Quoth the devil, 'Nevermore.' by InternetSatan, literature
Literature
Quoth the devil, 'Nevermore.'
Once upon a midday query, I browsed online, drunk but leery,
Til the web then distracted, with its volumes of porn and gore.
I started nodding, after fapping, when suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my bedroom door.
“’Tis some subjects,” I muttered, “tapping at my bedroom door.
Only this and nothing more.”
Hesitant to actually bother, I scratched my ass and began to ponder.
Ponder if it was a whore, and if it was why wait anymore?
After a shout I wondered no longer, I knew the voice that was yonder.
T'was my worthless brother tapping, oh so gently he was rapping.
Rapping at
The Promise Made by Rosalind's Grave by Chezzy-Am, literature
Literature
The Promise Made by Rosalind's Grave
Whilst the tender breeze, autumn leaves aloft
Left us to gather where none would be free
From above, I heard your voice, soft
Like a whisper, 'twas meant to be
The promise made by Rosalind's grave
A thousand dreams, by a thousand streams, rivers
Of time which bind us, as it hears us shrivel
In bidding our farewells, to see us wither
Grey clouds, benign; neither rain flows nor drops
"For thee, my soul, was destined and decreed"
Gently, whispers beseech - aloft
Their sadness, craving to be freed
The promise made by Rosalind's grave
Of woes forlorn, from a heart torn, and splintered
Blissful reveries, now nightmares, to ponder
Of where your sou
Parmi les échos du passé
Les voix, les rêves oubliés
Conscience de naufrage
L’engloutissement, le vertige
De chuter dans les abysses d’où
Nous ne pouvons nous rendre compte
Les profondeurs du plafond,
D’où la sortie est invisible
Et la douleur irréversible.
Si j’ose respirer
C’est mon cœur qui s’endolorit
Puisque je ne pense qu’aux rires
Jadis, qui accompagnaient les sourires
Qui eux éblouissent et qui me remplissent,
Spectre, de vie, suffit que j’apprécie
Avant que je ne me rende compte
Que je n’étais qu’endormi.
Je veux aller
... Would You Summon My Maker? by Chezzy-Am, literature
Literature
... Would You Summon My Maker?
Those eyes which were veiled, spoke words to leave one bitter
“Tomorrow's but a dream, goodbyes are fallacy -
For what else, would have made you summon my maker?”
Befallen, to watch with sighs, with such unkempt tears
“So cold… so cold are your words…” and so, she did cry!
Those eyes which were veiled, spoke words to leave one bitter
Hence it should be so, oh naïve, subdued creature
“Cold? Yes! Cold is the soul which you hid deep inside
For what else, would have made you summon my maker?”
But a gasp! The drama pauses the theater!
Lo! Was spoken “my soul?! My soul you dare decry?!
in the helium of a night
where constellations ignite
the blood-spattered atrium
of a late summer's sky,
I find myself a comet
shooting the urban grid
in an urgency as I race
a suicidal rim on two wheels
in the blackness between the fires,
my red-shifted thoughts crossing
light years out-of-body
and outliving me
till the awareness of you
slingshots me at Mach speed
to await your arrival
long before it happens,
caught at the last light
so close to my destination,
inhaling the danger of you,
where to idle the demon
begs disaster, even if the
interlude proves a watershed
by Neptune's light, I will
wish to death
Once upon a time,
Very long ago
Lived a kingdom on a cliffside,
With the ocean far below.
Within it lived the mermaids
With sea-jewels in their hair;
Beneath the moon, they swam all night,
By daybreak, none were there.
Once upon a day,
Of bluest sky and sea,
A girl from that said kingdom
Was lost in reverie;
But this girl was no peasant,
She was the princess fair;
The lucid sky was in her eyes
And sunbeams in her hair.
Princess Meara was her name,
A child at thirteen;
The king, her father, loved her so
And called her "Little Queen";
For his own wife had long since passed
And left him quite alone;
So Meara was his foremost