The View from the Shadows

It’s when happiness hurts you more than despair
That you have fallen into the shadows of where the world rejoices
And are beyond the reach of those who live in the light of happiness
Becoming alien to even those you once called friend
The biggest disappointment felt when lost in that black ocean…
…that death has yet to find you and it hurts more to live than to accept death

It isn’t over

Lines in sand to end a decline
To end a sight of past pain
Rewrite the warnings and plant a new sign
Ignore the whole storm as you walk in the centre of the eye
Havoc wreaked as all around turns to ash with time
Death losing leverage as six-foot ditches become common sight
Wise folk run to avoid the ripping edge of the storm’s arching reach
You see not the fear but feel the will to fight
All fails in the blink of a lightning bolt from the blackened sky
You stand amongst electric grave stones and bathe in the dark
Others running but you laugh in tune with the swinging of deaths scythe
Till you see in the mirror what really makes the storm swirl
Ands its all that has become second nature to the excuse you call been alive
Not even a shiver of fear as it tells you clear in the midst of a swan like dive
Just what kind of a creature you have become
The rhythmic chaos with which every fibre of your words rhyme
That pain of knowing that despite sweet lies it isn’t over
As looking back you see an endless path marked by lines in the sand

Sleep; Denied

Death tickling the ivory’s

The devil serving drinks

A demon hitting on an angel

Her wings pushing him away

A saint drinking straight from the bottle

As I try to get some sleep

But the party keeping me awake

The one in my head

Always waits for my head to hit the pillow

And now I’m writing gibberish

When all I want to do is close my eyes

And get some much needed rest

A comment gone a wander

Waters rose, tides got higher
He wasn’t her prince, but an inferior lover
Her wrath was one with the ocean, another claimed by the water
By the betrayal of a prince, many fell to her unearthly power

He stood eternal, she tried and made much a storm to end him
He took her pain and took it more, her tears the thunder
She made the man as her prince, a wedding under oceans
The souls lost to her vengeance, free to sail forever

Written in response to a superior poem I caught on another blog, if that blogger wants to make themselves known in the comments I won’t object

The Middle Ground

The two sides stand astride from the middle, a place in the midst of siege that with burden bares the blows of endless conflict as from the Unholy Trilogy a subtle poison flows with acidic curse, from the Dark Arts a deathly stream of daggers when the back turns away from their smiling merry eyes.

There in the middle marks the balance, a force of personality holding strong in the eternal second before it ticks this way or that before damnation and defeat as with hellion fury it holds back all but the accepted beasts, those that serve justice in ways only the damned can fight the sinfully fuelled horde of destructive dissent.

The mid line corrupting the poison as with harboured respect of its honest approach and unmasked motivations that force of persona extracts the very best, the daggers twistedly re-forged in acidic flames to be forcefully thrown back at forces others find blissfully welcoming, almost as if only a damned few are to be denied all the positive release of what is offered by those Dark Arts.

And as the blindly devoted fervour of the middle holds the tenuously perched line, a fragmented piece of rope sealed in parts with only the pressure kept up by the damning raids of either side, a force indeed kept in check by the darkest of those fragments so to serve the world better.

A world that flays the balance’s back in ignorance of its efforts, a human race that constructs the scaffolding that the damned bring their own rope to complete!

Service here guarantees not rewards but a tighter rod for the back…