king

The Girl And Her Wyrm

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"The Castle was gigantic. 

Expansive, was it's wide thrust,

filled with cracks, crevices and uneven bricks

pock-marked with mortar turning to dust.

 

Inside the deep recess

was a dormant terror,

up in it's highest tower,

a princess lived, none fairer. 

 

But both were locked up,

the furnace inside the gargantuan beast

kept the Castle warm,

the ovens hot, promoting many a feast. 

 

But lest the monster

breaks its shackles!

As once had happened before,

the quest none could tackle.

 

Knight after knight

fell to the flame,

the winged lizard licking tongues

of fire all about, untamed. 

 

Many an arrow was shot

from hunters brave, 

but no purchase for any arrow

was, by the monster hide, gave. 

 

Spear was no better,

having been thrown hard and true,

but not a single mighty heft

would force a metal tip through.

 

Then one day,

the princess who lived above,

just asked, 'give me a chance!',

but her father would allow no tug.

 

So that night,

while the great serpent ravaged the land,

she scaled down her tall tower

with the most daring plan.

 

She crept along the meadow,

in the cold of the moonlit night,

and up the the snoozing beast

she stomped her boot with all her might.

 

The beast sprung up,

startled awake by such a petite thing,

but before he bellowed flame,

she started to sing.

 

Sweetly, softly, 

she sang out her heart,

and through spirit, ripped hers out,

and handed it over, so that they'd never be apart.

 

Since then,

the two remain locked up with no regret.

The land has since healed.

But many don't forget.

 

Of the Girl and her Wyrm,

the star-crossed lovers never meant to be.

And how through love and song

she saved all the eye could ever see."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mighty verus Meek. I've learned time and again to not underestimate those of small build; their characters are so often bigger than most.

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The Great Golden Smile

All those tiny paper-thin slices of it

Horizontal

Hanging

Up and down and caving and expanding and coloring and clotting and 0’ing and 1’ing 

Electric-atom spinners

Asphalt spitting it out and up 

again and again and again

 

Fool (us or tricked)

Proof (of anything or John Nash with an infinite-ink-marker and a heaven of windows)

Pyro (in backyards across America on-a-day or chest-against-chest-heart language)

Maniac (mirrors or common-speak-for-hue undetectable as of current instruments available)

Swallow (bird or gulp-(only nervous though always))

 

It is pulled out.

 

picked at,

nudged, 

heated to correct temperature,

sent,

spent,

signed,

sifted, 

mangled,

assembled,

struck,

caressed,

tapped,

conjured,

 

It is put in.

 

And so in (and also is) the circle

King of the Stick Figures

Queen of Immense-Black and Trembling-White

Valorous Posture

Of the both

In the one

Let it slowly close

Pace=sunny day building shadows from 9:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. viewed from the same dusty bench 

 

Until circle becomes single point

And there is no words

And there are no sounds

 

And it holds the weight

And All is enveloped in The Great Golden Smile
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My Everything

Folder: 
2013

You are my everything

You are the light from the sun

And you are the air that I breathe

My heart has already been won

 

All because of you

You are the reason

For the thoughts in my head

I am a maiden

 

And you are the King

That has stolen my heart

And now that you have it

I wont, from you, part

 

Not if I can help it

When you give me a ring

Then both our hearts will sing

 

~Chrystal

Written on

 

October 14, 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was all I wanted. Guess he couldnt hold his end up.

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THE BEST KING OF ALL

 

 

 

 

 


Make him a king

Who was born with a spoon of gold,

But only if

He has dined in the squalor of the poor.

 

Don't make him a king

If like a hawk he was born hungry,

For on his wing

He will surely prey on the awry.

 

Please make not a king

One who was born poor but now rich.

I know this: his eyes

Will on the humble always twitch.

 

Like paint

Childhood reposes on the canvas of life

Even a saint

Or a Michael has his own story.

 

A child born hungry

Makes a grubbing rich: always angry.

But one born wealthy

Makes a humane poor: always healthy.

 

Make him our king

Who was born rich but tasted our plight;

A Christ-like king

Who will always feel and heal our blight.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just thinking of the crop of greedy rulers that have preyed on Nigeria since the beginning!

