Best Evil Poems | Poetry
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The Best Evil Poems
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Evil Poem
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~Alice Sweet Alice~
*Like Sisters*
Everyday -- Holding Hands
Sunday Dress -- Pink Ribbons
*Alice And I*
How can they say she did not exist?
This Sweet Girl I Named Alice
The way she looks at me
-Her eyes tender green
A body figure I can't describe
Together we played hide and seek
We swung in ways no one could see
This girl with pretty red curls
Who enjoys the sound of pouring rain.
Together we slept under the same breeze
We carved our names on the same tree
Side by Side it Read Alice & I!
She whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice Sweet Alice loves the way I look in red!
Every day I face the mirror
Alice puts her left hand on my right
We share the same identical scars,
Under the right and left palm.
The way she held my hand
Healed the scrapes in every fall
Beating from the bullies, she screams!
Again, Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
When she stood by my side
Alice knew me in ways no one else did
She knew my eyes -When they cried!
Now I can't sleep,
Since, Alice has fallen back into the abyss
Forever conscious in a self-hug
--- this is no dream, it is real!
The rage inside, burns.
It took place the day she left!
Burning curtains
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice spoke of darkness,
then disappeared
When I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
Nothing feels the same,
I allow myself to soak in a darkness where it began.
My hair of red is not the same
These cuts are all that remain
The only clue in which Alice, was here!
Holding on to stainless blade, I sleep
ALICE SWEET ALICE!
Please call my name!
Why do they whisper?
Why are they saying she never held a breath?
I know she is real, she's exist
Why else would I let her cut my wrist?
This Sweet Girl
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Finally, visits again ---
But, who is to believe?
For everyone says
Alice lives inside my head.
By:)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Evil Poem
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You Are Not Invited
--Latching onto my soul without an invitation--
Elements around my shore expose more than air
--Playing with fire is not a game you will win--
----
Silently she swarms in like a leech,
Feeding and sucking from the wounds my pain left behind.
She came inside: "Uninvited!"
Here have a drink, and die!
Taste the water drips that sail across my lips
Plodding vigorously in the open air of her unwanted hostility
Forbidden as one, I noticed her aura a sickening light
Imprisonment that haunted smoke around her own imperfections
The hate and envy, she lives in resides airborne
The sound that she have summoned up hunger
Brought me near the edge of everything
Feel my pain, a touch of impurities
Tainted, infected, poisoned passion, her face disguised
Surrender toward serenity, the lighthearted woman I am inside
She will never take, my full eternal grace
It’s time to reveal that blazing fire I hide
Drown her from the false flown sorrows of gust
Hold her hideous head under water--- burn her false fire out
Never will I turn my back and watch her muster them broken lids
Lungful of lies poisons the wind that flows from her snake like voice
Maneuvering the skies, scheming that snatch in
Like a viper twisting its unmatched curves,
I strike, like a pyromaniac --A burning match
Allowing her to taste a part of the air I breathe
A waste in the breeze her insecurities
Trying to destroy what she can't be, what she can't see
At the end, blustery weather will remind her of the sea inside me,
YOU! The Angel, who crawls around like a shadow
Gorging its way into the heart with a charm of greed
Twisting reality hoping nobody sees its true sick identity
Slandering my name as the master of evil and manipulative
Marking my territory, warning others of a cold draft
Grasping the beauty that glows from my soul
There it stood on the ledge UNINVITED
The devil walked and took my shoes
:)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Evil Poem
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Dark Knight-tress
Underneath
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips
I close my eyes
I see them all
The Shadows
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens
The stars dim my view
Irremovable makeup
Land becomes an enemy
I become
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim
~S~
Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013
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Evil Poem
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I cannot compete with something as painstakingly glorious as you
Envy is but a humbling tumble down a steep, rocky hill
I am crushed in your fits of glory—your screaming for passion
My approaches are absolutely wrong
Therefore my communication is a weak, ransomed victim
Your poison arrow frog skin rubs against my exposed body
I happily accept my fate
For your beauty surpasses the ephemeral pain of the infectious reign
My erroneous, inevitable downfall
I hold you up—I feel the need to keep you tall!
