Long Fantasynight Poems
Long Fantasynight Poems. Below are the most popular long Fantasynight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fantasynight poems by poem length and keyword.
On a night in October when the full moon beams
Marsh noises resonate, all is not what it seems
The wind rustles the reeds with a haunting chilling sound
As the awakening dead arise from their dormant cold grounds
Black silhouette's are seen against a backdrop of cobalt blue
The living now need to run, to escape this deathly pursue
Carrying scythes and sickles, they lacerate all breathing souls
To re-enforce their army, the living are their goals
Screams and cries are heard, the unlucky in deadened red
Whilst the fortunate survive, for a long night lies ahead
A new dawn arrives, no longer scything sounds are heard
As we step into the daylight, to take in what's occurred
If you were caught in their open, your breathing no longer reigns
More of the living perish, whilst his dormant armies gain
In the village where I stay, we run and hide underground
How ironic is it, it's where the living can't be found
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/dark-7.php
On a night in November with a full moon sky
There is a graveyard in the Highlands where spirits fly
Scriptures of old are chanted by the past
As they rise through the earth as the red ones are cast
Gravestones levitate with precision and ease
As dark angels in black glide through the trees
To a stone they surround as they circle above
Slowly they transform into an ebony dark dove
Upon this stone it perches as it awaits the await
For when the red butterflies fly, the light they desecrate
The sky turns from night into a reddy dawn
As the moon hits their red their spirits now flown
They land where they land, guided by the dark dove
Their quest is to capture and lure life's love
In the village near the graveyard on this November night
A population in fear, in fright of their light
Before the sun rises souls are drawn as if sprites
No care for the living, their presence leaves blight
A new day starts as if the previous night never happened
For when the red butterflies fly, come this November night
You may be summoned
From the murky skies...filled with a legion of clouds,
A brave haze descends upon the bastion of granite.
A deafening thud...shakes the fortress,
Alarming and instilling fear over the populace.
The city of stone...awakened...confronted...
The halls...blackened by the absence of torches.
Massive gusts...blustered the flames,
Dispersed echoes...scattered down the corridors,
As the ground quivered from the flap of wings.
A pallid moon illuminates doom,
An enormous silhouette...breathes a heavily rancid breath.
A late night attack from a winged serpent,
Intensifies the threat and terror...outlining defeat!
The royal armies defeat their battles,
But this is a battle that won’t be conquered.
The legends of yore...of gigantic beasts has come to pass.
And without inflicting harm...the silver serpent,
Leapt quietly...back into the night sky from which it came.
Leaving behind the horrific yet wonderful memory,
Of it’s mythic yet colossal presence...retold from the days of yore.
Of the curious eyes...from a stonily beast,
That stopped to see what shined...from the sky.
Through a canopy of leaves
ascending ,
Night a visage of rippling ebony
her tears falling like raindrops
bedazzling the dark
Her arm a windlass
spiraling coils of silken mist
rolling , heaving , becoming as ether
Sweeping specks of light in her wake
Chevaliers her dark companions
Lurking nocturnally
darkness their mask
A Grotesque masquerade
beauty at its bleakest
blood soaked rags their Armour
her sentinels forever watchful
Moon mirror to darkness
revealing nights face
Past images ,
forgotten horrors and vast beauty
her muniment of time
Tributaries of tears lining a face
bereft of life
She moves as slow water
Her velvet veils
held aloft by dancing night imps
Night’s appetite
An unsated desire
for shadow and shade
these are her feast
Quenching her thirst
greyness her fine wine
Goddess,
Drunk on her own spirit
Lulls and wanes
But night goes on
moon chimes time
Darkness must regather
her chevalier’s ! her night imps !
She never rests
her hunger never sated
As she is night silently she moves on
Forever divergent from light
Embracing and becoming darkness
Goddess of night
Gaunt and white
Ashen to dead
The night awakens
For the living dread
A full moon high
Induces their want
Blood of the live
Their silent haunt
Maiden or man
In peaceful sleep
Blooded rewards they crave
In their nighttime reap
An open window
On a moonlit night
As a darkened angel
In quiet flight
A mist drifts
As she appears
A silent victim
In unknown fear
Her neck omitting
A scent of feed
As this vampired dark angel
In wanting need
Slowly she encroaches
As her victim stirs
Revealing more flesh
This vampire's spur
Mouth agape
Her intention set
The need of her
In blood lust wet
Punctured skin
As her teeth sink
The draining of life
In darkened drink
The mist reappears
As the night folds
This vampire's victim
Left in ashen cold
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-5.php
It was the darkest night of the year, and the light was eclipsed but the haunting moon was so near. Lagging
hope faded, and the jading stillness increased my fear. Twas a warm, muggy night with a cool, misty fog drear.
