Morbid Gothic Poem: APOCALYPTIC FANTASIES PART 1

Sins etched in flesh-names forgotten in the endless winds-ravaged bodies litter these streets-filth penetrates essences of the last things to kill. Darkness fades from light, balances shattered now-glass spread over the soil, stitched shut we cannot feel anymore-false illusions of emotion and love, roam the endless graves for a taste of hope. Dead eyes breathe over us-feeding the endless hunger we have-crumbling civilisations rise to corrupt the past-dense motion holds us against the falling pillars of the world above, dying angels burn up inside us-choking back the putrid smoke that we breathe, water burns the stomachs-breeding the lies we love. Evil is us-no realization, violent anguish consumes the pure-pressure aches within the bones separating from the ground. Collapse the foul prayers of the lifeless bodies eaten away-flesh sold to the highest bidder, pray for your own existence now-freedom is not available. Original horror roam sin the minds of the gifted-fire burns black what was once light-exist to suffer-godlessness is fear to be apart of the end, apocalyptic emotions explode the night, clouds grey the eyes of the blind-excuses muttered in pits of death-masked realities, false truths plaster our walls-end of death is the death of life.


Morbid Gothic Poem: BITTER BLOOD

Hands clamped, pray for what will never come-destruction fills our world-ending of what has been and will be-desolate minds crumble now, everything is gone yet it lies in front of us-eaten away to be apart of what cannot see, broken bones scream out from the shattered facilities that line the isolated streets that we were born unto. Scattered bones lay waste in what was once the place of worship, terrorized in the mind by the sleaze that oozes behind the government walls-corrupting the weak while controlling the strong-nothing will ever make sense anymore, fused together with the parts you despise-created for the total, died for the whole, deceitful truthsayers roam our now dead streets, pumping the anger fuelled hatred into us, staring into the barrel of the gun as it fires, tears sustain the life forces of the weary feeding on the empty hearts of those that lay in the streets dead. Sacrifice your brains for the TV, the thing that controls and distorts what is outside, complications fuse with the truth to manufacture the lies we believe, the belief is true for what is truth without the lies that have created it? Minds explode with the gifts that burn within, flames cleanse the pure and worthless, everybody is the same-respect and respond-in and out functions envelope us-follow orders given directly into the brain- chase the answers into the pits of your own personal hell, obsolete factions pump through the veins of everyone-the blood is pure, the taste bitter, the flow enters and dissipates and now is the tainted slime we live on.


Morbid Gothic Poem: CORRUPTION OF THE CROSS

They manipulate from behind their walls of self righteous candy coated realities, worshipping a false idol that condemns anyone who does not abide to their rules-screaming at the meek and the ones who live only to hide their skeletons behind pity and terror. Falsifying god to punish those who do not conform to their artificially sweetened truths and to corrupt the young to destroy their own families with the fears they push onto their minds to crush those who do not give in. sins fill their minds and they do not live-their free will is destroyed-eaten away by the lies spat out from the pain fuelled preachers. Break the bonds that hold you to their fraudulent ways, corruption of the cross has stolen the free will of truth?.


Morbid Gothic Poem: FASIONABLE SUICIDE

The pain etched in stone, temptation bleeds into the wounds of the failed youths. This world is a big joke to us now, and everything is a fad to us now, the knife cuts smoothly to the bone, the hangman's noose is their new necklace-the darkness follows us in the shadows-watching till it overcomes us-why does everything seem so perfect when everything is so rotten? The knife is the new god and the gas the air they want to breathe, everything succumbing to the new fads. Revolving around what they think is bad, and what they think is false for they are the new sheep, the new wave. Lifelines destroyed as they follow the next one. Broken veins pulse out at us, as we squint to see the sun, we burn but the feeling calms the faithless. Overdose is the diet of them now, the pills swallowed on quantity, taken to feed what they feel the need asks for next-as it begs for the things that we hate-the fad overcomes what was and used to be, it is the now. Cannot underestimate the becoming of the end, life is just a statistic now, the life is taken, broken down to be apart of the list that overflows now, the new fad takes the hand of the grim reaper to feed the river Styx with the choked fashion stars. The outcast are taken, are not to be, they are the same, identical now-stolen identities form our world now, sheep of the same roam over and all fall for the new fad.


