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Literature Text
Pale soul,
Pale soul,
Take me to a land where I may be made whole,
A land where the sun never sets,
Because it never rises,
A land where lust and greed never recede,
And need not hide behind artificial disguises,
I want to lay my spirit to rest inside a grey place,
Where women can be wanton without disgrace,
Where I can horde the gems and count the silver,
Without the slightest slither of regret,
A land where I can be respected as a dark poet,
Who composes his pieces,
Beneath a firmament of shivering twilight,
Does not the artist retain the right,
To sculpt his creations into the form of the macabre?
Since birth I have done well,
At crafting my soul into a sculpture,
That is neither pure enough to grace the Halls of Heaven,
Nor tainted enough to reside in Hell,
Somewhere there must exist another place,
Pale soul,
Pale soul,
Guide me there posthaste….
--Hymn of the Necromancers
Pale soul,
Take me to a land where I may be made whole,
A land where the sun never sets,
Because it never rises,
A land where lust and greed never recede,
And need not hide behind artificial disguises,
I want to lay my spirit to rest inside a grey place,
Where women can be wanton without disgrace,
Where I can horde the gems and count the silver,
Without the slightest slither of regret,
A land where I can be respected as a dark poet,
Who composes his pieces,
Beneath a firmament of shivering twilight,
Does not the artist retain the right,
To sculpt his creations into the form of the macabre?
Since birth I have done well,
At crafting my soul into a sculpture,
That is neither pure enough to grace the Halls of Heaven,
Nor tainted enough to reside in Hell,
Somewhere there must exist another place,
Pale soul,
Pale soul,
Guide me there posthaste….
--Hymn of the Necromancers
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sings tales of the rotten Crimson Marquis.
I scream:
“Your world is killing me –
your words are filling me!”
My mind is torn apart with this last call.
I am churned by visions of blazing clefts,
of hollow words, deceit and dreadful dreams,
of demonic herds and torrential streams;
yet the voice mocks the bit of me that's left.
It consumes my thoughts, seeking for freedom.
“They get their way, I fade away –
Oh God, my mind, it fades to grey!”
And finally, they have killed my reason.
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Nightmare
Once upon a torrid Nightmare,
where screams bellow a mute despair
The fondest parts of me parish,
'neath a revolting guise I'll never wear
Darkness excreting a fetid anesthetic,
noxious though it's pull defines kinetic
My every move forced, feels magnetic,
it's not real, behind my eyes, synthetic
Yet I gasp for a breath I can't catch,
guts coiled, on my knees I wretch
Skin drenched in my own sweat,
a need to run from all I can't forget
My legs forbade my only choice,
as I frantically search for my own voice
Reaching for you only to find a decoy,
and I still can't make a single noise
What tragedy leaves me so defiled,
in this odious void o
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Ever wonder why a necromancer would be foolish enough to choose evil in a world in which Heaven exists? Perhaps they have crafted their own heavens via the use of phylacteries.
Here are some other poems by me:
Suppressed Brilliance - [link]
What Stirs Beneath the Gold - [link]
Curse of the Liar - [link]
Corrupted Garden – [link]
Bathed in Foul Water- [link]
Ode to the Siren- [link]
Talons of the Crow - [link]
Here are some other poems by me:
Suppressed Brilliance - [link]
What Stirs Beneath the Gold - [link]
Curse of the Liar - [link]
Corrupted Garden – [link]
Bathed in Foul Water- [link]
Ode to the Siren- [link]
Talons of the Crow - [link]
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Comments12
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I like this a lot. I enjoyed both the imagery and the subtle social commentary. Truly, the world would be a better place without the superficiality of what is considered "proper."