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Best Poems Written by Thong Tran

Below are the all-time best Thong Tran poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Children of the Night

Goblins and ghouls, we are.
Behind the paint,
Beneath the scars.
We tread the night, 
Nocturne calls.
So fright the stars, we must.
For an ode to monsters,
A worthy trust.

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I Love You Mom, Please Don'T Hurt Me

On that day I first opened my eyes,
The fourth of June, the month you despise.
I saw the tears, your blubbering lies,
your hate-filled speech as you curse the skies.
I was your baby, innocent and pure,
You saw a demon and a need for cure.
So you yell and I plead,
You burn and I bleed.
Am I to blame for your lustless lives?
My birth not flowers, but a bed of knives?
You're in pain, I can see,
But please mom. Don't hurt me.

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A Race, Remembered

Our bodies, aligned and frozen in stature. The indistinct shouting’s became faded, enveloped by the stillness of the silence. The countdown began. A second, but hours, they were. The muted chanting’s, nothing more than broken whispers of a hushed chorus. With each hollow resonance, the man in khaki shirt inched his gun further and further as he aimed the sky. He clutched the handle tightly and squeezed the trigger. The bang reverberated for seconds as entrails of wispy smoke flowed endlessly from its mouth. Gone was the haunting odiousness of the calm. A resounding presence so deafening, its reality conquered the distortions of time and sound. In an instant, our leading arm and leg sliced the atmosphere. Like machines of memory mimicry, our strides were bountiful, but equal nonetheless. We battled measures of inches as the torrent winds became resistant and a factor against fatigue. To my left, a slow of weary anguish as the distance became greater until he was visible at blinds eye no more. To my right, a constant fluidity of mechanics that showed no signs of slowing, but instead, increase. Titans, we were. Warring for the smallest gain as the finish line stood a beacon of end. With a shutter of an eye, we slowed and a surge of overlapping cheers followed.

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The Coming of God

We watched as the skies fell.
The masses of black swarms cascading as ashes rained down upon the Earth.
The crow from afar, it cried in fear of its maker as it felt the impending entity.
A light divinity, a blinding billowness of immortality shook the fabrication of darkness.
It was then that I saw the face of God.
His face as he swallowed our world.

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Rave

Strobe lights flickered throughout the expanse. 
And with an array of varying colors, 
it displayed a mesmeric pattern that shadowed a deep entrancement. 
The sounds, an orchestra of chaos; so artfully unruly. 
Each thrashing bass, a seething burst of air, of vibration; it pulsated our bodies.
A constant, rippling sensation echoed, 
commanding movement to its every beat,
like listless puppets of the night dance.
Those around with blank faces, unknown and unheard of
So clustered, cluttered and concealed, 
visible only, were the split flashes of color. 
Arms, legs, constricted by space, 
but to each, it was our minds, 
a realm of boundlessness; a physical infinity.

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Missing Child

My toys gone missing, my very youth at bay,
My smile not found; where they laugh and they play.
I tried for long, I hoped for share,
 But so, my joys are rare.
So then, I tried, to deceive my eyes,
To see a world, not saddened with lies.
And here I stand, alone in my love,
It came to me, a thundering above.
My darkest day, it was then and there,
They left my life, a mere broken pair.
But to which sense, I could not find,
A lasting confusion, it left behind.
So I curse the skies, the sun and the moon,
Condemned, but why, a certain good, so soon.
My visions now see, a quite truthful sight,
Of something in good, a demon in light.

(Just thought I'd share my twist on 'Alone' by Edgar Allen Poe)

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Lost In the Woods With a Serial Killer

In the trees, where I tread,
A certain darkness to befall.
I awake in my slumber,
A shadow’s beckoning call.
It pleas,
It begs.
For compassion so drear.
From the echo of breath,
To the stench of fear.
So run, if you please.
And safe, should you feel.
For your death, is a must,
My deep carnal lust.

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Chair of Madness

And here I sit in my sitting chair,
An armless wooden failed repair.
Sores a grind of bone and cheap,
From junk pieces of a tree heap.
For what madness I do not know,
Must a chair be filled with woe.
A red bottom, I fear I'll face,
From a seat of devilish embrace.
But I think I shan't  think such thoughts,
Of all that's thunk, but thought for naught.