Morbid Gothic Poem: FIGMENTATIONS OF TRUTH

Youth tortured by the figmentations of the minds eye-encasing me in this world of nightmares I feed from now-assume the worst to bleed forth the whims of a faithless soul-judgement trampled down upon me etching scripture into my open flesh, forcing the guilt further down my throat. Exhale the breathless air as I gasp for what I see but can never reach-verbal torments ache in my head ripping out the nerves I once helped onto, tripping me down the hills that grow larger in the rear view of life. Swallowed the pills that manipulate the environment I created, fading the imagery and tainting the love that was once felt. Past eats away at me, cannot break out of this malevolence induced nightmarish existence-technological manifestations rule now, breeding in the wounds I have opened up, control breathes through me-lacking the hallucinations that hold everything together, nothing comes right when the fire cleanses within, breathe in the fire and see the feverish images that torment my mind. Written to ease the pain, darkness will never leave this place-to understand is to die, death is the deal given to us all-I can feel the burning inside from the ice that has formed in my veins-cold blood flows easily through the emotionless corpse. Body rotted away into the end of times that rest on the hands of the keepers. X'ed from this plane of continuation of the hate that we excrete, I feed on what is given out, the anger flows into the streets like wild fire, escaping from the pits of us that we fear to enter, flowing into my shell of a body-worlds end and no one will listen, used body left on the dying floor-bleeding the core dies from within, armour destroyed with the reaction to the acid flowing in the body. I scream to the skies for the guidance they offer, rain pours down, burning the flesh, bloody streaks run down my face as I hold up high-escape the reality that haunts us, no hiding but finding the thing that watches in the shadows, following, roll the dice to show the future, gambles on the lives we have sold to become what we want-I cannot sell what I don't have-feelings torn years ago, bleeding through gashes that wont heal-the conclusion is written away from the horrendous life that has been forced upon me, I laugh to see and kill to become.


Morbid Gothic Poem: INFECTION

Infection; eating away at the beloved-enraged pain rages within the confinements of the mind-bleed into the cup, wash the wounds with holy water-torn from the mountains, spread over the unclean. Engage the pitiful and rip the blood soaked insides out as the bodies litter your open streets, cries to the heavens end in death-dead fills carts, halls turn to mud soaked pits, overflowing with the discarded, masks cover the truth of the people-cannot escape the fate of everything. Rich die beautifully, cannot buy the life you want-surrender to the grim reaper, let him tear your soul out to be given to no one and scraped along the walls of sanity. Dead in the streets, crawl over the dying-bred fears plead for freedom, but the chemicals in the head rip them apart, new war-new death-new hate.


Morbid Gothic Poem: KNOWLEDGE

Anti-abortionists scream for life's blood, burning scans over the world, destructions envelope us all, the bible is a weapon now, scratching out at what they don't understand, biblical censorship, false hope given to the forsaken-beckon towards the end as we see is what we need-lies feed to us through TV and speech, concentrate on your deaths more than the life we have, night encompasses us as we search for what we have lost in this instance of self indulgence. Global corruption eats away at the world we thought was free, consumerism blares out from all walls as we march down the streets in rows. Centres unbalance as we collide with the inevitable truths of this existence, peace does not exist, screams silenced by swollen censorship-throats burn with the poison that is feed to us, eat the filth they give you-encase the love in ice, the smoke chokes the emotion to its last thread and strangles us with it, fortifications erected around our minds that are pumped with pleasure we cannot break free of what is the lies and be apart of the truth. You want the sweet things-to kill for this, spit the maggots out of the candy you have been given, the strangers walk beside us-within us the guilt is gone-fear replaced by desire for the nameless and false. Trails of pebbles destroyed under the machinery, lost and never found we will always be-tainted fruits of nature we feed on-knowledge grown on trees that flourish where the lies are buried, children's mouths fed with toxins and anger, fuelling them, becoming more of the same-machines eat our emotion-destroying our connections, everything is controlled now. Crawl to the unholy worship-created for sex, no reality is there-JUST PALOUR TRICKS FOR THE WEAK MINDED-the devil died with god, evil is the by-product of man-nothing rules but everything overwhelms, escape to the cage which holds you, furry rages within-boiling to what we cannot take-we are the creators of infinite darkness, worshiping what is forced down our throats, succumbing to the dark and eating the light-there is nothing to hold us anymore-plummeting forever into the endless hell we have made for ourselves....


