The Noble Exhumed -- Nightmares Pile Like Bodies

Thanks, you guys. Most of my poems are sorta...sudden. I can't remember many poems that I spent longer than 5 or 10 minutes on, aside from The Beach, which was a pretty lengthy work. Thanks again for your comments! You know how much I love getting a response.

Oh, and Jayolorin, that's an interesting thing to say. I read lyrics and listen to songs by AFI all the time, and when I put myself to the test of writing dark, strange lyrics, it came out a lot like something I'd expect them to write. :cool:

Orionism


An inhuman melody screams of laughter. Joy in every little passing ember. I tore my way through a jugular. Eyes now without a body beneath. Perhaps you'd remember, I freed her soul that night. This steel, it would look so ravishing in you, don't you think? This light blue hue wasn't just made, it was found for you. Can I count the ways you've died, if only in my mind? All I shall reap, is what you have sown. Go ahead, Call it in. Unanswered cries. In this world, there is no 911, not a single telephone. Here, communication goes one way. This is your only operator. I'm sorry, we're in service. I was shattered to spite myself. Only the broken shard of glass yields a cut, and no temptation is sweeter than the spillage of your blood. Life is so fleeting...at least, it runs from me.

The Tradeoff is moving and very beautifully written, with vivid imagery and a poignant "Wait" in the midst.

All Is Lost And Lost Have All seems to spiral into despair, but I can't help but wait for a glimmer of hope somewhere.

Orionism seems both dark and light to me. Light is portrayed as an elusive quality. I especially enjoyed the last line.

Orionism isn't actually from my perspective. It's more in the perspective of Orion, one of the villains prominent in my Battle Arena main storyline. He doesn't have a bio, not yet, but you can read about his latest exploit in Blood Memoir: Blood Red Summer, in the BA Crossroads.

*pokes the Shade*

All Is Lost And Lost Have All: The way you compare the ploys of romance to a card game creates quite a beautiful imagery. I especially like how you describe the conscious damaging of relationship and the subsequent making-up as dealings of the deck, and with each hand, the relationship becomes ever more fragile: "Shall we play again, or are the cards too fragile?"

Orionism: A very dark piece, but I like it. You can see fury in the person's thoughts, and yet the presence of twisted joy is disturbingly portrayed.

Keep this up, oh Master of the Dark Arts

Orionism: Kick ass in a creepy way. I usually take a strange sort of "love-hate" relationship to evil characters like Orion. I love how evil and twisted he can be. Sends oddly pleasant shivers down my spine in a strange way. Maybe I'm just a freak, lol. Anywho, loved it as always.

Orionism

That poem brings vivid morbid images into my mind. I love the line:

Only the broken shard of glass yields a cut, and no temptation is sweeter than the spillage of your blood.

This poem altogether is well written, and I love it to pieces. Infact, I love all of your writing. It seems we have the Macabre/Dark/Death theme in common.

Keep it up, I am definately going to check up on this thread.

Jeez, I love Orionism. It sends a deluge of thoughts pouring into your mind...and I especially loved this line:

In this world, there is no 911, not a single telephone.

No 911. Sheesh...and that further illustrates the world the way this narrator sees it.

Knives to Gunfights Among the Lightmares and Deathscapes


Fixation is key, to a door of cold light. Take it, but watch your step. The last one might kill you. In a way, I'm still falling. Nails scrape at the walls around, trying to escape from a soundless "purity." I don't want to die, but death would be so much easier, if I only knew why. I grew blind as I was sanguine. Lovely, lightless one, won't you take me? Don't let me asphyxiate on this frosted ivory. I broke the illusion with my scream. I took what was buried with me, and crawled away.

Now, my home is a dark place, and I wait here, in the warmth of a shadow, holding you as all of these cruel lightmares fade. A new shade fills my dreams, and through it, I am remade. Things are not always as they appear. Led by a white rabbit, into a hole, I found my escape in crossing the black cat's path. As for that old superstition, I have only one finger for you, my little white lie. I delight in your bad luck, not mine.

Her road is a path through desolate glory. Dark, feline beauty, let your silky kisses and words of compassion be my lullaby. Mind not my tears. Of both sorrow and joy, they are plentiful. Let us fall into each other, and shatter rationality, in a bout of fatality. Loneliness dies, and we are one.

Wow, very good. I like this one better than Orion's. Everything just flows so naturally in it. The words go well. Very nice ^^

Thanks, Shrubbie. While we're on the topic of you being here....I dedicate this poem to both you and wielder, because friends like the two of you inspired me to write this, just talking to me.

Tears Of Ink

Let the letters be your tears, and see all the deadly patterns you could make. Possibilities dwell in every arrangement. I would guide your hand, were it not for the guardian candles. Carry this legacy beyond flesh. Etch it into infinity. Are we entering turbulence? Or is this all just a bad dream? Tell me it isn't. I would rather it end now than prolong the pain. Long for a feeling, as imaginary as you are. If I can't make you real, I'll steal you, and ruin a thousand poems with the sodden, slow drops of an inky agony.

