Tag: death

Lilac Lane

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Dark Poetry

Many have lived here through the years,

marking centuries of generations,

making obscene amounts of wealth.

And there were times such as now,

when evening clouds harvest the shadows

from the ground,

and blood runs in red rivulets

between the well laid stones.

You wouldn’t know this to look at it.

The lamps provide solace and comfort

from the gloom,

but when the fiends accost you

their faces are no longer hidden,

and your life is no longer yours.

Over the years they planted the lilacs

so the coppery scent of life

was as masked as the fiends that crave it.

Screams were seldom heard,

and just as suddenly silenced.

Pleas to be spared went unheeded

and echoed through the streets that trapped

prey with its charm, then gave it over

to things best left in gloom and darkness,

not soft lights and pretty scents.

Leave now before the evening stars appear,

before you slowly dissipate into the

unclean afterlife that snares you with its perfume,

and leaves you to rot.

Purgatory’s Gates

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Dark Poetry

Wait here, child.

The blood on your hands is unclean.

The shadow on your soul is darkening.

The cold of your heart is consuming.

You have asked forgiveness,

pleaded for mercy,

begged for new life.

The deities are undecided.

They meet in council, even now,

to discuss and barter for your soul,

shadow-soaked as it is.

They have no power to cleanse it,

but want it for their own purposes.

Are you ready to surrender it

without conditions or demands?

If they burn it, will you be

satisfied.

If they use it for their own petty ends,

will you be at

peace?

The ravens come to guide you,

and the bell sounds,

muffled by the mist

as the gates open to

embrace you in clouds,

or receive you in clouds of flames.

Are you ready?

Reading Tomes by Candlelight

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101

Researching tomes by candlelight,

the old library smells

of tea and flowers, parchments,

and Indian ink wells.

Along here with the candlelight,

a fire crackles low,

and in the shadows of the shelves

dark laughter echoes so.

The dark and dusty shelves are full

of dark and dusty lore,

and spells to summon love sublime

or terror at its core.

The hairs and hackles of my hide

now stiffen in the air.

Of malevolent presences

I’m suddenly aware.

“What is it that you want?” I called,

but only silence came

in answer to my query

and the quelling of the flame.

Now sitting in the utter darkness

terror binds me still,

and all the will within me

chooses ‘cower’ over ‘kill.’

I know not when these things will slay,

they play with me the while,

and snarl and snap the air nearby

with fanged and feral smile.

They close the distance daily,

incrementally it seems,

So reading tomes by candlelight

yields nightmares and mad dreams.

I’ll leave the book and note for them

to find here in the day.

I don’t know if my corpse will be

devoured or on display.

Explore the tomes at your own risk,

perhaps your luck will hold.

Just know capricious spirits

have no use for human gold.

And maybe friend, just maybe,

they will bind you to the fold.

Do You Not Hear the Bells?

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101

Do you not hear the bells, my daughter,

tolling in the hills?

That is Death’s herald, daughter.

Feel how the night wind chills!

Do you not mark the sweet knells, daughter,

carried by the wind?

Death rides his gory horse to us,

your contract to rescind.

I stand above the place you lay. My tears will see me drowned,

for you have sold your soul to be once more above the ground.

And even now the vermin flee your coffin in surprise,

the earth beneath me churns and breaks and bubbles at your rise.

Now flesh and sinew cover bones once yellowed, moldy, black,

Your lovely hand breaks free and now there is no turning back.

And Death now swings his spectral scythe, and I must take your place,

but not before you kiss me once more on my ancient face.

The lack of rotting carrion no longer scents your sighs.

And Death himself has fallen for the beauty in your eyes.

The bells now tell of Death’s new bride. Be happy, and be well!

Now let my warming soul descend, your substitute in hell.

SPELLS IN THE SAND

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Uncategorized

All those ages past.

All these ancient gods.

All of these organs, bodies, and bones

tossed into all these fires.

All these prayers and offerings

of flesh, gold, and precious stones.

And the scent of all these flowers

and perfumes to hide

the stench of rot.

All these signs and sigils,

symbols, runes, and ruins.

