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Written with BloodPlease do not ask me
'Bout Dark Poetry
Have no need for it
It doesn't touch me
These are little Words
Of Pain, Hate and Fear
But they have no Sense
If you haven't felt such
If you have not seen
And you have not felt
They are just three Words
Like You, Me and Thee
These are puny Words
For those who felt it
Burning Pain in you
Roaring Hate for you
And the Fear of you
Of what thing you are
The beast you might be
The Darkness you crave
These are just Words
If you have never
Heard the fearful shouts
And seen the shed Blood
Do not talk to me
About Fear and Loath
If you have not seen
MistHe stepped out into a cloudy october night.
It was allways cloudy, or misty or both in the little town at the edge of the swamp.
The people of the town carefully avoided the swamp, allthough nobody really knew why. It was just a creepy place that no one wanted to visit especially not during the night.
He was on the way home from the towns pup to his house on the other side of the town.
Lost in lought he walked the streets untill he saw infront of him a huge, black dog sitting on the street.
Strange...he had never seen such an animal around here before. As he came closer the dog set up and started growling at him. He wanted to sneak past the dog, but the animal was blocking the way. He wanted to step back and try another way around, but another dog was sitting in the adjecting alley. He turned around just to see that there was another dog coming from the opposing alley.
"What the fuck is going on here...?!"
He started to walk the way back and realized that they were following him, so he
A true StoryThis is a true story.
A story about my grandfather and about the second world war.
When my grandfather was at my age he was a communist and gave speeches in collogne.
Communists were bitter rivals of the Fascists and their favored country was russia, because it was the only country at that time that had a communist system.
Maybe that was the reason why he was send there in the war.
My grandfather was send to siberia. In case you don't know what that means a small anecdote: Soldiers that were honored for fighting in siberia recieved a medal, that was called "Frozen-Meat-Medal" among the people. The russian winter on his own was deadly enough.
As far as I know my grandfathers group was on the march when they met a naitive that tried to defend himself. The officer of the group decided that the man had to die and ordered my grandfather:"Shoot him."
My grandfather refused, I don't know if out of compassion or simple stubbornness, but I do know that the Officer and my grandfather strated to
Raven's FlightHe looked at the coat of arms - with a frowend forehead.
"Interesting, isn't it?", said a voice behind him and he turned around.
He saw a man, with grayish-blond hair, a blond, stubbly beard and a black eyepatch over his right eye. The man beared the same coat of arms.
"Greetings, Milord.", the sentence was pure rutine, he had said it a hundred times before and will say it another hundred times, before the end of his duty.
The man with the eyepatch nodded as a response. He stepped forward and looked at the coat of arms on the wall.
It showed a raven carrying an olive branche in it's beak. A raven as an emblem wasn't unusual, also a bird carrying an olive brach wasn't an unusual symbol, but he had never seen a raven carry an olive branch. Well...he had never actually seen a dove that carried an olive brach either, but the combination of raven and olive brach seemed like a twist in the myth.
"You ask yourself: Why a raven. Don't you?", aksed the lord.
"I would never dare to question a lo
Pride of the Dark Ones 2Look at this man, you might remember him as an old scholar. He had the pleasure to explain to a young boy, whos father had been slain in battle, why "Darkelves" didn't equal "Evilelves".
As most scholars do he left out some details to make his statement sound more believeble. In fact it was a number of detials, in onther words he just told the boy a half of the actual truth. The other half...
It was true that the soldiers, nobles and even the King of the dark elves were bound by a strict code of honor. But these aren't all of the dark elves and no we are not talking about the females here, the women of the dark elves are as much warriors as their male counterparts.
But in a world were a large part of influence is in the hands of people that study things that aren't visible to normal people, we have do ask ourselves how do "they" do it.
What are the mages of the dark elves.