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tags:

Man

Folder: 
Man

Accompanied by a single fearful soldier A General spoke of an acient tale passed down through generations He spoke of a lone, powerful king whose empire enveloped the earth the man that approached him the child that left his eyes sparked terror yet absent of fear constant visions of saddness death and despair yet he stay unnafected by these, cowardly things... his mind that led what his hands had built the song of his queen eased the pain of his will, listen 2 his voice of power and command which flows throughout the hearts of men, "LOOK AT ALL THAT I HAVE DONE YEE WHO ARE AMBITIOUS FEEL MY AMBITION YEE WHO TRY AND CONQUER ME TREMBLE IN DESPAIR" the general looked at his soldier and said with open arms that the king which once had lived gave up everything for me and he did the same for you and with profound love, that soldier knew it 2 be true

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,

Traveling in the known world;

Amassing lore and legend,

And the tales of the fiends.


 

A writer and a poet,

He was educated much.

Geometry, algebra, Alchemy

And magickal incantations' need.


 

From the cup of occult knowledge

He drank deep...

Driving a normal person

To madness or beyond.


 

Alhazred was once a normal man,

With desires like we all can.

He was Arab by birth,

With a pale skin in rebirth.


Being labeled the mad,

As he was once a dad.

But had to eat his child,

By the King of the Palace's might.


 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,

In more than one song...

The obscure, the forgotten,

The suppressed, the rotten.


Never meant to be read;

It causes insanity with speed.

Not interpreted rationally,

The thoughts cause a rally.


 

Alhazred was insane,

By the lore he learned within.

But he wrote clear,

With many a tear.


 

The state of the Universe,

In reality suspense;

Plaything of mad gods at best,

Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.


 

Humans dare not dream of this,

For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.

A warning and guide this book is,

And by the Djinns you do wish.


 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,

It is written in history.

In the marketplace,

He was erased.


By the Demon from beyond,

Who wanted him gone.

Blood upon the sand,

There he was banned.


In broad daylight,

With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,

With beings with wings.

He is now dead,

After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet Abdul Alhazred who wrote the Necronomicon.

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,
Traveling in the known world;
Amassing lore and legend,
And the tales of the fiends.

 

A writer and a poet,
He was educated much.
Geometry, algebra, Alchemy
And magickal incantations' need.

 

From the cup of occult knowledge
He drank deep...
Driving a normal person
To madness or beyond.

 

Alhazred was once a normal man,
With desires like we all can.
He was Arab by birth,
With a pale skin in rebirth.
Being labeled the mad,
As he was once a dad.
But had to eat his child,
By the King of the Palace's might.

 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,
In more than one song...
The obscure, the forgotten,
The suppressed, the rotten.
Never meant to be read;
It causes insanity with speed.
Not interpreted rationally,
The thoughts cause a rally.

 

Alhazred was insane,
By the lore he learned within.
But he wrote clear,
With many a tear.

 

The state of the Universe,
In reality suspense;
Plaything of mad gods at best,
Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.

 

Humans dare not dream of this,
For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.
A warning and guide this book is,
And by the Djinns you do wish.

 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,
It is written in history.
In the marketplace,
He was erased.
By the Demon from beyond,
Who wanted him gone.
Blood upon the sand,
There he was banned.
In broad daylight,
With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,
With beings with wings.
He is now dead,
After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet.

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Celephais

Folder: 
Poetry

A seaport in the land of Ooth-Nargai,

Being build of sky-blue marble;

Topped by slender minarets.

 

Bronze statues of famous heroes,

One page topped from Al Azif.

In the center the temple to Nath-Horthath,

Where eighty orchid-wreathed priests serve,

No less than ten thousand years old art they.

 

The greatest trading center in the Dreamlands,

Creatures of all sort in their bazaars.

As in Sona-Nyl, there being no time,

Nobody ever ages, dreamers aloft

In the taverns of Celephais.

 

Nobody matures, remaining forever innocent.

King Kuranes: King of Celephais,

Lost his life through drug addiction.

Living forever in the Dreamlands,

In the Palace of Seventy Delights,

Built of flawless rose-crystal.

 

Past the eastern gate is a park,

Wherein the King build a Norman Abbey

And a small Cornish fishing village,

To resemble his native Cornwall,

To which he can never return,

Now that his waking form is dead...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about Celephais.

King Over Death

Folder: 
Light and Dark

Colder growing

Skin is showing

Looks like snowing

Plot bewoeing

Life, I’m owing

Death bestowing

Mercy is glowing

Passing I’m knowing

 

But as death lays his cold hands on me

A stranger comes, who can it be

Is it Him I truly see?

Finally, see Him who died for me?

 

He comes like a groom

For who wears His ring

Death, where is thy vict’ry?

Now where is thy sting?

This is not an unusual thing

For everywhere, Christ Jesus is King!

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