All these spirits of light and dark,

summoned by all these tongues

speaking spells of power.

All silent now.

All dead forever.

All covered

in soil and sand

for

all time.

The Gauntlet of Forgotten

by smithaw50, posted in Uncategorized

Silent now,

this once rambunctious band

of warriors.

All of them

silent now,

except me.

All these years later,

I still remember

the Elder’s advice

as she covered her knees

with her blanket.

“The cause you fight for

will never be absent

in the world,

for the hearts of men are

ever self-serving.”

She watches from among the stones

and remembers the day

she saw her son die.

I mourn with her,

prayerful, fearful,

in the light as she fades from view,

her tears gray as

rainclouds,

and colder than

death.

The Echoes of Ruins

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Uncategorized

Inside the old ruins

with vermin filled walls,

their boisterous voices still

ring through the halls.

 

How dazzling the jewelry,

the elegant gowns,

the best of the people from

best of the towns.

 

The thrill of the invite,

the calling by name

of every arrival

with fortune or fame.

 

The dark spirit no one saw

enter the space

was spreading his presence

all over the place.

 

The party grew louder,

and lewder, and crude.

The nobles were commoners,

servants were rude.

 

The atmosphere shifted

from festive to hate.

The dark spirit, watching,

decided to wait.

 

The sounds of the bacchanal

split the night air.

The dark spirit giggled

and fired a flare.

 

His cohorts arrived

and the violence began,

the fights and the sex

and the red sins of man.

 

The fires raged free

and the screaming was shrill,

the stones rained like hail

over castle and hill.

 

The dark, evil spirit’s

residing there still.

Don’t stop there. Don’t go there.

Your soul he will kill.

 

Fortune Untold

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Uncategorized

A glowing candle in the dark,

an old man sits alone.

Across the dusty table,

there sits an older crone.

 

“I’ll tell ye of yer fate,” says she,

her eyes aglow and wide.

“I’d like to know if good or bad.”

He sat his chair astride.

 

She closed her eyes and muttered

at a fast and fevered pitch.

He didn’t see

the demon woman form

behind the witch.

 

She smiled with a dripping grin,

and stared with hungry eyes

so longingly, she’d come to cause

his dimming soul’s demise.

 

She pinned his body to the chair

and feasted on his heart.

“Your fate is bad,” the old witch said.

“And that completes your chart.”

 

She laughed as she got up to leave.

“Enjoy your meal, my dear.”

“Well, why stop now?” the demon said.

“The two of you are here.”

Worlds Within

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Uncategorized

The blood on my fingertips

is mine.

It holds worlds within its oxidated spheres

that some, walking down this city street,

can taste on their tongues

like vipers.

 

Their eyes change color and form

when you look deep enough,

the eyes of reptiles

and

things that fly in the night

to hunt.

 

They smile at me,

knowing I see them

as they think to

savor the worlds within

my blood,

rich with learning.

 

Their leader smiles at me too,

ferocious, flirtatious, and feral

as she mouths the words, ‘No escape.’

 

I drip the blood on the tip of my tongue,

and offer it to her.

 

Laughing, she approaches,

eager to begin

the dance of worlds within.

 

The Herald of the Vampire Queen

by smithaw50, posted in Blogging 101, Uncategorized

I gave her word

he waited in his

dark and incensed lair,

to taste once more

her grave-cold flesh,

and stroke her

fiery hair.

 

She ran upon the

cobbled streets

as fleet as I could wing,

To find him slumped

and bleeding

in the strong hands

of her king.

 

“This thing that you

betrayed me with,

you love it more than me?”

 

“Did I not come at midnight here?

Have you not eyes to see?”

 

The king had slain the vampire lord

with sword of silver true.

“And now, my unclean, tainted love

I’ll do the same to you.”

 

She fought him hard but

futilely, ‘til I removed his eyes.

“Good servant, feathered herald.

You have helped me win the prize.”

 

My head was at a curious tilt

as she breathed out her words.

She struck the blind king fatally,

and fed her carrion birds.

 

A woman’s heart is fickle,

and its motives e’er unseen.

It will betray a vampire lord

or mortal king,

for Queen.