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Evil Music Poems | Evil Poems About Music

These Evil Music poems are examples of Evil poems about Music. These are the best examples of Evil Music poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |


Is it simply just a wooden music box?
Charming the human soul, with its melodic undertone,
What a hypnotic melody it so plays, enticing the listener
With its delicate waltz' sweetly strumming, exposing it's
Mystical quality of the supernatural
By its spiritual essence attractant, I'm thus so memorized,
A ballerina dancing in step, with the spell cast upon me,
Thus do so I spin, on this stationary pedestal, unable to move
On my own volitional power of chose and free will, 
I've be consumed utterly,
By the haunting tune, compelling me do its evil bidding.
The notes grow slower, unwinding until perfectly still,
But I'm not in a daydreams nightmare, I suddenly realize 
This absurdity is reality, has become real.
I'm that tiny figure within a child's musical box,
Frozen in stances freeze, unable to cry
Out for help, for made of wax am I now.
Then the lid is gently shut upon me, and in the
Darkness a sadistic voice, heckles and mocks
Me, speaking in musical notes it sings a deadly
Lullaby, rest eternal my beauty for you belong
To me now.
I've become a play thing to be tormented,
Languishing within this jewelry box.
Caught in this land of giants, whom wind
These musical chimes, to join me as a 
Prisoner's collection, of a thief called music.
Whom orchestrates this symphony of the demonic?
I dare not ask, for the voices anger would
Ravish what little is left of my humanity,
So I smile, and I dance at its pleasures
Whim, but within my soul a flickering
Ray does burn still, and it is called hope.
The music screams in terror's disbelief,
For the giants house has caught in flames,
And now he is the prisoner captured
Within a wooden tinder box.
I do so smile as I myself melt away,
Listening to the voice begging for help,
But no one comes to aid such evil as he.
But I am free at last, and except death
As a comforting friend's reprieve,
From the beast, is it just a simple?
Wooden music box.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |

To Those Who Worship: Abridged Version

You!! You, I say you on the guitar?
Do you know who you are?
Or are you just an angel without a name?
I see your heart my sister!! And you do not sing for fame!!!
No, you live and love and play and dance to praise that man who Reigns!!

You!! You singing on the microphone?
Do you feel alone?
Or do you know dear brother Seraphim, that you help to put us in that zone?
To bow down low in honor?,
Of he who sits high on the throne?!!!

You!! You dancing in the corner, with your hands lifted high,
Do you feel sometimes like you wish you’d die?
Or do you know that when you dance, my Savior’s hands you untie?
To give us joy deep in our hearts and free our minds from lies?

My sister, I’m just a warrior, whose run in fear too many times,
My brother, I’m just a warrior, who fights the dark one with my rhymes,
And I press the boundaries of our justice for those who fall beneath the cracks,
I press in against the evil one, who puts this hatred on our backs,

But you? You see beyond this evil to a place I long to go,
You reach into the light of God, and the path to right you show,
For you bring the water of music to wash away our sin,
And because you choose to worship her, this battle we shall win,
For worship is the weapon of Sons and Daughters Divine,
For worship is the key to life and an end to these dark times,
For worship is a refuge in a world of sinister sounds,
For worship is a space ship that goes to realms of God renown,
For worship is my best friend’s and my eldest brother’s great delight,
For worship is the celebration of that freedom for which I fight,

Man can you see it?
Worship is light!!
Worship is tight!
Worship makes me take flight!
Worship ain’t black and worship ain’t white,
Worship is the power of love to wield the True Savior’s might!!

My sister, I’m just a warrior, whose run in fear too many times,
My brother, I’m just a warrior, who fights the dark one with my rhymes,
And I press the boundaries of our justice for those who fall beneath the cracks,
I press in against the evil one, who puts this hatred on our backs,

But you? You see beyond this evil to a place I long to go,
You reach into the light of God, and the path to right you show,
For you bring the water of music to wash away our sin,
And because you choose to worship her, this battle we shall win,

Copyright © Woodrow Lucas | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

The Feverish Ballad Of Doctor Zim

I am Dr. Mario and you bow down to me
Look at my convincing skinny body (with green pigment, claws and)
This is not a costume, I am so Italian
I will give you abortion and (I'll eat your babies at no extra charge!)

I am Dr. Mario and I will kill your wives
Come to me when you've been cut by lasers, I mean sharp knives

Brightly colored pills (TAKE THIS!)
Take until it kills (TAKE THAT!)
Just as long as you're ready to PAY! THE! BILLS! (HA!)

In-va-der Zim...de-stroys the world...
Death from above...truth has un-furled 

Now you know my name! (WHAT?)
This is not a game! (WHY?)
All you filthy Earthling vermin ARE! THE! SAME! (HA!)

