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Best Poems Written by Em Rayne

Below are the all-time best Em Rayne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Em Rayne Poem

Ode To the Archer

The sinew stretched taut,
The yew wood begins to bend. 
This battle has long been fought
And even now will not find an end.
My sight’s upon the coming men;
I will not miss my mark.
Features of stone, my hands are still. 
I’d die for my brethren.
I do not fear death’s dark.
I stand here by my will.

Bows take aim besides me,
Shieldsmen kneel in front.
Unknowing approacheth the enemy:
We are reminded of the hunt.
The king’s army stands as one,
Our shadows are cast down
As the sun rises in the east.
They see us here yet do not run,
With swords drawn they keep their ground.
My arrow is released.

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Flight of the Sparrow (Part 1)

[Disclaimer: The following is based on a Disney-created character and story that I take no 
credit for. The rest of the work, however, is mine.]


Military drums played a steady beat as the Caribbean Sun
beat strongly down upon the town of Port Royal.
Men and women, in thick cotton attires and tiered dresses
Found themselves in great discomfort, for there was no breeze
save that which was created by their own lace fans.

The Union Jack hung quite stationary on its mast,
as did the Jack Rackham of a certain black ship
that was harbored in the bay. Everyone was silent.
For despite the intense sun, it was a dark day. 
Those flags were not the only Jacks to be hung.

A monotonous voice read off a list of grievances 
that a man was being sentenced to die for. 
Mind you, it was a rather long list, and the man 
to which they pertained stood on the wooden platform.
His face was set with the acceptance of his fate.

His hands were in chains before him, and a knotted rope
was being securely tightened about his neck.
The hand of a man in a black mask dripped sweat
onto the wooden lever that would end the pirate’s life.
Jack Sparrow knew there was no escape.

The sun only seemed to grow hotter, 
further increasing the discomfort of the gathered crowd. 
Jack would be pleased to know that even on his dying day, 
he remained to be a thorn in the side of respectable society.
However, that thorn was about to be removed.

((continued in Part 2))

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Voodoo

Swept away on a cold wind of sweet, burnt incense
Drifting, fading…soaring
Smooth words luring me away
But nothing else matters but this.
Take me.
Carry me to that other place
While I lay here flying.
Living? Dying?
Tranquilly thriving.
So content to simply follow and be taken...
…where are we going?
No, no… just bring me,
Whoever I am,
I want whatever this is.
Surrounded by clouds and shadows,
Filled with more powerful fumes.
Glazed eyes wide, unseeing.
Feeling nothing and yet everything at once.
Numb, I feel every grain of sand beneath me,
Every chanting breath on naked skin.
Each word a pressing weight upon my heaving chest.
Swirling incantations bind me.
Fear, confusion...calm.
Earth, water, fire… creating that intoxicating air.
The elements of the world forming heaven.
A sigh of utmost content.
Perfect, blissful….painful…?
No, no… not heaven!
Hell!
Nerves set aflame.
Constricted by an all-consuming pain.
Chanting, screaming…..silence.
Darkness.
Darkness.
Darkness.
….Light.
Nothing. Empty. Breathe.
Undead.

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Prisoner of Life

Bound in flesh, I am a captive
held to this earth by things far greater 
than trifles such as the laws of physics.
Oh to fly!
To leave this tangible, constricting realm...
But my wings are far too weak to lift me
I cannot break the heavy chains
that hold me prisoner to this dirt.
How I long to be set free,
yet though I beckon,
He who holds the key remains too distant.
Why I am taunted, tortured
alone, internally fading,
I have no answer.
Perhaps the binds that hold me cannot be broken.
Even now I feel them tightening,
feel my wings strain beneath their weight.
Even dreams of flight now fade
as I pray for my release.

Details | Em Rayne Poem

Flight of the Sparrow (Part 2)

((continued from Part 1))

The orator rolled up the parchment that he had finished
and turning to the infamous pirate, spoke
“These are the crimes that you are accused of, forthwith.
What is your pleading towards them?” But he would be damned
if Sparrow was not hung on this day.

The death-day pirate merely smiled, rather innocently
and requested the list be read once more, for assurance
that the Navy had not missed any of his accomplishments.
Girls giggled, and heads shook in silent admiration, for only Jack 
could make such jests with a noose around his neck.

The announcer, annoyed, once more posed the question.
However Jack, in no way fearful of his awaiting destiny
smirked, and settled himself back on the heels of his feet.
Tilting his head to the side, he gave his pleading.
“Pirate.” The last word of Captain Jack Sparrow.

With a roll of his eyes, the officer gave a nod to the hangman. 
There was a sharp click as the lever was pulled.
The trapdoor dropped. Along with it fell the dangling form
of the infamous pirate captain. It was only a matter of moments 
before the leather boots had stopped kicking. 

