Sanctuary Curse
I watch the raven as it swallows the decaying meat that is in first sight. hidden beneath the moon the hollow winds swoon as i shift from shadow to shadow. concealed in darkness until first sun rise.
Requiem
Enough, but cold hearted things were said i regret them now as the snow melts and spills out of my hands the memories are too cruel, the memories are too painful, my breathing stops, along with my heart, for my soul is frozen and dead, and left to decay
Beautiful Waistland
Death and decay, blood and steam. i walk in a waistland. of my own creation. smiling as i see, the world of damnation. i wish their was someone i could show. without them crying, and weeping their woe. darkness creeps across the sky.
Nothing
The depression like a never ending decay causes pain and looms above every place you venture, following you like a shadow.
The Wolf Pack
Throat of the hull the pack sealing its fate two more fangs attacked at last sinking it devouring the prey in timeless seconds swiftly vanishing in the waters german flag swayed in accomplishment the prey lies at the bottom remains to decay
The Hunt
He will find himself ignorant to the stench of corruption, the sweet sepsis of decay and rot that eats away at our souls, and only too late will he find himself cast down by our eternal foes.'
The Decomposition of the Moon
The intangible darkness that is my heart you reach into it, and it fills the gaps between your fingers consuming your beautiful, slender arm far away in the distance, the decaying dreams spiral before the blurred moon that is simply decomposing my existence
Heligoland
I can point at the moon, exhausted, bored, decaying, and hope you don't stare blankly at my finger.
Poem #15
Before the smell of blood and decay overwhelm me, power once again surges throughout me. showing me i have only begun to learn fear.
Hollow(poem)
Soon will follow with a large swallow deep into the dark depths of my swallow an empty little hollow shell of a man who is not yet man but no where close to being a boy he is not some type of toy even though he is made of wood rotten and decaying
Poem #16
Though in a way i can see it, the destruction and chaos, the sheer death and blood, such a metallic and bitter smell, that clogs the senses, the rot and decay. it stuns the mind, leaving me shocked in my seat.
Poem #80: Ghost
#81 of poetry this poem is as much about fear and hope as much as it is about loss and decay. hoping you'll find something within yourself within this poem. enjoy.