tangled trees.
A wood cabin was hidden in green lush vegetation,
            It looked so secluded and isolated and lonely;
But I found myself banging on the door loudly,
      As sheets of rain poured on me from up above.
And then the door slowly opened and light spilled out,
            And I stood there dripping wet, and . . . . 

________________________
August 22, 2015

Narrative

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

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Raven

It was dark, dark, so very dark
blacker than the blackest black
no full, half, quarter or sliver
as if the moon had fled in terror
as if it knew something I did not
as if it knew my time was at hand...

Something brushed my ear
A flapping sound in the distance
wheeling back closer, closer
A slap on my face then I knew
I knew then it would return
to perch on my shoulder...

to croak it’s haunted wisdom
to recall ancient, forgotten fears...
“Oh no foolish lad, not forgotten
only buried, only denied. Face it”

It’s mighty claws drew blood
It’s mighty beak slashed my face
I collapsed face down and bled
bled it out, soaking the earth red...

Quoth The Raven:
“Turn now and look to the east”
The sun was rising.

*Inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe poem 




 

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014