First, they aren't called mages the are Warlocks, which indicates that they work with dark energies. Some of them
-Oh not again...let me guess: You are an ancient god that wants to chittichat about what it means to be a human?-
-Okay, and what good are you?-
-You mean what God am I.-
-I am Thoth, the God of Writing and Wisdom.-
-The crane-headed one?-
-Ibis-headed, but yes that I am.-
-Great, nice to meet ya.-
-Mortal, I have a question for thee.-
-Sure thing, Birdy, fire away.-
-Do not call me Birdy, lest my curse shall fall upon you.-
-What kind of curse can a god of writing and wisdom bring me?-
-I could disable Wikipedia for you.-
-Damn, you win this one, Thoth.-
-Excelent, now my question: Why is it that "Mothafucka" is written with "a", although "Mother" and "fucker" are both written with "e-r"?-
-"Motherfucker" it indicates someone that copulates with his Mother.-
-I know, I know...I guess it's to sound gangsta.-
-"Gangsta"? The slang for a minor evildoer? A term that is also used for a lowly way to speak with limited vocabulary and primiti
Gotteslob nach NietzscheSeht ihr uns'ren Stern dort stehen
Helles Licht in dunkler Nacht.
Hoffnungt auf ein neues Leben
Hat er in die Welt gebracht.
Doch auch in dem neuen Leben
Hat der Teufel nur gelacht.
Und so liegen wir danieder
Still und starr in dunkler Nacht.
Und so singen wir die Lieder
Von Hoffnung und von Gottes Macht.
Und wir beten immer wieder
Dass er dem ein Ende macht.
Doch der Geist ist fort geflogen
Ist gefloh'n von dieser Welt.
Er verflucht den stolzen Menschen
Der nur sich in Ehre hält.
Und den Menschen bleibt nichts über
Als zu beten immer fort.
Und wir schauen voller Sehnsucht
Zurück auf den heil'gen Ort.
Und so singen wir die Lieder
Von Hoffnung und von Gottes Macht.
Und wir beten immer wieder
Dass er uns ein Ende macht.
Gloooria in excelsis Deo
A Nail In My HeartIn my heart
There's a nail
Outside its core,
In my hand
There's a hammer
Leaving me a choice
To pull the nail free
Or leave it to rest
In the center of my soul.
And this nail
However deeply it stabs
Or loosely it traps
The litter of dreams
And hopes I've trapped inside,
Gathering them together
To be displayed like
A dying tribute
To a once loved species,
A once treasured creation,
Decides my fate
And traps my destiny.
And though I know the nail
Needs to be removed
To release my heart
Of its futile struggle
To hold a collection
Of dying memories,
Every time I feel the nail loosen
As I've grown to older,
Every time I grab that hammer
And smash it against
That obvious futilit
apollo, i am not for salestitch a pitch perfect sonnet of
into the infinity
of my ear canal. i
have a storm inside
me but no beaufort
scale, oh how i beg
to be impaled
with less appreciation
conviction; i am no
land and you
are a bulimic seeking
from the twenty one guns
at my unseen funeral.
only hope and Hecuba. feast
on my peace with me.
on my sermons
of affection, the ones
branded into my
chest with the sizzle
of experience. feast on my
numbness and this
raffleticket roll you received
and second-third-seventieth thoughts,
of exhuming my heart
and taping it back
into my spine.
(perhaps with a softer
tenant inside, from
each of my vertebrae
will come a spine that will not -
cannot - break)
feast on this hidden
feast on my will to
take all the things
you can only
you must give
back to me
of my civil war;
and mine. perhaps
someday you may
I'm having a bad day, I'm having a bad few years
inside I'm shouting loud but no one hears
I'm dying to tell you - can't you see
that all this anger is killing me
but it's a waste of breath
I give in - pain is all I have left
driven by revenge I want nothing but death
in life makes me think you are like the rest
my heart is bleeding in my chest
And no one notices in my case
so I pull away to a quiet place
'cause I'm tired of looking alright
I'm tired of smiling and saying I'm fine
Will you stand by my side?
with who are you allied?