(Doomy doomy doomy doomy) X3
Doom doom doom doom doom doom doom doom 
(Doomy doomy doomy doomy) X3
Doom doom doom doom doom doom doom doom

Know my?

Spa-ghet-ti is so good, dude

Copyright © Xander Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Unfinished Songs

Unfinished songs

Ruptured buildings and bones
A broken piano
A foot poking out the window
A bomb killed this last song

Broken hearts lying in rubble
Rigor mortis sung in treble
Silence sings for all who mourn
Unfinished songs

Symphonies for those with no ears

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Enclosed Rhyme |

I Don't Wanna

I apologize for the lies, I used for my disguise.

I must learn not to sympathize, but to empathize.

‘Cause my negative actions terrorize the people who I idolize and/or prize.

Therefore, I realize the fact I have to revise, minimize and sterilize my life, because of this, music is my sunrise, but only my passion for music can end my self-destruction or demise.

Therefore I need to rationalize my choices so I don’t get categorized or characterized and criticized for my evil side in which is the side of me I despise.

Therefore I vocalize (sing) and verbalize (rap), 

To visualize my arise for being wise in my attack.

To recognize, penalize and exercise the poltergeist

or evil spirit which advertised the sin and lies of rap.

This is my attack, to rise, ‘cause rap today is

built on lies, so utilize your gifts and talents

to surprise, neutralize, baptize and revolutionize

a world of demise and introduce a world of facts.

I don’t wanna dignitize the world of media’s lies.

A true rebel today goes against the norm of the idolize of merchandise.

So be a true rebel and change today’s world of media. Listen to the message ‘cause the truth underlies.

So get this message because it mystifies.

These following I don’t wanna’s are mine and try to see my life through not yours, but my eyes. 

1. I don’t wanna be locked up, I just wanna go home.

But I keep on doing wrong, that’s why I sing this song.

2. I don’t wanna cry no more, but I’m so depressed. But I’ve witnessed blood and gore, these feelings I express.

3. I don’t wanna be alone, I just wanna have my own. I will always sing my songs, trying to right my wrongs.

Copyright © Jordan Williams | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose |

Malice Behind the Mask

The esteemed guests streamed into the candle lit
Foyer and dissolved into a sea of idle courtly ritual,
Landowners, majors, magistrates, slender maidens 
And fair matrons all slithered into the modestly gilded hall so
Discreetly adorned by understated gluttony. Their lofty manners, 
Their shield ; their feigned courtesy, disguise for icy hearts.

Only a thin veneer of silky decorum coats their acrid tongues, 
For them, honest men are but emotional beasts to be 
Snared and skinned by slander most gleeful and vicious,
Leaving in their wake their perverse masterpieces—
Hollow shells that would make a taxidermist proud.

Petaled confetti is set adrift upon powdered faces and intricate wigs lost in Laughter, Chatter, and the Clatter of soles ; and as Measured gaits of the Minuet Mingled ‘Mongst The Music and Morphed into the Milieu, well bred ladies politely pricked with veiled Slights of envy, and the men indulged their ornery humor, turning giddy at the sight of Misery, their openly secret delight.

Meandering through the dense meadow of decadent masters are the servants who carry Silver platters of pheasants and plum wine. Their obedient stony facades hide hearts That lust after larceny. Birds of the same feather, separated only by station.

Alas! Heaven cries as it looks down to judge…….King Yama lets out a sigh and asks:

In this hall of monsters, who is modest still? 
In this world of wickedness, who is upright still? 
In this land of lies…..who is honest still?

Poem released into Public Domain

Original published on my blog: purelandsutras.wordpress.com

Copyright © Brian Chung | Year Posted 2016

Details | Terza Rima |

The Creation

The empty house murmured of loneliness and sorrow.
Its feelings bled, covered, and asphyxiated the divine soul
Of a man who lived for a cured tomorrow.

The remedy for this affliction sat alone; only it could console.
In one corner, where trickles of light could rain through.
It was a magical creation with only one goal.

It brought forth a new resistance, gave the man a better view.
With the creation he could defeat the evil pain.
Long and hard the man worked with the creation, and the magic grew.

The cure swam through the air, entangled and wrapped like a chain.
Soon the house began to lighten and warm.
The man and the creation stopped, but knew the evil had been slain.

The man took a step back; the creation began to transform.
He shook his head - it had been and always will be a piano.
The sickness couldn't touch him; all he had to do was perform.

