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Isedons Poetry

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    Horton Hatches The Egg

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  • Gender:Male
  • Location:Ontario, Canada
  • Interests:Reading (Fantasy, Sci-Fi), Wood carving, Games, Poetry, Runes, Dragons, Occult, Exploring, Symbols, Figuring out how things work, Listening to Music, People Watching, Disecting Code, Making things work, Philosophy, Mythology, Nicola Tesla, Etymology, Random facts that everyone else forgets, Meditation, Caves... I like to know a little bit about everything ;-p
Here are a few my poems. All of them can be found at my deviantART account. Feel free to repost as long as long as you let me know and link to my DA page.

Thoughts of a Warrior

It is a cold day.
Smoldering fires in twilight
Crawl across village fields.
Upon a hill I stand,
Souls of the slain sing to me
Thankful for the mercy
Of a quick clean death.
Smells of sweat and hot blood
Hang in the smoky still air,
A perfume known too well.
Recalling each stroke dealt
Upon a deep breath drawn,
Cold steel biting deep,
Glinting flashes in the moon.
Dance the steps of the Reaper,
The Releaser of the damned.

Consuming Fury

Back to back they stand,
Two champions on the field,
Soaked with rage and passion.
they dance the art of blades,
Furies melt the hordes,
Safe holding sacred grounds.
Channeling ancient spirits,
Weaving through the enemy,
Carving flesh and steel,
With a sculptors skill.
The souls burning passions
Consume the intruding,
The toll of their fury,
Expends the twos lives,
Who collapse as the victors,
In each others lifeless arms.

A Twinge

The nervousness stuck him in the lower spine,
A tingle that causes uncertainty,
Something should be done,
But he's not sure what,
Do I write?
Do I talk?
Do I look outside?
Do I live?
Do I die?
What is it that can make this feeling go away?
He tries in vain to think of the options.
A blank comes to mind,
A painful nothing,
As if half the world cries out,
And is silenced in a flash of light,
The doom is upon us,
Alas these thoughts plague his mind,
Of things that could have been done,
But no,
He sits here and types out a poem,
In a vain attempt to capture his last moments,
Before his life is swept up,
Like a maggot before the vulture,
Coal before the flame,
Grass before the blade,
An existence so trivial,
That the only thing documenting his passing,
Is a body print in the mattress where he slept,
The things that could have been,
Never again shall be uttered,
The things that were,
Are quickly forgotten.
The steam from a dowsed fire,
Rising slowly to mingle with the rest,
Dissipates beyond recognition,
Mindless prater echoes,
Resonating between his ears,
The thoughts of an eye and a mouth and a word,
Make no sense to him,
The eye looks on with malice,
The mouth chants a single word,
And the word sends waves of ice across his skin,
Clawing flesh to stop the sound,
The madness beats him down,
Cascading darkness flows over him,
As warm tar in an ugly stream,
The screams are chocked by gooey filth,
Slowly filling the lungs with each breath fought for,
The torment lingers,
His life no more,
Yet the screams still bubble,
From the dark flowing madness..

Will wait for responses before posting more (its all on my DA if you can't wait for it though ;-p )


Edited by Isedon, 27 November 2008 - 05:12 PM.

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