Now, I bring to you another one of my solemn works.

Burning

It burns. I feel thousands of tiny teeth gnawing through thin cloth. There is no salvation, from this excruciating feeling, like the tearing of sacred pages, it defiles me. Suffering. Desecration without hope. I feel a swelling arise. Can fear, the old fever, not persuade my movement? Or shall I be eaten alive? My skin is torn into, and stung at every chance. Oh ****, I'm sitting on a hill of ants.

What I find most interesting and engaging about your poetry is the fusion of prose and poesy. Your take the properties of both - the form of prose, the meandering, metaphorical beauty (and on the occasion, puzzle) of poetry - and combine them to form such pieces as Orionism, Burning, Tears of Ink. Your last four pieces read as poems, and have the appearance of prose. It makes for a curious read.

Orionism was chilling. To be quite truthful (and surprisingly, this is not a tangent ), whenever I think of the BA, a feudalistic period, ripe with tunics, knights, and castles come to mind. But your poem, while based, as you mentioned, on one of your BA characters had a timeless, inclusive sense to it. It is a poem without time, a world just beyond the mortal limit, an encompassing darkness wherein echoes

An inhuman melody...

... screams of laughter...

This line, I felt, was especially chilling, and one that caught my particular interest. There's almost a grim humour to it.

This steel, it would look so ravishing in you, don't you think?

Knives to Gunfights Among the Lightmares and Deathscapes filled my mind with images, all pertaining to those limned within the piece. Some lines struck me as portraying the opposite of what one is accustomed to seeing, as this line ("I found my escape in crossing the black cat's path") did. The first several lines of Tears of Ink were beautiful - perhaps, because the title of the piece heightened my anticipation for such expressions? Burning is quite entertaining, when I read the final line. Who knew the experience of sitting on an anthill could be so poignantly rendered?

If you became a song writer you'd be very, very rich. I stand by what I said before.

Burning is a very...painful?(yes..that fits it) poem, and the end of it kinda surprised me. El-oh-el.

Tears Of Ink is a great one- I especially like the title...It's like, a twisted perspective of never-ending friendship. *runs*

Yeah, Jay, you're right. Tears of Ink is all about friendship. The bond between a writer and his character. One of the most intimate relations there are, I believe.

Hazardous Material


Poison creeps through my veins. Filthy pathogens dance in the rings of my eyes. Embrace the ritual, take part in the original blame. I was born doing something wrong. Drink of blood, taste of flesh. I feel the pain coming strong. My lips are stained and toxic. So many parts of a patchwork quilt...Can it be repaired? Love the material, flawed though it is. Even matter is a matter of waste. Is it an original work? If you can see the hidden image, I applaud you with broken hands. Even with age, the pigments remain cannibal. I can't wait forever. Love it, or hate it, I'm a part of the design. This is a perspective from a damaged cell, a hole in the hive. Am I the only one who's sick of it all? I'm tired of painting exits. Carve me a real way out, if one exists.

That's a really profound poem, and I'm not sure I really understand it. Is it about life? The imagery and metaphors are sharp and strong. I particularly enjoyed the lines

Originally Posted by Shade

Even matter is a matter of waste.

and

Originally Posted by Shade

I'm tired of painting exits. Carve me a real way out, if one exists.

Well, it's more of a commentary on the dark view of humanity than anything. That first quote you made revolves around that theme, while the second is a metaphor for my works as a temporary escape from reality, while a real one eludes me.

A Box Of Justice, Wrapped Up Just For You


Envelop your tragedy in a fear for the future. There are three paths, three choices that wait for only one among billions. Forget the masses, everyone lives in a fictional world. Imagine something even further from this truth, because the reality you created is too much to bear. The hourglass, it is both friend and enemy in the hands of God. Never enough time for immortality. Want and waste until you want nothing, and use my seeping blood to paint yourself a memoir. Pyramids of ancient law slip past the prose of pretense, and terror. Blame it on Pandora. She was blind, deaf and mute, and she also carried a sword, if I remember right. Hope wasn't at the bottom of the box, either. Curious, curious. I saw her entwined with another; another illness. Is that a knife in your hand, or are you just unhappy to see me? Sins are like grains of sand, so abandon land and drown in the tranquil water, alone. Know me as the one who tips the scales of Justice. Negativity is relative, or so I hear. Sorrow sews the feathers of the fallen together to forge my wings, while I drink deeply of her tears.

Wow ... good poems ... like always ^^ I love your poems, Shade. Your words always run together very smoothly. The way you have them in these paragraphs ... it's like they're just a certain group of thoughts taken from your mind. In a way they are, and putting them together like this makes it easier for the reader, I think. Very nice work, keep it up ^_^