The Dark Man and His Deathly Steed

The dark man and his deathly steed

Feasted upon man with greed

Taking lives and taking tool

Taking man where they did not wish to go

.

He stole at war, he stole on blades

He stole through a thick bloody haze

With his grey cape flapping fast

He stole the future, left the past

.

He plundered on murder, he plundered on doubt

He took the young and old, the thin and stout

And he loved the sick, he loved the ill

So he took those with no hearty will

.

The dark man and his deathly steed

Feasted on plague and times of need

When people were poor and sick and slender

In their slumber they would surrender

.

To the deathly horse’s iron hooves

Centuries of blood within their grooves

Where he trampled upon the light of life

And took away the human might

.

For everyday they trample fast

When they steal the future, leave the past

And they steal the starlight, they steal the sun

They steal life’s pleasures, with death begun

.

For the dark man and his horse of death

Pride themselves on living theft

Of stealing life, of stealing light

Of stealing friends, the son, the wife

.

A little dark, I know, but what’s darker than Halloween? And yes, I consider this a more Halloween poem, considering Halloween was two days ago. Pity that it wasn’t a Friday, but what can you do?

Anyways, this poem/horror story/creeptastic fiction was written a while ago. Like, six months ago. However, I thought, in absence of a light-hearted poem  full of stars and skies and nature and love, I would throw a wee bit of a curve ball at you. So. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a little twisted.

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Where The Angels Sing

The rain is falling down

The sky is grey and bleak

Everywhere is silent

A cheerless, lonely town

.

Like ghosts along the pier

Like phantoms in the night

We can only cry and wait

For our ending to come near

.

No place for us to run

No place for us to hide

We can only hold each other

As history is spun

.

As we see our town in ashes

The baker’s store, the willow

The cobbled streets, a better time

That comes to me in flashes

.

And it includes a young man, grinning

A man that I have loved

With sparkling eyes and barking laugh

A way that made him winning

.

And when days were good we’d meet

In a summer valley

With dewy tress and singing creek

The only place I was complete

.

It was there that he first kissed me

It was there that he proposed

It was there that our hearts came together

And helped us both to see

.

It was out there in that glen

When war’s whispers finally came

We’d hear about it; its bloody trail

Every now and then

.

And he and I, we waited

For what we knew would come

The draft, the uniform, the soldier’s gear

The fight that we both hated

.

And when we said goodbye

In a lingering kiss

He whispered a sweet promise

And I could only cry

.

And so I watched him go

In a uniform we both loathed

But we knew, our time would come

My lover, my beau

.

But not long after he had left

New lines of war were drawn

And our lovely, carefree town

Suddenly, was bereft

.

For the enemy soldiers came

Took over our poor town

Used it as a battleground

And used us in their game

.

And like pawns, we were used

To help them win their war

A disposable town, pathetic people

A resource to be abused

.

So with optimism we responded

Hoping it would help

Hoping that our boys and men

Would receive what we corresponded

.

But nobody came to help

The battle lines drawn clear

The soldiers were here, here to stay

And they treated us like whelps

.

They used us as their servants

They abused us their leisure

Made us treat their wounds

Let nothing but observance

.

And anyone who disobeyed

Suddenly disappeared

As we became their slaves, their whores

Every whim to be obeyed

.

So when the gunshots rang

And the front lines started closer

We wondered if our men could return

As the bullets and shout all sang

.

And these soldiers were suddenly smart

When they looked at our old town

As they realized just what they could do

Se we could become a part

.

And now we play a part, in this wicked war

We became hostages of these men

Suddenly fine pieces

Better than before

.

We were given a warning

‘Be good to us’, they said

And now that we’ve been good

We’ve see the dawn of morning

.

And with the dawn came fire

As they burned down our poor town

They let the rain sting our faces

While they built our unmarked pyre

.

So now there’s little left

Of this place that we called home

Where children played, where people laughed

Our hearts torn with the theft

.

And now, while we wait

All sentenced to our death

I can only think of him

And what happened to our fate

.

Where a white dress waited

And a violin would play

Where a kiss would seal our hearts

A hope now desecrated

.

The barn where we once danced

Will now become our tomb

As these monsters light the fire

I think of his romance

.

And thus, I whisper my goodbye

I whisper ‘I love you’

And as I find my happy place

I let out a sweet sigh

.

And focus on the better times

Focus on the love

Focus on that valley

Where pain was once a crime

.

And as I twist the diamond ring

And think of his sweet promise

I can only hope that one day we’ll meet again

Up where the angels sing

 

 

Okay, so I know this isn’t my usual type of poem. Very dramatic, very dreary, very drastic. In truth, though, I wrote this months ago, and it sat on my computer because I was worried about putting such a touchy poem up.

Then I watched The Boy In The Striped Pajamas. Suddenly, that very dramatic, dreary, drastic movie helped give me confidence in this poem, and it’s story.

I will be the first to admit that the atrocities of World War Two are very, very interesting to me. Not in a morbid way, but in the mere astonishment of what people will do to others. From the Nanking Massacre in 1937-1938, the Oradour-sur-Glane Massacre in 1944, and, of course, the murder of six million Jewish people, along with the masses of the mentally disabled, Romanian, gypsy, homosexual and other cultures killed in work camps throughout Europe. This also includes the horrors of what the Nazi party did under the orders of Hitler, including the twisted Josef Mengele who preformed brutal experiments on children.

