Prophecy

Predator

Someones son is dying
right this immediate second of now..
and his General wraps his meaty iron fist
around the all-mighty oil-soaked dollar.
  An apex jungle-predator won't kill
for pleasure or amusement; 
  Even when hopelessly entangled
in the shimmering, dew-wet death
of a spiders web; 
  The spider, knowing it has no use 
for what has surrendered to its entrapment,
releases its prey not out of mercy, or sorrow..
but out of the calm calculus of reason.
  What then of this war? 
To quench the beasts' blood lust
of un-satisfiable desire?
  A revolution is growing silently 
in numbers, behind the backs
turned,
suckling from the tit of self destruction
and greed.
View beatnik1979's Full Portfolio

Demonic Words

Folder: 
Cthulhu Mythos

A man found a tome,

In his newly acquired home.

A book of ancient prophecy,

And things he should not see.

 

Written by madmen,

Different from what we all can.

Secreted away,

It drove him mad in one day.

 

The night he read the tome,

He was visited by Demons alone.

Scores of Demons in his dreams,

Banded together in teams.

 

Sounds fell from their mouths,

Dead and corrupted:

 

"GOR NA'AATHUL TUL' CTHULHU.

KELN DU CTHULHU D'ORST NED."

 

Feeling their poisoned tongues,

His flesh, burning along.

With their very words,

Unto corrupted swords.

 

Do not speak the lines aloud,

EGO, this time, don't be proud.

Their divine language on his skin,

From these words you cannot win.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mythos poem.

View sickyx666's Full Portfolio

Apocalypse

A pretty broken town aflame
Shines vibrant in the night
And high above, the deathbells ring,
Screams muffled by their chimes

 

Whatever god you're praying to
You'd better pray right now
The wolves are snarling, wild and free
Set loose upon the town

 

A dormant church, a brilliant light
Stained panes reflect their tints
Mosaic of their glory hues
No angels left within

 

Whatever star you're wishing on
Better hope the heavens fall
A prophecy of wrath fulfilled
Ignored their warning call

 

Now horsemen thunder through the streets
Sculpted from the hells
Four chariots to ferry sin
No lost souls left to sell

Author's Notes/Comments: 

February 2012

View juliet8's Full Portfolio

Prophet

I am the prophet of my fate.
I am the blacksmith of my doom.
I am the key that locks the gate;
I am the door that blocks that room.

View fhmc's Full Portfolio