Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Nicho's Writing Thread [Archives on Pg 47]
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Since thisnotalt( pretty sure I got the spelling wrong) suggested it, I think I will create a thread just to post my stories. Ok now to find them... *Digs deep into the AMW Section to find his stories*
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One Way Ticket, a.k.a I'm Hallucinating
A one way ticket to nowhere,
I'm gripping and tearing my wiry hair,
Hearing voices echoing inside me,
The swarm homes in as my eyes see.
I'm merely human no more than that,
And no more should you expect,
For mortals live only to die,
That will happen no matter how you cry.
Purchased that golden slip of paper,
Using it now not saving it for later,
Sitting at the final end of the road,
Switched the phone to silent mode.
Shadows moon walking on my porch,
Vanishing in the beam of my torch,
I know right now you can't tell,
And I know not whether I'm well.
The door slowly swings lightly,
I hold this pen ever so tightly,
Words scrawled on the parchment,
My last will and eternal judgment.
A one way ticket to nowhere,
And I took it without a single care,
Tinted windows shut my world,
This little white flag I unfurl.
Dodging glances from the crowd,
My mindâs a dark thunder cloud,
Lower my head from the blatancy,
Doing it just for a sense of emergency.
Give me reason to tear this up,
And refill my drying gold cup,
The purple lights flashing in my eyes,
How much can it cost to fly?
And the ticket sits on my table,
And the rooms shakes so unstable,
It tantalizes and tempts my heart,
Should I accept and part?
I must be having a hallucination,
For I hear the sound of lamentation,
When it's time to vanish away,
Words and pleas do little to sway.
It's a one way ticket to now where,
For neither Heaven nor Hell will accept,
And I'll fade away in all memories,
Never really was here, never ever will again.
I must thank Matchbox Twenty and Green Day for inspiration for the poem...thanks guys.
Ah yes, Matchbox Twenty. Love 'em.
You know, Nich, I'm officially calling you a poet.
Poets write poems. I write literacy trash that even pigs are afraid to eat.
running self_deprication_ignoring.exe. . . .
The operation completed successfully.
Message: Processing. . . .
Error: People do not eat literature.
Error: Pigs cannot read.
Error: It does not matter what an artist thinks of his work. It's only the admirer's opinions that matter.
One mans (or womans) trash is another mans treasure.
Ok, not the best adage but hey...
I like the poems, and I like Green Day. Green Day and Poem equals awesome. I dont like Green Days new CD though; I like the old Green Day.
Didn't like the oh-so-punk-you-god-damn-American-with-eye-liner Green Day.
New one's better.
Computer: Self-hating.exe was installed.
Date: 2005
Revised edtion of my Werewolf Poem.
A Werewolf and the Moon
Staring woefully at Her,
I sit listlessly downing the bitter liquor.
She calls to me a silent siren,
More entrancing than Lord Byron.
The blood-red Moon she signals to me,
Desperate I struggle to break free.
These iron chains bind me to a curse,
Condemned to an eternal thirst.
The clock strikes a sinister twelve,
Into a Feral hell I know I must delve.
My soul it trembles and shrivels,
An ancient battle of accursed devils.
My primal instincts grow stronger.
My mind is possessed human no longer.
My resistance crumbles and shatters asunder.
My body intend on vicious murder.
The Brethren call for me,
Only they hold the Cure and Key.
Whither shall I painfully go?
To treat them as friend or foe?
The dreaded fur pierces as I falter,
My pupils widen, their colours alter.
The Human in me is finally dead,
The emotions in my eyes ominously fade.
The Moon's silvery tones and voice,
Cruelly drain me of my own choice.
I cannot restrain the overwhelming tide,
The Wolf in me stirs where it resides.
I tear and rip at my chest,
Nothing can behold me I withstood Time's Test.
The hot saliva coats my long teeth,
I crave the Holy Waters of the Church's priest.
My limbs lengthen; I walk on all fours,
As I smash through the magnificent oak doors.
Snarling I spit vehemently on the fields,
Graveyard of my merciless kills.
The Moon controls me like a marionette,
It has all been a glittery masquerade.
My hunger knows no bounds,
My razor claws rake at the grounds.
A faithful servant of darkness,
Patter of heavy feet in the forest.
Twin crimson spots flit at the flimsy gate,
Cloaked in malevolence and pure hatred.
I howl aimlessly for my true brothers,
Shunning all the others.
My mournful cry rocks everyone to the core,
Wild splashing of blood and gore.
People bolt their wooden houses,
Lowering already hush whispers.
My name speaks of dread and despair,
One of Nature's ruthless Corsairs.
Cold winds ripples my hide,
None but the Moon as a guide.
A shapeless shadow silently running,
Mouth agape, tongue hanging.
Hated and feared creature of the night,
I am the Infernal Blight.
Without a thought I stalk and slaughter,
Amidst the crunching of bone and hyena laughter.
I am more than a terrifying nightmare,
To challenge me none will dare.
My bite carries the Curse,
Wallowing in decay fully immersed.
Flee, flee behold I descend,
No stronghold will suffice to defend.
A maelstorm of pure hate,
My hunger will never abate.
The thrill of midnight hunts,
Under the spell of a trance,
Satisfy the growing hunger,
And across the plains I wander.
The Moon how she torments me on the rack,
To lie bloated on the essence of the infected.
Vile and immortal desecrator of tombs.
A Werewolf and the Moon.
Must be mad...I'm writing a poem on how a madman rises and takes on the mantle of a Death God through his dark arts...you'll see.
Well, this is what I could write so far. More to come.
Fingers lightly playing a tune,
On this island in swirling sand dunes,
Amidst circles of glowing red runes,
And let the cataclysm resume.
Black rags caught in the gale,
By my hands I will spin a tale,
A tale so black it makes God exhale,
And by Satan's grace I won't fail.
Evocative notes ring my leather shoes,
I'm bringing down everything that ever grew,
My bones seize with harsh rue,
What I said I still hold true.
Again and again I play incessantly,
The music shrieks and torments maliciously,
Surging with the black magic so heinously,
All for this final cause I fight zealously.
And a ragged line sends up blinding dust,
The kings fancy themselves sussed,
My sword is keen, devoid of rust,
All will follow, beholder of the just.
One high pitch and here they rumble,
My four loyal servants from the temple,
On broken bodies they will trample,
And the plagues they bring and assemble.
I play all the harder on my fiddle,
The fire of destruction I rekindle,
To nothingness all will dwindle,
Murderous thieves rob and swindle.
Shoot down the hopeful foolish stars
I spill the blood of warlike Mars,
I will shatter the might of Czars,
Herald an age of the horrifying bizarre.
Come gather around me while I rave,
To attain power none will crave,
Sacrifice everything I wanted to save,
And befoul all the broken graves.
Drawing strength from the well of tears,
The hot irons burn brightly and sear,
Swear allegiance or begot racking fear,
Hollowed skull holes sneer and leer.
Remember and curse my name,
Remember the times they thought I was insane,
Remember and never forget our pain,
Remember now who to blame.
And the world is what I hold tight,
Try but none will ever fight,
For none will break my ungodly might,
I will paint the Earth black and white.
Rebooting.
Rebooting complete.
Running: ignorance_ignoring//.exe
Startup failed.
You entered the werewolf and the moon for the poetry contest right?
Yep I did. A revised version, I think, with three new verses.
Yea, thought it looked familiar.
Random, but seeing as your so depressed-ish, it just goes to show that power doesnt bring happiness. In the same viewpoint, does that mean I should quite my own thread? Lock my comments?
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42!
No, it doesnt fit...
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