Long Demonic Poems
Long Demonic Poems. Below are the most popular long Demonic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Demonic poems by poem length and keyword.
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
Have they gone suddenly silent, these yearlings tender lambs,
In the stilled quiet amongst the melting snows of winter,
The mountain fields run crimson, and an eerie stench oozing
Upon the winds of distain!
The cannibal lies within the forest of the towered halls,
In the giant fortresses of mankind, he does stalk amongst his own brethren,
No wolfed bite of treachery could leave such a mark of
Terror, as he the beast, whom would feast upon the raw flesh
Of his kindred kind!
A gentlemen chamleon blending amongst the tailcoats
Of learned men, sheathed within the amour of intelligence's,
A humanistic wolf moves flawlessly, within the herds of the
Meek and mild, to pick his victims of the city flock
At his leisure of desires pleasure!
Underneath the outstretched wings of the red dragon,
The bubbling caldron pot of truest evil, does runneth over,
With the gravy’s leavening's of the corruption and violence,
Welcoming this creature of the demonic to the dinning
Table of the unrighteous and wicked!
Black sheep, black sheep, do you have any wool,
The whittend lamb does ask, nay but in the woods
Therein, lies many go within the wolves din and take
What you like at your own risk of course, my innocent
Friend, but beneath the blackened skinned wool the
Wolf does smile, with a sheepish grinning!
In an extravagant restaurant a well-mannered gentlemen,
Orders the specialty of the house to go, later he adds
He adds his special ingredients, spiced to the taste
Buds of the cook himself, it sizzles with an unusual
Oromia of well-cooked human flesh, the cannibal
Smiles with delight at his culinary masterpiece,
As the police knock at his door, with a missing
Persons report!
In the jail cell of the lost souls, he the cannibal known
As Hannibal Lector has no regrets, except say one,
The meal he never got to finish!
In the night the wolves howl in the distance,
As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life,
Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the
Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence
Most pure!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
In the void of my transitional mind,
the aimless scatter-shots of snapshot in kind
finding itheir way.through pokes in the brine.
Saran wrap bindings of biased memories, invent orys,
and tupper-ware leftovers tidings of dreams, kept palatable for the aroaming beasts.
I find the manipulations stirring like mercurial-gravy,
sardonical Last Suppers of my humanity at
the toppings station, insulting.
Where's the variety, where's the if there
is a will there's a way?
Where's the frikkin beef?
I heard that commercial say- (I agree,
where's our defense against the dark arts Teacher
or our non f'd with bandwith to have our say?
;My Atriuk-Consultants,
disappearing, through a buffet line
of suitors for my gun hand-as treason's malignant mercenary gland.
Stranger in a strange clan.
Now every thought is like a remembrance, a
severance to pay for it all.The tying to-me
in Gordian crossroads mocked silverly
by multi directional unabaiting winds
blowing adversarily.
Each pointing "this way you fail !"
"Every which way a noose !"
"This way you fall !"
Of on the loose this way dungeon echoes
a calling as dark corridor Shades
with no true form to call.
The past haunts, the future calls,
lost in the chaos urn, as time falls-
in diminished return,
for the base is nearly full to lay
as a squandored mound of time.
Like shooting stars across the sky,
my dreams flicker, then fade and die?
Searching for purpose, to see what sticks.
I fire all of my rounds at once
In this endless maze of day and night I pace
these walls, like those Demonic Shades,
who chant "hey Jude" and perform "Jude Law"
in Shakespearean play, "There's something about Mary...
whomever target to sway. Come wicked this way s.
But in the darkness, I find a kin-spark
guide in my self defense,
of cheerlead everence in reference to
hope belonging to everyone the same.
A torch in the deepening dark
to saber heroicly for my good name.
Iwill rise from the sullen ashes,
strong and brilliantly bright, aiimless no more,
faith in my sights.
Pull !
Let the scatter shot fall where it may,
I'll carve my path, come what may.
For in the chaos, I see the arts of strength,
the part I play,
I find beauty's confidence and vision
in the facets of my jaded heart,
that maybe I can help the World in some small but
contrite way.
Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don’t have the strength. –Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919), 26th President of the United States
A year of heartbreak, soundless as the stars
who glitter, surreal, remembering
while we make our wishes, feel the darkness
surrounding, gentling at best…
the beautiful kiss of a lonely death,
fatalities sitting in heaven,
never listening to the falling rain,
all the clouds, the edges of each shadow,
forbidding my heart this feeling, so insane…
hurricane helene, with her deafening embrace
left hearts without the rhythm
of hope that quiets the soul,
when the thunder leaves its witness
to the darkness’ demonic twist,
the unending silence from a storm, the risk
imagine a world standing still,
awkward without her joyful voice,
darkened by fears, tears, and despair,
all the dismay that comes to those
who witness the heavens pouring out
not only the flow of rain,
but the waters so explosive
they are truly a hurricane – hurricane Helene
writing her story on our land,
fighting the mountains,
filling lives with her shouts,
seeking to break us,
with her screams and her roar,
as she raises our waters,
our creeks and our rivers,
brings mudslides that change us forever…
oh, what a story she’ll write in her journal
about the day she touched down
on this quiet, quaint home – Western North Carolina
no, we’ll never be the same…
there will always be a hesitation
when the rain begins,
an anxious foreboding,
apprehension of what might become
another Helene, another hurricane,
another rain who silences every soul
with the breath of a tempest
so out of control….
oh, my, what a tale these mountains could expose,
a story of darkness, a story of dread,
a story of fear that is filled with regrets…
how we will remember Helene
I believe… is the storm who reminded
we must always seek
the One who created us to believe,
without His protection,
we’re a people without any peace,
we’re a people without hope or grace,
we’re a people who life will replace,
with death, darkness, disgrace,
all the reasons that storms rage,
all the reasons that we have to abide…
in the love of the Father,
the hope of the light,
the peace of God’s Son,
who will heal those of us,
who’ve been touched
by the storm who taught us…
we must never give up!
The shifting of many corporeal hands move across this dead cell,
A vacuums vortex, a psychic sponge, charging this battery of
Energy called the spirit board.
Paranormal phenomenon striking plate to enter realities plane
Of existence, for the ethereal challenged in crisis, seeking the
Threshold for spontaneous release, unto our spiritual realm.
Witchery’s board of trickery left in a polarized stance it
So entices the living with its tempting whispering of lies,
Incantations gate keepers wait on the other side of evils
Door way.
Memorizing the human sensory functions into a false
Sense of harmless mystery of the unexplained, it lures
These victims ever closer to weaving its spell of the demonic.
These capture being lost unto the hypnotic effects are
Transfixed unable to hit their override switch that controls
Their mental powers of persuasion, disabled is there strength
Of will power, they belong to the Ouija now.
Clasping do all for sides of the curtain of reality, times
Displacement begins in earnest, without hesitations
Momentary loll this dead cell bursts to life.
Black magic key has been inserted within the wooden
Door way’s heart and soul, a bizarre power bank draws
Forth the energy of the spiritual lost, swinging hells
Kept wide open.
The pancetta spins out of control, smashing against
The barriers of humanity, darkened ebony light shines
Through this doorway of evil and the flickering candle
Turns to a shades greenish blue wavering in the odious
Breeze.
The voice of a thousand screams echo in sheer delight,
We have been freed at last, broken is the trance, the boards
Hypnotic effects are dashed by the light of the dawn.
Dazed in bewilderment the voyeurs are chilled to their
Very inward bones, shaking, staring in awes amazement,
Wondering if these events really happened at all.
Then within these tented walls a voice responds to their
Questioning, laughing, as if a jackal at a fresh kill site!
Foolish mortals you know not what you have done, this
Night, but I promise thee this, laughing once again,
In a demonic under tone, none shall leave this domicile
Alive.
The entry doors lock without the human touch, the
Curtain windows pull closed, a momentary stilled
Scream, then all is silent, what remains is left up
To my readers to visualize, as the final candle
Blows out!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A LETTER TO MY BELOVED
While I am writing this letter to You, my one and only,
the mute wind,
utterly silent and stealthy,
has opened the doors of the old church,
and carried away the prayers
along the white heavenly fields.
The mute wind never opens my door,
because he knows that my prayers ran dry
long since, just like my tears.
While the eternally faithful solitude
carries my passions
across the face of the bloody horizon,
my memories are slowly dying
on the bonfire of the demonic fire of oblivion.
My one and only, I am not afraid of my own death,
I am afraid of the death of our memories.
You remember, my one and only,
the cheerful song of the golden bird
on the red rose’s petal,
when You used to bestow me with kisses,
moist and reverberant,
warm and dreamy.
My pen is trembling in my hand,
just like that red rose,
where Your gentle gaze is no longer present.
You know, my one and only,
one of the rose’s petals shivers in the wind
more than all the others.
It is the same petal
you used to fondle
at the break of day.