Morbid Gothic Poem: MECHANICAL OBEDIENCE

Heartless assaults on human dignity-rape the willing to control the lost- eradicate the minds of the strong-eternal suffocation on the bright light that glows before us-darkness breeds inside the skin-stolen from the places we escape too, rage burns out of love now-fuelled from trust to hate the dead, living does not exist anymore-everything is gone into the eyes of malice. Battles lost from the hell that lives among us-macabre pity rolls through the heat of ice-bleeding the soulless souls-wounds split open and spit the dust of a nation into the open flesh of our own. Angels bodies feed to the rich-fulfil what the desires burn deep-holes buried within coffins of flesh-viruses of life infect us all-out got eh lights with the sacrifice of death-venom seeps into old cracks-dripping lies through coarse veins-frozen eyes see the defamations built up to build cities-night terrors tear matter from mind-to form what broke and reborn to be desolation and love-everything is derived from the beings-from the beginning-mechanical obedience we control and slavery owns us-condemned and free we fester within ourselves-hunters and hunted. Burning skin flows out the throats of the young-to become what the desire commands-following dead trends-egotistical manipulation of their senses and burrowed lies wither inside-kill the person and create a shell-obey to live for the mind must die. Images forced into the minds-corrupting and embodying the useless contributions of hope the kills us all-open to bleed and tie off the veins. Lead down into the night, that eats away the individuality-to become is to surrender-to die is to live-to exist is to suffer-the truth dies here.


Morbid Gothic Poem: UNRENEWABLE DNA

Crooked nail piercing us against the crimson flow of civilisation-dying to be apart of something we can never be-never hold onto, suffocate to live and to die we grasp the freedom of the blade, abortionations flowing through our fingers-what is black is coloured within us, unrenewable DNA-agitated souls feeding on the gulping breathes we take, reality fades here- this plane destroyed with our dying thoughts, through the looking glass we live, suffocating on our own thoughts-can this be what we dream of? Blood rushes between fingers-skewered guts splayed in front of us-friends slain and enemies bleed-you believe to die, shattered prey lies between us, taste the sweet inflamed faith-dripping with the sins of the filthy-can we see what hides beneath when we cannot see what we are? Despise the existence of what we lust for-guess for the dead to see what we need to be, hate flows deep within the dead feeding us as we sleep, dreams rip into the mindlessness of our nature now-hope is deceased in the makeshift grave you have dug, nothing belongs anymore-gulp your last breathe of the air we savour-putrid extrusions pump out from our pleasure- split the existence from the core and kill the thing you love the most-end the life to help it, knife cuts deep within and the inside flows beneath us as we bleed for the god we hate. Obscure words fill our eyes and the sights flow into the weakened that scream for the night to come-you think you exist when the darkness eats away at you-your beliefs are as dead as you are inside-nothing is real for us anymore-cant think to be apart of this- pity carves into your body-ripping what you hide within, succumb to the bleeding hearts that tear the mindset apart, subjecting the knowledge to the flames that sear our life force, pillars built around to hold in-keep out the things that need, that destroy-your own family dies with one gasp-kill-die-bleed-worship.

-Alejandra Feldthouse.

I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
I went to the window to see the sight;
All the Dead that ever I knew
Going one by one and two by two.