Copyright © Sara Murphy | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme |


There is a city in the clouds,
Hidden behind emerald eyes,
Where my heart sleeps still,
Amidst the peaceful skies,
And the door that I entered, 
I entered with a glance,
And it closed just as quickly,
And I had lost my chance,
To leave those eyes,
Those lips that met my own,
For peace can become a curse,
If you can never call it home,
And though she has left me,
My heart is never free,
Whether I held her one night or one day,
I am hers for an eternity
Her voice was but a whisper,
But was still music to these ears,
One sound from those lips,
Can bring a man to tears,
For a whisper becomes symphony,
Like boys become men,
Words break into a thousand pieces,
When played in my heart again,
And when the time comes,
When that music fades away,
I’ll disappear with it,
Just as night becomes day,
For the sun will set on me,
As for another it may rise,
For my time here is done,
When I no longer gaze into her eyes.

What Is time but a guide,
A hand in the night,
Through the darkness at my side,
Though I knew not wrong or right,
Could I alter my direction,
Or was my path always the same,
Offering my will no insurrection,
But at the same time freeing me of blame,
For where there is no choice,
Surely no evil can there be,
Only slaves to our roles without a voice,
Victims of fate and destiny,
Yet since I cannot see,
This illusion I have given a name,
It makes me believe free will does not escape me,
Though I might be convinced my destination is the same,
So do good and evil remain,
Simply because this illusion is my own,
Are they all that keeps me sane,
In this darkness I call home,
Yet that is for each man to decide,
Though he might know what his future will bring,
As time leads him through the night,
In his illusion only he may decide who is king

Copyright © Steven Coleman | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse |


Her residence is upstairs on a rent;
She lives sole.
She has great passion of playing piano
and mostly plays in the silence of night.
Plays with high strength of mind;
And I enjoy listening it.
The melodies of her piano
drifts me to sweet dreams.

But now a days she is out of town.
And the most frightening thing is that
I still hear the melodies at night.

Moral - Devil exists for real, God exists for real.

- Augastus Black
Date - 1st June 2016

Copyright © Augustus Black | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

No it, U Love Revolution

Fallen into spiraling
With every dance
With every sing
Off-centered weights
Throw it around
The molten core
Beneath the ground
Beneath the grind
Behind the sound
Afforded thought
But pay no mind
Try not to see
Without a blind
It’s always worse
The wounded nurse
The devil speaks
A hidden curse
On metal grooves
Spun in reverse

Copyright © andy thomson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |


Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep
on this grass softer than hay;
all the aches make my brittle bones weak,
they need rest, not asking my body to wander away... 

And if I fall asleep, I would like every star, spotting me.
to keep watch;  and should the owls, hiding amid the shadows
of the hickories, emit very scary and strange sounds
and fix their vicious eyes on me, angels will guard me...

No harm will come to me from those treacherous evil spirits,
and by just invoking His Holy Name, it will prevent any attack on me;
and my light can be seen from far, this light which strengthens me:
and while praying alone, I will hear the fluttering of cherubs' wings...

Tepid breeze, lull me to sleep,
and without the lovebirds' song, something must
replace that harmony when a sudden rush of fear:
slowly and uninvitingly seeps into my throbbing chest...

And would I let any noise spoil this peace,
to allow distrust lessen my courage and let hope cease?
I am endowed with  the faith of the martyrs that evil men are afraid of hearing;
come Satan, try to deceive me:  the Holy Spirit will abide with me 'till my awakening...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009

Details | Bio |

That Wasn't Nice

I'm a half-century's old big girl 
a big, fat mature, grown-up girl 
in many shy quite, quiet ways 
a prolific foot traveler by way of tennis shoes 
and hot and cold determination 
but on this day of our Lord's 
may seventh Twenty Seventeen
leaving your long gated 
very public city vehicle
I presided to say 
Thank you with a very 
well intentioned verbal faze 
but contemptuous words
re-spouted back to me  
as to mock some kind of warning to me
as if I haven't received many already 
why, give me more grief and distress
when i am so poverty-stricken without
harmony of mutual justice
and your pockets are full with 
phlegmatic abuses
worry no more 
for no one perceives' me 
and I am of no importance    
due to paramount's of low social ranking 

Copyright © verlecia fields | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |

Angels and Lyres

What's happening to our world?
Satan is gaining power,
Recruiting more daily,
Getting stronger with each hour.

The faithful ones are praying,
Spreading peace and love,
I'm afraid we're getting weaker,
We need help from up above.

So Lord please send your angels,
Your hosts that play the lyre,
We need their heavenly healing,
Chase evil to the fire.

We need those high vibrations
That only souls can hear,
Refresh those errant spirits,
Replace with faith not fear.

We need Archangel Sandalphon
To conduct your heavenly players,
To hear the lyres sweet music
And answer all our prayers.

Come call the wayward home again,
Bring your heavenly choirs,
Weaken Satan's evil power,
Let angels play their lyres.

29th March 2017

Copyright © Elizabeth Kinch | Year Posted 2017