Michael the Archangel did not insult you once, Lucifer
How then will I?
How can I possibly be higher than you?-
Why would I want to?
I admire your freedom
I simply disregard your macrodomes of ever-worshiped flaw
If I could allow myself, I would share in your glory
Only to add to it further
But as I am poisoned with the truth
I can only be your grounded pedestal
And though you flee from humility in its wake upon my brow
I realize everyday you are living for the grounded now
And I merely look to the unknown future
A place I dread where you unwillingly hold me up
Bonded in the ground with Death and Hades
You become my pedestal, and the worms my vineyard
My parasitic feet seer your glory
I am ever so sorry
I never wanted this renown
There was a time I do recall
When you overtook me in my sleep
I cried aloud in helpless acceptance
But soon I was forced in a croak of laughter
I felt your bitter poison
I felt pride at last
I thank you for it
I thank you for showing me
What I will never be
Dear Lucifer,
Provoke me no longer to praise your eternal existence
Generations of Evening take a hold of me now
And the fruit must be shared
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
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Evil Poem
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MONSTER
Shackles nor chains, can't change what it is.....
Never was it, the one hiding under the bed,
It was me, tired of it getting inside my head
.... I can still feel, the groping at my feet,
Pulling me from under the sheet,
A victim to your personality
Nothing can, uninstall these walls
--- Walls of bricks, that can't be taken down
On the night, I've learned of your return
My bones began to shiver, as they too shudder,
remembering every black tinge feeling left behind.
Before the bricks, your filth put my innocence into your victim's box
Without a voice, I fell with no one to rescue me...
Sometimes, I wondered who else had to look into its heinous eyes
Nights without security, you crept in' with every morning cry
With nowhere to hide, I found myself constantly victimized.
Nefarious, at my bedside, how did I manage to survive?
Unwanted communication, stole my youthfulness away,
So young, yet persistent diabolical stories hide inside
Bones turned into a tomb of stones
Decayed and withered years, never to be unveiled
Some stain will never wear off or be forgotten
The monster, I once helped shut down,
Soon to return on another bedside,
Now, someone else will close their eyes,
And hear the monster's whisper, "Shh, don't tell, or else!"
And just to think for a moment I felt safe, the air felt different
Now, I feel dirty all over again,
No one can fix or put the ease back to sleep.....
Just as long as it still LIVES'
***
#Monsters Living in Our Society
#Let's take them down one by one
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2018
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Evil Poem
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"A Broken Demo"
In a desperate cry for help
She hires every jeweler
A cheap sheep crying, Wolf!
Using old repeating politic
utilizing lies * manipulation
To cover the Glass Paste on her face
Diamond-like - Stonecold and Crooked!
Her true shape -- unveiled -- predictable
A Thief Among The Mines
In a world where certainties are few---
Promises! Promises!
A shallow cut - with high class
no shape --- no spark, a dark mass
Smashing success when opportunity hits
The worst gem in disguise
The diamonds in her eyes -- gone -- expired
If you look, you will see
A twisted reflection in her evil grin
A sinister smile -- waiting to win
Her Vice - a victim --- her puppet
blind * believing her lies
Cutting the light performance -
-Without realizing most see past her history
We the people are more than a cubic step
Lighting the madness of her soul
Just remember, every day she sits on her pedestal
Without a twinkle --- she stares into night
Knowing nothing she stands for is right
Innovation - incomplete
A man-made she-demon trying to wear white
Like the swan, dying every night
She refused to hear the trumpet play
A new moon soon will open our eyes
EXPOSED --- Diamond CUT
Hillary Will Not Be President
#The Poet Destroyer
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016
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Evil Poem
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Upon the stage of life
there are many puppets of hell.
