PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Et ce vie, je departe



I. I am creeping death, etched in sorrow

From the depths of the blackest of hates, I have come to take this soul



I am the tortured... the fiend who slithers and lurks along no more a troubled path than the wretched... this a profound and engraved scar upon the beast of Eden, the internal complexion of one slender, pale heart



I am pain... for no more a great pain has been felt, no more an unbearable, unbreakable sorrow lies within any soul...



II.  They unearth a body from the grave, as they hope it's soul to save

Only the rain weepeth



A cryptic casket lies defiled, as they turn in crisp denial

And down into the ground, they seepeth



Down among the lame and leery, sings lamenting, fiercely dreary

And a brush upon the painting falls



This painting, simple, yet complex

The artists hand, a cursed hex

And all around the voice of demon's call:



"on a mountain of skulls, in a palace of pain, on a throne of macabre, sits the Angel of Death..."



III.  And the lord spoke...

Said he that "all those palpable in thy name shalt fall down before their graves"



I walked along the forests edge... the forest of life, trodden by the lesser of two evils



It was then that a faint voice echoed in the dark... a damp soul so obliged to cry out, from the last realm of sanity he was spurned



Said he, "the alpha and omega... THE ANGEL OF ALL DARKNESS DOES BECKON ME!!!"



As if a puppet on a string, this tortured soul sat on a rock in the forest, surrounded by surreal emerald trees, and from his voice, a shrill...



"The angel of darkness I now must see

His woe of calmness beckons me

And from my mind, I long to be...

Free from all eternity!"



IV.  So I rode the black stallion from the brinks of the river of the dark oaks...

I galloped from the edge of the forest, until the seeds of wrath were planted deep within my soul



And torn betwixed a green field, a mountain, it's jagged rocks cried upward towards the sky, as if hands stretched out in misery



Woe is my brow, for wet with tears are my cheeks... for the castle lies on top of the mountain, the black and shining castle of the fallen one...



They say he fell from the depths of heaven, and his wings sank down into the great pit of fire...

And the flame brought blackness unto his wings, for they were holy no more



And he, the dark man, is confined to his palace forever... his unsanctified castle of all suffering...



Yet he is the most wise apparation on the face of the earth, for only wiser men art in heaven or in hades...



This, the angel of darkness, the angel of death...



His palace walls were guarded by the souls of the fallen, the unholy, and the merciless... they sit around the walls night and day, and tired are their bones and flesh, but they are cursed with eternal insomnia



"Come, sweet stallion, for towards the castle we ride"

And we rode



For across the field, I trod all day

I yield my sword, to hearts dismay

For hymns of darkness fill the glenn

Songs of sorrow, songs of sin...



V.  Unto the dimension of the greater of two evils



I rode because my heart burns, and upon the face of this forsaken planet, none coulc quell the flames, nor soothsayers, nor wizards, nor saints, nor priests, nor prophets, nor townsfolk pure of heart... now I turn towards demons



This, a woeful call went out from last night fall, and all around my mare, a shining light, 'twas oh so fair...



The light of God of alter, sought my horses hooves to falter, and a voice spoketh he: "Oh rider on your crusade, why hast thou forsaken your father?"



And I replied, "I have no father."



"Surely, your heart burns, and withing you, pain does churn, but why ye turn to demons, when you seek, and seek to learn?"



Said I, "for a great hearts lamenting has cast me from the chains of Eden."



VI.  And I was a serpant, for so strong this cage, and these bars withing



For the bewitched and bewlidered slums of the enchanted land were among these walls



And as I pour my broken heart on parchment, the sickened songbird sings of peace



I ride on to the great demon of yore



And folklore, fiery neither, set my soul to scorch much higher, as it blazed an endless fire... out of Eden's walls



The castle gates before me, the cobblestone under my horse



Into the inner keep I walketh, off the grim, yet studder mare



And I see it... the Angel of Darkness.  I looked upon this apparation, and as if captured by it, I long to be there



To me he cried, casting an empty grin: "Thou should hath listened to the lord, thy God, methinks"



"But where art happiness?" I cried out



"Within you." He sayeth.



So it be said, so it be found.