However, there was also some light in that dark time. Viktor Frankl is one of my favorite psychologists; I find him to be an uplifting and highly intelligent man; a psychologist that was more human than say, some of the psychologists such as Freud andSkinner.

The horrors of war are awful, and many of them leave scars on many of us. However, there have been many, many other awful wars and massacres even recently. The Rwandan Genocide in 1994, The Srebrenica Massacre in 1995, and some massacres and genocides as recent as 2001. Hate still is in our world, and apparently, we don’t learn from our mistakes.

I guess what I’m trying to say here, is although I wrote this poem with one of the World Wars in mind, it honestly, could be any country at war, any place that has brutality. World War Two was hardly the end of such atrocities such as the concentration camps. All we can truly do is learn from our history, and not doom ourselves to repeat it.

Believe me when I say that I am not usually so ardent in my ideas of peace. But by doing two projects (Nanking and a all-too-short bit on the holocaust, here and here) and yet still reading about some of the awful things that go on in our world can make me a little upset.

So, there’s your summer history lesson for the day. I’ll be more light hearted later, but perhaps, sometimes, its good to introduce something for people to think about. Don’t think poorly of me for it.

The Song I Couldn’t Sing

So I fell for you

Because I thought I knew you

And yet it wasn’t true

I wanted to love you, wanted to hope

And instead found that you couldn’t cope

Though I wanted to suffer, in order to hope

And instead found you stepping on my throat

After you had whispered sweet lies

The ones to disguise

The words you whispered, twisted and tore

A battle of two hearts locked in war

I wanted to only win your heart

But you wanted to tear mine apart

And when the battle began

I realised and ran

Trying to let go of you

Before you destroyed me, through and through

But your lips and your heart called my name

If only to bathe me back in flame

And soon you trapped me, help me caged

While the battle around us raged

And you wrote words upon my heart

One I hadn’t heart since the start

And you whispered the words as you tightened the chains

The words echoing through my veins

Until you were sated

And my love abated

Until I no longer wanted you

Until I knew that we were through

Then you left me, then you were gone

With the light, and with the dawn

To pick up the broken shards

Left of a house of cards

Of my broken heart, the weeping tale

The battle that had swept through my heart like a gale

And with the pieces I tried to reclaim

But I only could find parts with your name

Even the rag and bone shop couldn’t collect

A heart and love so wrecked

And with words that were etched upon my bones

A heart that had been in places unknowns

My heart, battle torn

Now so battered and worn

The words echoing on my heart, my soul

Words that couldn’t keep me whole

And you left me with a troubled song

All in all that felt so wrong

The words I could mumble, the words I could sigh

I could do so until I would cry

But you were gone, that I knew

And my love for you was through

Because it was you who stole my heart

Enjoyed it when you ripped it apart

But still you left me with a broken wing

Left me with a song I couldn’t sing.

So, here’s something different. Instead of my usual happy-go-lucky love poems about dirt roads and sunsets, I have something about heartbreak, sadness, and general discontent. A war waged between two hearts; one wants the other, and the other will have none of it, but battles anyways. And he breaks her.

It’s kind of a Les Miserables, Eponinne ‘On My Own’ style. But rather than have images that shes stuck with, she has these lyrics etched in her head that she can’t come to terms with. She can’t sing them. Her heart is broken, and she’s been so broken that she can’t come to terms with what happened.

While I have never had my heart broken in this fashion, I know people whose relationships have failed so badly that they sink into a dark spot for days. Or those who want another to fall in love with them, but they never do. And they fight fate.

I know, that for me, I liked this guy for a year or more. I never did anything, but I wanted to be with him, and I wanted something to happen. But I was too afraid of ruining our friendship. So I waited, and waited. And then, he got a girlfriend. Talk about ‘I’m Not That Girl’ from Wicked.

I don’t like him as much anymore, though my heart still sometimes jumps when I see him. But the sadness and jealously that was there was, too me, ridiculous. It shouldn’t matter, I thought. But in a way, it also taught me that sometimes, we have to take the jump, and maybe risk a little.

So, here we are. Hope that you enjoyed it!

The Battle of the Sun

The sun is bright

The sky is blue

But the warmth of the day starts to waver

As the moon grows in her strength

The sun is dimming

The sky starts to darken

The moon’s army marches

To take over the sky

The sun and the moon

They meet and the battle begins

The sun’s coloured blood staining the sky

While the moon grows ever stronger

The sun starts to weaken

The sun starts to waver

While the moon’s cold beauty

Starts to shine brighter

The sun starts to dip

Close to the ground

While the moon’s argent people

Slowly flood the sky

The sun shines brightly

For one hopeful moment

But then she slips away

Vowing her revenge

The moon smiles

As she returns high in the blackness

And the land goes dark

And the land goes cold

So this poem is one of my more creative ones that I handed in in grade nine, and received 100. Perfect. But for this one, I loved it because it tells a story. It’s not just a moment in time where something happens and  I want to write about it. It’s about something that I love to do, and am far better at than poetry. Story tell. A short story, a novel, or a quick essay are my strong points. Poetry is a simple way to play with telling stories, as well as work on playing outside the creative box. So, thus a personification of the sun and moon, together, creatively. As I think, anyways.