Their bright costumes conceal sin and strife
and beneath them deception does dwell.
Their lines are a demon inspired script.
They put on a convincing act.
Many souls over their lies have tripped.
It truly is a sad fact.
They call good, evil and evil, good.
Their footwear is the hypocrite’s shoe.
If it’s possible they really would
like to slip that charlatan sandal on you.
Masters are they of façade and guise,
sometimes robed as angels of light.
They prey upon both simple and wise.
To turn men from truth is their delight.
Perhaps it’s a hand puppet or a marionette
dancing to the beat of a diabolical drum.
Their deceptive doctrines some never vet,
and to fabrication they thus succumb.
If their mantras you cannot tolerate,
if you don’t embrace them fully,
puppet voices they’ll raise while they are irate.
They’ll call you a bigot or bully.
There is one sure cure that we have today
to keep ourselves from being shook.
Check out the lines that they boldly say
‘gainst God’s Holy, infallible Book.
If you see through those serpentine soliloquies now,
and things aren’t as they have supposed,
don’t allow the moppets their final bow.
Let the curtain on their drama be closed.
9/21/17
Copyright © Carol Connell | Year Posted 2017
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Evil Poem
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~ Yolanda was--her name ~ Featuring:) Leonora Galinta
From a hell storm,
A mighty she-devil took on its form
Like a woman scorn ascending from the sea
Haiyan whipped across the central Philippines,
A deadly typhoon, maximum winds of around 315
Terrorizing the fragile mind before making landfall
Hitting with the center eye off from her hostility
A merciless turbulence that came and changed everything
Like a Massive Storm
She comes in as the wise thief of the day and night,
In her notorious gust of rage roars in disguise of thunder,
With the company of her own knight of darkness,
Raze all in a blast of waves wherever her path crosses,
Ruining one of the cities down to a devastation in the land
“Pearl of the Orient Seas.”
A mighty tempest in a woman’s name…. Yet,
A disgrace with more than an immortal man in strength,
Nature devouring nature itself
Including her stewards and stewardesses
An unmerciful encroachment, robbing, killing adults and children.
Yolanda, so cruel in her evil walloping!
A guest left smiling,
Engraving echoes of tears, from every single mourn
Vain, wicked, and colorless -no other air’s compare
The lives she stole, one heart at a time
Pouring down the most nauseating rain,
The pain is dissenting with everyone-- everywhere.
The bully of wind, invading sands of serenity
Unknowingly, far beyond your back----------------------------
Everybody will be summoning up more than your strength-
:)
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013
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Evil Poem
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A Psychedelic Whistle Plays a Rhythm into the Darkness
Entering the dark side of a moonbeam on this evil lens of life,
A gruesome old man recreates a murder time and time again,
As the cold and lonely howling bitterness of the night escapes.
The psychic contrasts go up in a surreal smoke-filled entirety.
This is not lost to the all-seeing consciousness of the cosmos.
Moaning a malefic agony of selfish needs devours all that’s good,
Whilst under black leather gloves bleached deadly-white his bones,
Fill the heart expelled with a legion of grieving spirits—sad and lost.
A maze doth open as Dark Demons are made of rotten plank ridges,
And scraps of empty emotions that maketh them all deliciously evil.
Inside ashes intoxicated with the Hallowed Eve's evil kiss bringeth
All a Gorgon-like gift so cursed and raised in Lucifer’s own Hellfire.
Leaveth them to their executioners and wash your own hands clean!
Cain within life's garden dwells as a zombie—a grief-stricken animal,
As a psychedelic whistle plays a rhythm into the darkness of the cosmos.
Ebony darkness seduces as a fire burns black ebony removing the flesh.
Ice-cold tears in anxiety fall, shouting loudly that nobody sees nor hears
The jealous whimpering of jackals needing love with no way to find it.