On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;
Townsfellows all, from first to last;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.

Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd
At soldiers once—but now more staid;
Those were the strangest sight to me
Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.

Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too;
Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;
Some but a day in their churchyard bed;
Some that I had not known were dead.

[11]A long, long crowd—where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way:
She linger'd a moment—she might not stay.

How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!

On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot, but remember'd then.

And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears the moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That every morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.

by: William Allingham, 1824-1889.

 

Gothic Poem: War Drums


War drums sounding, can you hear?
That dance of war in the air.
The feet that dance in time
that go round and round
the fire.

Pounding feet in time
war drums playing a song.
Calling warriors far and near.
come one, come all to the
great war to be.

The good and evil there
will gather to clash.
And the King of kings,
will utter a cry.
A feast, a feast he has
prepared for the carrion
of the air.

Come dine on flesh of
kings, the rich, and poor.
On men of war, and
on innocent blood.

War drums are beating
and feet are dancing to
it's sound.
For the Great day of War
is near.
Can you not hear?


-By Vicki
Winter is in my head, but autumn is in my heart.

Death Gothic Poem: let him bathe in her tears


polly is ill
her stomach is swollen
they all think its an infection
i don't know what to think
she used to be so pretty
in her dresses
they're all gone now
the dresses
and the ribbons
somewhere in the drawers
locked up
and i spent hours
gnawing and scratching
all i wanted was to get back in
to give her back her things
and her parents sat me down and told me she was very sick
and that she was going to die
and i felt strangely calm
and then i started to sob
i locked myself in my room that night
put a little sign on the door
everyone was worried and i knew this because they were all banging on my
door and crying
and inside i was playing at trains
making them smash into eachother
and imagining all the people screaming and bleeding and dying
and in that moment i saw lots of things
the zillions of funerals all over the world
all the bad people who hurt eachother
because they don't see beneath the skin
the banging was getting louder
and their sobs were becoming screams and beggings
and at the root of my spine, there grew a little tingling
and as it climbed up
and leaked out into the warm spot
i felt them
the eight furies
Izanami
her darling brother
Amaterasu Susano and Tsuki-yomi
yes
his transcendance
for he was pure
and in the darkness i climbed the hill
watched the inky black ferocity of the ocean
and the bodies
the air was crisp
and unto it i spilled the waste
my misunderstandings

polly died on tuesday
i visited her in the metal room
she was wearing her favourite dress
and her hair gave rest to the most beautiful ribbons
she looked so pretty
and i wanted to kiss her on the cheek
or even perhaps the lips
but they wouldn't let me
and so now i place the bolt across my door
lie under the covers
close my eyes
and paint pictures of her corpse
touching myself as the wolves savage it.


-By Shattered Actualities

Nightmare Gothic Poem

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Ballad.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
"I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd—Ah! Woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloom,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.


-by John Keats

Death Gothic Poem: The Necromancer


'tis said a man dies not, for those who loved
Preserve his life in treasured memory.
No tender thought of thee 'gainst death can win,
For too soon, thou hast perished, thou art free.
No sweet remembered touch, nor fond visage
Comes to light my own obscurity.

The silent sands alone haunt thought and dream,
A barren calm, the failure of all strife,
Exhausted pyre where brightness found an end.
The necromancer's rite brings naught to life:
Recall, remember! Fool, who seeks to bind,
Wild evocation spent in hopeless quest--
No voice responds; bleak vision fills the mind:
The blackened ground where love was laid to rest.

No need in me remains for sight or sense,
To wander where we dreamed, and loved, and wept,
Nor dwell in graveyards of experience:
Though faith is broken, bitter vow is kept.
He cannot live through me; this shattered frame  
Holds no bright ghost; the vision, growing dim,
Transmutes to ashes ravaged by the flame.
It falls to me, therefore, to follow him.
The promise sworn that death should never part,
Borne out, the vow much stronger than the heart


-Erszebet Bathory