'cause I wanna heal and be myself
I don't wanna feel like someone else
But I'm slowly fading
consumed by emotions - they've taken
the best of me, and happiness has forsaken
my dreams, my heart
it's taken my spark
cold and dark
trying to leave behind the past
I'm searching for an end
I hold out my hands - I'm not going to pretend
that life is easy
I'm hurting every day believe me!
MeanI used to live a normal, happy life.
I used to go outside almost all the time.
Until one day…
“He” showed up.
His name is Randal.
A lot of people spread rumours about him.
Some say that he came from the depths of Hell.
Others say that he’s the son of Satan himself.
At first I thought that was a bunch of trash.
But I quickly learned that those rumours might have been true.
For the first 3 weeks, he punished me for every little error he thought I did.
After the 3 weeks were over, I asked him a simple question:
“Why are you so mean?
What have I ever done to deserve such a fate as this?”
He only smiled and laughed at me.
He was never the big talker.
He always let his fists and feet do the talking for him.
Why do you have to be this way?
Is it something that I did?
Was it the way that I drank my water?
Or was it the angle that I flicked my clothes out at?
Those people were right about you.
You truly ARE the son of Satan.
Passage of the Years Dear Titanic, beautiful sister of mine,
I can barely believe it. Today marks the one-hundred and second year you have been the unwilling patron of the sandy sea-floor. One-hundred and two years.... What is it like? It must be so very dark. So very cold. So very lonely... I cannot even imagine how lonely you are. There is no one to keep you company. No one except the 1,500 souls that died with you, that is. Do you still hear their voices echoing within your halls? Do you still hear the disconnected laughter that only spirits of the dead can provide? What is it like? You are falling apart more and more. The sickle of time is having her way
Oh the things I wishStress
Run away to Neverland I must
Free from horror
Free from hell
Free from the devils
Oh the things I wish
A throne of my own
Peaceful music played in the air
Live like a king
Just for the day
There's A Knock On The Front DoorI heard a knock on the front door,
and I thought it was my soldier,
but it was only a letter
that didn't have a sender;
just an handwritten letter
left by my front door.
There comes a moment in life
where the glass ceiling crumbles and cracks
under the weight of a summer storm,
where the beauty of the world
fades to black and white and gray
as you stare off into the distance
too numb to think
and too shocked to question why.
When everything boils down to a moment -
when your past and your future
collide with each other
and obliterate the present,
when the things you had taken for granted
and you're just left with an empty shell,
a blank easel with no paper to draw on,
while paint is being thrown left and right
but you're untouchable,
just you, pure and white,
yet blacker than the ash you walk on,
the remnants of the explosion
that broke your heart and soul and mind.
That is the feeling
when there's a knock on the front door
and you think that it is your
I AmI am a square peg, in a world of only round holes.
I am out of place everywhere, at home nowhere.
I am a white rose growing on a bush of pink.
I am the fear everyone feels in the dark.
I am quartz among glass, yet glass among diamonds.
I am an empty bottle of ink to a new quill.
I am a penny, forgotten on the street, walked over.
I am a king to no people, a god to a non-believer.
I am fire to a flood, a single match to an iceberg.
I am the best I can be, but zero times anything is still zero.
I am that, and never more.
A Perfect WorldDescribe a perfect world?
Perfect - make something completely free from faults or defects,
Otherwise known as ideal, ultimate, flawless.
No matter how perfect the world may seem it will never be flawless.
There will always be hurt and heartache in the world,
And that’s okay with me.
Without corruption we would not be able to handle ourselves when something catastrophic happens.
We would not be the people we are today.
We can try to hide all the horrible things wrong with the world,
But that does not mean that by forgetting these things mean it never happened.
So why describe a perfect world when we should describe an acceptable world.
A world that can be tolerable.
That’s the type of world I would like to live in.
A world without senseless murder and war.
A world where everyone can be free to be themselves.
A world where we are treated the same,
No matter gender, race, or sexual orientation.
A world where we are equal.
A world where we are one.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More