There remains emotionless beings who kill passion with a crocodile’s bite.
Fear not the tempting by Lucifer as long as the silver crucifix adorns thee!
Fireflies born in a hellish fury cast in anger the past sins of those doomed,
Yet they can be "Bearers of an Ancient Light” for things good and noble,
If they can passeth through the veil of evil and darkness into God’s light.
When the smoke blows away pride there’s no remorse only danger ahead!
The silence afterwards is deafening to those of holy-pure mortal blood!
Understanding of reality loses its meaning in this evil realm of darkness,
As an agonising pain is cleared in an eclipse found under “Hate's Trigger.”
Under a deep crater twilight ghosts rise as “Shadow Beggars of Despair,”
Whilst feeling unholy torment in nerve fibers of a past-life enchantment.
Only Lucifer knows this truth as he collects souls for eternal damnation!
Uncanny conversations are secret and bloody-confused in Hell’s own pit.
Rising from the ashes unhappy beasts mark the ground with sharp claws,
As disoriented tongues of envy are struck down by lightning bolts blinded.
Lucifer knows the omnipotence of the psychedelic whistle as it plays its
Rhythm bewitching all lost souls as they enter the darkness of the cosmos!
Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
May 5, 2017 (Narrative)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017
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Evil Poem
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It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
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Evil Poem
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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
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Evil Poem
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Listen to poem:
Welcome to the world of Worldly
where we feast all night.
All those things you once thought wrong -
here they all are right!
Worldly’s citizens are many.
Membership is free.
Criminals are here as well as
high society.
Come here and forget your sorrows
and forget your past.
Leave your ethics at the door too.
Here they will not last.
Come consume the fatted calf.
Imbibe cherry wine.
Love is a four letter word.
Lust, though, is divine!
Little boys and pretty girls
are also here to serve you
(if you lean that way, of course).
All things are on the menu!
Worship with us at the alter.
The sacrament for sin
is your blood lust or that rush
you get beneath your skin.
We have got a secret leader
with the gift of charm.
Succumb to him. We will relax you.
Let us prick your arm.
Our special members love green color
and they love their gold.
You might qualify one day. . .
Just do as you're told.
Finally, remember this.
In Worldly you will be
with peers who think and act like you
(should you need sympathy).
Written May 25, 2016 and
Inspired by the Lyrics II - The Black Crowes - Poetry Contest of Rob Carmack
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
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Evil Poem
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Silence Felled
Lurking in dark corners
The swamp stirs in the night
As the deceiver rises
Begging to share his illusions might
Only behind the veil
Does he let his murky words sail
Deceiving the lady of the house
While he runs like a little mouse
He drinks a mans ale
Then double crosses once stale
Armies can’t fight the silent one
He hides in the corners of your mind
Draw blood with your pen
Let him flow towards the hither end
The skeleton can’t do much with his quill
Stabbed of his devious will
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017
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Evil Poem
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"Haiku of enlightenment"
all explanations
a perceptive, world of green
mocking the land
summoned bird calls
tantra and morality
zestful garden----------------- in waiting
by;pd
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014
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Evil Poem
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Finally
Doctor, it's been 7 months
The MEDs aren't kicking in
My dreams are getting stronger,
The blood remains to run code red
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed
Dark images keep taking place inside my head
The voices - The voices, are not all right!
I no longer lay laughing
The screaming never stops
In irons, my mind rattles
Theses thoughts are all I got
In slow motion, my mind plans the perfect plot
Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Counting every single second on the clock
At first, I could not breathe
I felt, I was left alone,
Broken down --- Incomplete
In your eyes, the schizophrenia spoke loud
In my eyes, everything is dark and gray
Doctor, now listen closely, open your eyes
While the walls slowly close in on you
I have my hands around your neck
Finally, I feel my arms, the needles are gone
Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
The tightening of the chest is clearing
Today I possess a little more than yesterday
Knowing exactly what needs to be done.