Jack Sparrow had bested death more times then any man 
that had ever lived. But just as they all before him 
had met a time for their own demise, so finally had he. 
And today at the gallows of Port Royal was it.

Details | Em Rayne Poem

Power

I  cannot wait any longer.
Hearing your screams will not suffice.
I must see your pain.
I must see your blood.

A single dirty bulb flickers to life
Hanging from a rusted chain
Beneath a water-stained ceiling.
Its dim light finally allows me to view
The terror in your wide, pleading eyes.

The silk of my gloved hand
Slips from the aged light switch
As I move slowly from my place
In the frame of the heavy, bolted door.

You plead for salvation.
I plan your demise.

I stalk toward you.
The layer of dirt on the stone floor
Does little to dampen the imposing echo of my boots.
It is your death march, 
For with me, I bring your end.
With every step, your screams lessen.
And as I stand above you now,
You can do nothing but whimper.
And stammer out calls to God.

No. 
You pray to me now. 
These are my hands that hold your life.
And I must say that your crimson essence 
looks so lovely contrasted upon my white gloves.
But I do promise
That you will see your god soon.

For a moment, I admire the scarlet mess
That you have managed to create on my table.
I recall that the others didn’t struggle nearly as so.
They were a disappointment.
I quite enjoy watching you squirm,
Slipping over your own spilt blood.
But there’s so much more inside you
Dying for release.

Are you afraid to die?
Do not worry… I’ll go slow.
You will have plenty of time to accept your fate.
And in the end, you will beg for it.

A rusty metal box lies in wait beneath your table
And I bend down to retrieve it.
Your fate is locked within.
I place it in a blood pool beside your feet
And unclasp the latch with an ominous click.

You cannot see what rests inside. 
You cannot see the rows of glistening metal,
Neatly lying upon a bed of blood-stained satin.
All you can see is the white of my silk gloves,
Sliding lovingly across.
I taunt you with the time I take to make my choice.

But now you can see the silver glint 
Of the implement that I have drawn out.
The simple tool that will permanently cease your pains.
But only after it first brings you more.

You start again with your cries and screams.
They are beautifully composed music for me to work to. 

Slowly, I slide the hand-sharpened blade through your flesh.
And I begin your end.

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Pyro

Burning, burning, burning bright
Flames dance ‘round and cast their light

Growing, growing, growing tall
They cast dark shadows on the wall

Burning, burning, burning strong
Nothing can withstand for long

Growing, growing, growing tall 
I hold the match that started it all

Burning, burning, burning bright
The fire brings the only light

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Victory

((Sequel to 'Battle'))

Silence.
Men marched, out of step
Away from the rising sun that cast the sodden ground
In shades of blood.
Heavy, blistered feet
Clad in boots of worn and faded leather,
Carried them back to a desolate camp.
There were no words.
Dried streams of tears
Cut through the grime of sweat and blood
That covered every warrior’s face.
Sore and dirty hands beneath marred gauntlets
Still gripped the hilts of bloodied blades.
Dented metal armor sat atop
Hunched and weary shoulders.
Dull, bloodshot eyes were unfocused
Down on the trodden earth beneath.
Wounds were left forgotten on bruised skins,
Gaining only the seldom grimace and endured.
Scars would forever remind them
Of what had transpired,
The pain running deeper than flesh.
It had been a long, cold night
But these victors moved towards an even darker day.

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Follower of Eve

Follower of Eve- Bringing about the fall of all man.
your desire, your humanity,
turning your back on the Source that gave you Life.
Taking His place as Ruler of the world
you stole from Him.
yourself Deified,
crowned by your own hand. 
Trying to reign through darkness
when you've extinguished the light.
Life preserved by the beating of a cold heart,
hardened and sheltered away
from true warmth and love.
The mind clouded, the eye blind.
The body painfully dies alone...
And as you fall to your knees,
your crown slips from your bowed head
and with it the veil that shielded your view.
Eyes opened to the world.
Tears falling like the Blood from the Cross.
Losing Control.
Relinquishing the Power you thought you had.
A mortal immortalized, through humility.
And God remains God.

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Awaiting

((Prequel to 'Battle'))

The men sat in wait beyond the hill,
The outline of the enemy fortress
Just able to be seen.
Their candles flickered in the distance
Amongst the downpour of God’s tears
For the sorrow that was to come.
The night drew on,
The dark clouds passed over the castle.
Pale moonlight was finally allowed to fall.
With the rain gone, the men were left
Cold of body, and of heart.
Final pieces of armour were strapped in place,
Helmets lowered onto heads.
And as the shields were taken up,
Bearing the emblems of the families they fought for,
The trials they had endured for their king,
Silent prayers were sent out.
A banner was raised high
And the soldiers marched on beneath it,
The imposing rhythm of their steps
Reaching the castle long before them.
Men behind fortress walls grew alert.
Horns sounded on both sides,
Implements of war were put into place.
And when the banner crested o’er the hill,
The first arrow was released.