A vixen wind against my jaundiced awning did sheer. All at once, ghostly emanations and visions of black
ravens became so stark so clear. From a nearby church cemetery; gasping, satin-sheathed mummies from their
soiled compartments began to rear. Wispy, veiled goblins in the distant pines started to appear. The nearby
stream gurgled spewing, nauseous vapors that filtered across my warping pier. Gargantuan gargoyles around my
crenelated windows did swerve and veer. White-tipped bats with ebony capes around my porch light did flitter
and fleer. Cringing 'neath my pleated, satin curtians, I heard a knock so *****. Bounding from my cloistered
lair, all my remaining wits did forswear. Flinging open the door, I was confronted by a craggly-clad seer. In a
hurried, modulated rant, he with warnings of pending doom filled each, perched ear. He, then, paused and
glared at me with a bleary-eyed leer. Slamming the door, I began to ponder his doleful, portentous lear, then staggering to my pantry, I grappled for a bottle of cheer. Unbeknownst to me, a pilfering vampire had
spliced a bloody concoction in my satiating beer. Suddenly, the velvet-laced furniture was shrouded with a
crimson verneer. Stumbling along a meandering course to the basement, I located a wooden box that
resembled a bier. Accepting my perilous fate, climbed into my designated tomb, and into my coroded heart
plunged a jagged spear.
One thousand hands run
the time thru sand and
Nature calls as diamond
falls upon the land.
Watch the stars to see
the time thru sand as
streaks thru skies
with fire in eyes
has One thru Sand.
And it's Time again...
A season comes...
The return of a sun...
The knowledge at hand
given to us,
created as One.
My eyes are given to see
the sounds in front of me.
Creation comes toward us,
blue night surrounds us.
In Time, our creation will be.
Carry your thoughts with
heart in hand as the heart
form starts with diamond
strands that fall from skies
in a Night that flies with
form and plan....
The Measure of One...
One Diamond Strand....
Form:
Delilah is a temptress with the magic of allure,
but special potions or devices aren’t required by her.
Women notice (enviously) her flawless skin so fair
and the unusual style of her lustrous long sleek hair.
She walks into a restaurant, a club, or any place. . . .
Silence falls as everybody’s gaze rests on her face.
The eyes of men are quickly drawn to a rosebud mouth
before they ever let their lustful eyes start traveling south.
That perfect mouth is painted pink. She lays one fingertip
seductively upon her pouty luscious bottom lip.
She wears a look “come hither” with the freshness of a girl,
and violets adorn her silky chestnut locks that swirl.
But merely entering the room is all she needs to do
for everyone to notice her most beautiful tattoo.
A rosy blossom at her eye the people see begin
to bloom out toward her cheekbone, and then narrow toward her chin.
A mark of beauty like no other they have ever seen:
this flowery tattoo must be the symbol of a queen!
Delilah only looks upon a man; his heart will burn,
and then he will do anything, this woman’s love to earn.
But the poor unfortunate with whom Delilah leaves
will taste forbidden fruit, and afterwards, he grieves.
That’s because Delilah cannot be with just one man.
This was the condition of another’s vengeful plan.
Because she spurned a powerful ancient god above,
he ruled that she would come to earth to never taste true love.
To keep her beauty, she must feel a mortal man’s desire,
but having one man more than once extinguishes the fire.
Should she stay with just one man, the tattoo near her eye
will fade away and like that flower, withering, she’ll die.
So the temptress - never staying in one place - moves on.
A night of passion, then her victim wakes to find her gone.
Having spent one night with her, his joy stays in the past,
and she, that lovely goddess, is denied a love that lasts.
Written by Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by the contest: "Tell Her Story"
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
1
from the utterance of the clouds I can understand now
there is no particular season which may be called as rainy
in any time those weak-days may be drenched
the water-mark of the candles may exist after the sun rises
now whether it was a wrong way or a wrong going
that debate is still on
2
you put the age over my shoulders
but I can’t roar so much why
my anger is then no more a child
if the yellow colour means the disappearance of whiteness
from the locked-teeth then the bird will fly
with its beaks getting experienced
when all one around here
wants to be the seed of the intellectual grass
how much relevant is such a mute lamp-post
3
the morning of the clouds awakes
touching the line of rains
another giant night keeps waiting
in the darkness of the other
that delta rises in the secret water of the river
where with the songs of the birds
the hot coffee acquires the lips
the hands are as if like very known creepers
the tree is in search for a brown body
to which if a marriage could be organised
the thought of the disturbed walls also disappears
4
I am sitting here in this shadow-hell
unfurling a paper on the strong storm
before night comes keep your face up
from the silky letter
and let me see you
I would not go to that fabrics again
of late I have turned into stone by heavy rain-fall
now heat is required in equal measure
for which I shall have to become loser in every game
afterwards with my dusts
this paper will fly away
you recreate me with a new fever