DOC YOU AREN'T LISTENING!
Was it all for nothing, the bloody wrist?
The faucet constantly dripping every night
The voices I call my friends
Deep, deep down,
I'm still a child, painting bedroom walls
Setting fires after my mother's death
A crazy peril in its most threatening state
Doc, here you are again,
No longer will I allow you to waste my time
With your fetish lies, trying to make me better
The problem is not me, it was always you!
Painting pink butterflies and white skies
Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Don't you understand she's dead!
Pills aren't going to bring her back
Padded rooms aren't going to help me,
Help myself --- grieve the proper way!
Straitjackets aren't going to restrain me,
--- from wanting to hurt badly!
Psychologically, I'm perfectly sane
Expressing my emotions a different way.
Doctor, you're not saying nothing
You're not moving,
You're just sitting there pretending to care.
Doc, I hope you aren't mad?
The voices explained it had to end this way
How else could I make you listen?
Finally, the impulse is gone
Finally, I'm going to be alright
by: Pd
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015
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Evil Poem
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For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania.
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
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Evil Poem
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Blood Red Moon
Deep devouring passions bleed now from this solar eclipse
As black blood flows from an evil army of “undead” beings
Whose fangs hideously and cruelly pierce the veins of their
Mesmerized and unsuspecting victims who are held at bay.
In such silence burdens prowl inside deep sad heartbeats
As ghastly living shadows creep eerily in and knot the
Tortured guts of a twisted scared bloodless life falling
Under the dark macabre gaze of the Blood Red Moon.
At night uncanny black magic spells are intoned in the
Old Latin scripture as large spider webs cast a gloomy
Presence and envelope now all those trapped by them as
The misted breath bleeding hearts howl to Heaven’s roar.
Standing upon a rugged and lonely mountain crossroad
There can be no release from the devilish glare of the
Vaunted “Blood Red Moon” whose evil presence pervades
Every breath you take and casts a demonic derisive stare.
My senses are now frozen in place as a deep chill shakes
My soul to the very core of its primordial existence as I
React to the cutting cold of a dawning maleficent darkness
Invading every corner and space of my psyche and existence.
The wicked jaws of a rabid beast seek now to bite and rip
All beauty from me and all thoughts I hold close and dear
As I gasp now for life and painfully feel my tired heartbeat
Slow as my immortal soul numbs and cries crocodile tears.
I’m cursed now to walk alone forever as my spilled remains
Are cut now and my ties of human existence have disappeared
Putting me on the ground on all fours as I ponder my ultimate
Fate in the hands of a supernatural force beyond any mercy.
As the shadow of Lucifer’s Blood Red Moon passes over my
Tortured face I spy a look at one demonic siren prompting me
Now to follow her as my body is placed on a sacrificial alter
And my life ebbs away as I’m kissed by spirits of the damned!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – October 11, 2015
(Narrative Quatrain)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
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Evil Poem
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Bastille
Many years ago
They stormed the Bastille
Two hundred and one lost their lives
The tennis court oath however survived
Jacques had his heart with the masses
Necker could not be dismissed so easily
The storming of the Bastille was to be
The birth of a nation for all men free
And free men they were
Running naked through the streets
What they lacked in cake
The made up with in red wine
The Republique was born
A democracy in infancy
Would grow through trials and tribulations
To become a multicultural great nation
Lone angry men filled with such hate
I welcome you to Bastilles’ gate
Of medieval prisons long ago
It is there, you I shall throw
You kill in the name of a God
A God you do not know
Love has escaped from your very soul
Only hate tarnishes your bitter heart
The ghosts of Bastille are mocking
The coward who is filled with such animosity
There never shall be an escape
The soul of the dead shall eternally taunt you
A criminal with no compassion
You have only given us our determination
To battle for the peace of this great nation
You bring us tears; alas we shall turn them to wine
Naked through the streets we shall always dance!
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
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Evil Poem
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My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul
My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps
My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Evil Poem
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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 (Gary)
September 10, 2016 (Anne-Lise)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
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Evil Poem
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Most people were born with love and concern
~ the real world is more like a nightmare ~
Listening To My Monday Blues
~
we need to turn adversity into opportunity
CHANGE
~ before the sun goes down ~
~ * * * * * * ~
Some have tattoos, others have scars
Everyone has the memories
Five years after several coordinated
terrorist acts shaken Norway on 22 July 2011
The bereaved and survivors still have horrific memories
and miss their loved ones who lost their lives
... One human
...
... The air vibrated
25.07.2016
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016
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Evil Poem
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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
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Evil Poem
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Entering the dark side of a moonbeam on this evil lens of life,
A gruesome old man recreates a murder time and time again,
As the cold and lonely howling bitterness of the night escapes.
The psychic contrasts go up in a surreal smoke-filled entirety.
This is not lost to the all-seeing consciousness of the cosmos.
Moaning a malefic agony of selfish needs devours all that’s good,
Whilst under black leather gloves bleached deadly-white his bones,
Fill the heart expelled with a legion of grieving spirits—sad and lost.
A maze doth open as Dark Demons are made of rotten plank ridges,
And scraps of empty emotions that maketh them all deliciously evil.
Inside ashes intoxicated with the Hallowed Eve's evil kiss bringeth
All a Gorgon-like gift so cursed and raised in Lucifer’s own Hellfire.
Leaveth them to their executioners and wash your own hands clean!
Cain within life's garden dwells as a zombie—a grief-stricken animal,
As a psychedelic whistle plays a rhythm into the darkness of the cosmos.
Ebony darkness seduces as a fire burns black ebony removing the flesh.
Ice-cold tears in anxiety fall, shouting loudly that nobody sees nor hears
The jealous whimpering of jackals needing love with no way to find it.
There remains emotionless beings who kill passion with a crocodile’s bite.
Fear not the tempting by Lucifer as long as the silver crucifix adorns thee!
Fireflies born in a hellish fury cast in anger the past sins of those doomed,
Yet they can be "Bearers of an Ancient Light” for things good and noble,
If they can passeth through the veil of evil and darkness into God’s light.
When the smoke blows away pride there’s no remorse only danger ahead!
The silence afterwards is deafening to those of holy-pure mortal blood!
Understanding of reality loses its meaning in this evil realm of darkness,
As an agonising pain is cleared in an eclipse found under “Hate's Trigger.”
Under a deep crater twilight ghosts rise as “Shadow Beggars of Despair,”
Whilst feeling unholy torment in nerve fibers of a past-life enchantment.
Only Lucifer knows this truth as he collects souls for eternal damnation!
Uncanny conversations are secret and bloody-confused in Hell’s own pit.
Rising from the ashes unhappy beasts mark the ground with sharp claws,
As disoriented tongues of envy are struck down by lightning bolts blinded.
Lucifer knows the omnipotence of the psychedelic whistle as it plays its
Rhythm bewitching all lost souls as they enter the darkness of the cosmos!
19.05.2017
Anne-Lise Andresen, Gary Bateman, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(Narrative)
Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2017
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Evil Poem
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Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2019
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Evil Poem
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She rides the air on moonlit beams
and softly whispers in my dreams.
An angel born of righteous light,
who traded heaven for the dark of night.
She weaves a web of delicate lies
and cast her spell with deep dark eyes.
Her lips are full and ripe to kiss,
but filled with more venom than a serpent's hiss.
She will draw you in with an hypnotic dance
and drain your mind into an evil trance.
She will lay you down on a bed of clouds
and wrap your soul with a black- laced shroud.
At last she owns you, you've become her slave,
you've slipped too far, no one can save.
You will float forever in her loving arms,
another fool has fell for her wicked charms.
10/3/18
Copyright © Wren Rushing | Year Posted 2018