Its face is perfectly human
yearning and lonely
like mine.
Up there, the golden bird is singing,
while down here solitude is following my steps.
Why won’t it be killed?
Because its grave
lies down there along with many souls,
because human laws do not apply to it.
And when the mute wind
started wistfully humming
in the tired night’s embrace,
I continued wandering the world
with the inexplicable hope
that I might, perchance,
walk into You.
Days, months and years
were carried away by the capricious wind of destiny,
and You still remained but a memory.
There is no pain in my defunct heart,
everything is so distant and meaningless without You,
and You are so far,
and me,
I never took part in anything again.
And when that golden bird,
amidst its cheerful song,
would casually look into my eyes,
I would be stricken with indescribable memories.
And while the April sky
rose above its
quivering golden head,
I knew that its song
travels towards a borderline,
invisible world,
just like all our memories do.
Do not worry, my one and only,
the day will come,
our day,
when the golden bird shall sing
for us only,
and when that rose petal shall once again
tremble in Your hand,
just like my hand shall tremble
in Your hand.
©Walter William Safar
be not a receptacle to that spirit of sin
live by the word of God and be open to Him
in this day where the lines of morality have become blurred
where people believe and do all and anything that's absurd
caught up in the grasp of drugs and chemical dependency
caught up in the muck and mire of sexual immorality
yet society tries to explain away any and all aberrant behavior
and a psychiatric evaluation has become acceptable and favored
we're now subjected to the blame of others and their bad actions
subjected to the world's desensitized and apathetic reaction
overcoming the temptation to commit sin
to yield not to that demonic presence again and again
if you don't understand and comprehend the word of God
how do you know if you have any sin in your heart?
you need to read the word of God and follow His commands
the instructions on how to live sinless, God's master plans
to wrestle with the evil that may at times reside within
to overcome that sensation to go out and commit sin
you need to be exposed to God's laws and learn right from wrong
you need to do a self reflection and then come away strong
for it's one thing to do what is sinful if you don't have a clue
but it's a different story when you knowingly sin for the blame is now on you
to be disobedient and stray from God's life living instructions
will lead you down that crooked path of spiritual destruction
so think before you act and then lay it before God
pray on that temptation to sin and possess a contrite heart
to challenge that temptation to commit sin
just dwell on the word of God and not the unholiness of men
yet we continue to try and justify some of the things we do and say
we need to be truthful in our hearts and willing to change our ways
no longer to be arrogant and sanctimonious in this life
to be more humble and repentant as a child of the Lord Christ
we pretend to act like it's not us but everyone else
we need to take a hard look in the mirrors at ourselves first
to come to understand that this battle is not ours alone
to realize we need the strength and the power of the heavenly throne
to be rescued from that temptation of sin that's always hanging around
to be lifted up by the word of God and placed on higher ground
to turn to our savior, the Lord Jesus the Christ
to thank Him and praise Him for the gift of eternal life
(This is only my opinion, only written to promote calm discussion or debate. I know nothing, am not an expert on anything. If you are easily Religiously riled, spiritually offended, do not read this. Period.)
The Devil is smart, subtle; he can control one without the controlled being remotely aware. He can appear beautiful and angelic like, surrounded by dazzling light. He is content with making some simply complacent, not believing in his existence. Complacency means that you will not consciously, prayerfully battle negative influences in the world. He doesn’t need a lot of active foot soldiers. He can make you financially secure, a weekend content church goer, as he does many, when it prevents you from deeper scrutiny and higher spiritual growth. Complacency helps him indirectly perpetuate evil influence in the world. Pop Culture: meditation is good...but meditation should not be approached and practiced as a touchy-feelgood, New-age fad. Without knowledgeable instructional understanding of mind, body, and spirit, meditation can lead to demonic possession. When one puts his mind and body into trance, if not protected properly, if not first being in the presence of God (the importance of understanding shallow meditation vs deeper meditation~ Omnipresence) one opens himself up to demonic possession. Possessed often do not know it. It’s very seldom like the movies. Psychic powers, psychic centers of the Cosmic Form, should not be stimulated unless one is totally prepared to become a priest of God, totally committed to selfless service of humanity 24/7. One should not mess with Mysticism as though it were another hobby, or simply an occasional pastime. Two scoop day or one. Subjects like Kundalini, spiritual fire for purification and transformation, should not be attempted without proper groundwork, without spiritual training – dedication involving total, complete surrender to Christ Principal (Son of God), otherwise it is tantamount to giving a 4 year old a loaded gun to play with. Am I suggesting then, that one should not Meditate? Absolutely not. And everyone starts as a novice. Psalm 19 verse 14: Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” All meditation, whether done by novice or otherwise, should begin and end in God’s presence.
