Best Peopledark Poems
I am the goddess of morning, protector of the dead.
I bring mercy to the hopeless crying from their bed.
My angel wings embrace them with sweet, quiet, peace.
I heal their minds and tortured souls. I give them release.
With gentle hands, I wrap their bodies with strands from my hair.
Though I come in darkness, reincarnation we will share.
I am the dark companion, life's necessary friend.
I am the unwelcome visitor, always there in the end.
I am "The lady of the Mansion," hiding in a dark room.
Waiting to help escort my friends to the dusty tomb.
Death and I always smile as we approach their home.
This is only a passage, one they don't travel alone.
I am the goddess of mourning, protector of the dead.
I am filled with compassion it has often been said.
Their friends will weep, mourn and say "I love you."
I will take their hand and guide them safely through.
He watched and learnt a certain way
Engulfed in passions and lust each day
The dark and twisted smile or smirk
The halls and alleys where he did lurk
His charm and charisma captured all
The girls lined up from wall to wall
He took advantage of each single one
His pale porcelain skin forever shone
His soul was a pit of dark and despair
Living eternally young without a care
As friends aged and died he did not
The mark he left was never be forgot
The deal he made as he sold his soul
His grief and conscience were both stole
This terrible deed could happen to you
To your soul you must be true
The Shaman sat upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.
The sky above, the earth between;
took in his sincere plea
tinksha’s toned and soft flutes droned,
a mantras bold decree.
The desert heat rose like a fog,
around his folded form.
Assassin once and marked by death
today, he’d be reborn.
He’d been the light on darkened paths,
within the blackest night;
he’d be the dark now ‘mongst the glow,
of over awing light.
He had not seen, he had not known,
that ‘mongst the killers he;
had been the light, the kindest fright,
he’d been purity.
And now, upon this sacred path,
the path so golden bright;
he’d be the dark and fearsome soul
trudging toward the light.
Man, you grab my mind, took to me the mountainside
Of ageless mystery
Bogeyman and taboo enforcer
Lord, I am no myth breaker,
Brother swing song this child across the page
Of dark nights howling our history
The Rollin' Calf comes for Christmas
And the butchers trembling
Like banana leaves better have salt to throw
Or stones
One for the before
One for the beside
One over the head
But don't let go
I have walked there to
Where the black puss cross your path
And if you know not the Shepherd or his Psalm
Turn back, this red sea won't divide
Pharoah's magicians has centuries on their side
Brother, that was king's palace
The place of the well-to-do
Who park the car far away, on foot coming
Bag of white fowl over shoulder
Little goat in crocus bag
The obeahman, myal man, bush preacher
Healer man, poco woman wants more
Brother, how you invoke
Dark deeds of dark nights
Little boys shaking in fright
Of pure belief
The beggining of awe is worship
The one ship that always sail
Despite prohibition and class barriers
Despite skin color and education
Smile when you pass the cotton tree
Smile and respect the obeahman.
Dexter has a dark uncontrollable need to take human life.
He's a serial killer psycho path most certified,
but innocents need not fear dark dreaming Dexter.
He satisfies his bloodlust by only killing other killers.
He channels his darkness where he believes it will do the most good,
eliminating predators who victimize innocents in his neighborhood.
He's not trying to be a hero vigilante or protector of the public.
He hasn't any delusions of being a superhero. No evidence of a God complex.
Quite frankly, feelings of conscience, remorse or any feelings at all
are quite alien for Dexter, but he must fake them all.
The only time Dexter truly feels anything
is when Dexter stalks and kills his next victim
and he must satisfy his craving again and again.
He kills only killers who like he haven't any feelings at all
because Dexter believes that's his best option at never getting caught.
Dexter is a Showtime TV series,
and despite it's darkness, it's also at times very funny.
http://billythekidsters-antisocialclub.ning.com/forum/topics/billythekidsters-dexter-page
Unsuccessful but enlightened – a good man,
And here I am… his biggest fan,
He had shoved life into his backpack till the back straps broke,
And then carried it like a briefcase, a determined man - no joke,
But a dark vapor came,
And the man changed,
Deranged,
And here I am… his biggest fan,
He splashed his thoughts on white walls with his wrists,
Clenched fists in an airtight chamber,
Red ink pens to white paper,
He’d told me there was no feeling greater,
A dark vapor,
An ice-cream cone in a child’s hand,
Small bleached bones buried in sand,
And here I am… his biggest fan.
And as all good things must come to an end,
So too did my greatest friend,
Electric pulses ran down the length of him and then repeated,
A fire in his veins that left him defeated,
A dark vapor,
And I still am his biggest fan,
Because I too have painted my life in red ink on white walls,
And I too have buried bones in the sand as anyone can,
And I have no reason to be frightened,
Because I will be remembered as “unsuccessful but enlightened – a good man”,
I am not afraid to breathe in the dark vapor.
And he was right; there is no feeling greater.