Fantastic landscape, beautiful mountains and valleys, dark blue everything. Wonderful sparkling rivers, oh this is the Hell!
The Hell! My new home, my new world, a new life. The new Life! I will come soon, I want to leave the Earth.
Oh, dear devils, open the gate of Hell, I am arriving soon after my earthly death, I don’t want any more human life. This is the End!
I want to be a demon. Good and bad, angelic and satanic, I want to hunt and collect fallen and suffering souls for Hell.
Oh, I understand from now the evil people, oh I love them! All of them! Thank you for teaching my old friend! Who lives in Hungary, I hope you are well!
Who quarreled with you many years ago, and I asked you, why are you doing this, and you screamed “Because I am mean!!”
I tried to calm you down, but you became even more and more aggressive, and you just screamed and yelled and yelled
“Why are you so stupid?! What do you want of an animal?!! I am a vile, an animal, a vile animal!” Hmm, now I understand you.
I will be a vile, just in the way of my style. I must find it out, and create a good method, I don't want to waste any more time in my life.
I chose the hellish way. From now we are gold friends, my dear old friend. I am also an animal. I will be that I follow your way. My soul is like hell
Hell like my way, but I don’t give up my will, and I don’t need love, empathy, or human words, just to be an infernal creature, you will see my life, my dark soul
I will be looking for you in the earthly Paradise of Hell, I will go home to visit you, we are companions in fate, in this life, in this age, in this bleak spiritual world
The landscape of Paradise of Hell is my portrait in my spirit, an evil desire drives me, I am not a human,
I shed my human traits and character, and I feeling well. I am going to discover my new home, the beautiful and amazing hell!
Oh, I hear the voices of strange creatures and soft rustling, here everything is wonderfully demonic, I am very happy with my new life
So a beautiful land, with huge hematite-like mountains, sharp rocks, distant peaks, opal oceans, red fields, and blue forests. This world is like a tale, like my heart
No one understood me in my life
Only one person, Satan
He called me
He invited me into his world
I live here, but I live there
I haven’t more human life
Thank you, oh Satan!
Cursed With These Black Midnights And That Sinister Call
Past midnight, gloomy sky and red flailing moon begged to fall
A dark figure stared upward chanting curses at my home
No sleep tonight for great evil sought my desperate soul
I that had settled here in Castle Rouge, never again to roam,
was cursed with these black mid-nights and that sinister call
Soon that black soul would invade this sanctuary of my weary mind
utterly shatter yet again my long aching heart's brief rest
Waiting for the anguished moans and nail scratching sounds
I sought courage to survive tonight this demonic test
and before dawn dear magnificent sleep my soul thus find
Moaning and chain rattling echoes arrived at my bedroom door
My thoughts turned to her and why she still cursed me so
Had not I gave her my true love and my cherished all
Only to see her in blood-soaked dress out the door go
Yes, my loves had always wept and demanded too much more
In a bright flash through the bedroom door she flew
Willing moonlight shining upon her long , dagger-like nails
I stepped back, again I yielded to regret and abject fear
odors of rotting meat and stingers in her three tails
Pierced my side as scorching hot pain in my mind grew
Nay, never again would I allow her these great strikes back
And smile of victory her new black heart so dearly sought
For in my hand, was the dagger of my stone cold truth
with the ring of relief my blood had previously bought
Stabbing in deep, dagger stopped her in her evil track
With that anguished and screeching cry she flew away
giving rise to the glory of sunrise and newborn hope
Today I recall - that evil beaming from her cold dead eyes
and her death- the night I hung her with a new rope
For darkness in my burning soul had always held its sway
Past midnight, gloomy sky and flailing red moon begged to fall
A dark figure stared upward chanting curses at my home
No sleep tonight for great evil sought my desperate soul
I that had settled here in Castle Rouge, never again to roam,
was cursed with these black midnights and that sinister call
Robert J. Lindley, 8-15-2016
Written with Poe in mind and based upon his presentation of seeing through dark glass and finding light dimly fading.
Fading with just enough glow to stir man's imagination, seeking spirit and need to solve mysteries in life.
Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely open and wide prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
a demonic dragon filled dungeon
damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast I -
as a foo fighter flee
from the fearful, fierce-some phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting raving senseless gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno imp perils of loss that provide
an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace!