Writing My Own Poetry Thread.

[Amorphous]

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(This is more of a ballad like poem)
[b]Choirs Of Fallen Angels.[/b]
And so shall sing the choir of the fallen.
Angels of torment hark the liar of burden.
Simply feeling the hate that is sullen
And collaborate the pain of a constant sinning.
Laughing, pulling, sinking, dying,
Height is your way and never denying.
The simple place that you love to scribe within.

And the caress of the ebony lake
Like stygian of waves sets destruction to a damned course.
Defeated of and the crimson lace
Soaked in blood convulsing to dis-force.
Laughing in insanity the fallen angel's haste
Like that of a corrupted song burning the heart.
Of simple and distaste of the apocalypse, that is worse.

Do not fear of yesterday for nothing is all right in the post.
Burning present of the sewage mind contemplating the
Night that waits for the chtulhu dawn of simple construct lowest.
Taking my eye to a searing deceptive of the held

[b]As I Draw My Final Breath[/b]

As I draw my final breath
I hear the church walls hymn.
Singing like a snow white dove upon death
You lay your hand upon my caskets rim...

I draw thine breath of mine
A sensation that masses hear through time.
A violin course rings like that for signs
That love she feels, her hand so kind.

And she knows I shall never rise
Though it will close, my eyes.
I feel the sadness swell to stains
For you my blood will lay, Forever you in saddened pain.

I know those tears wont die
For many pillars line the years,
Though I rest in the translucent sky
An hour did fled, she kept, I reflected in golden mirrors.

I draw the final breath upon my coffins lid
Watching my flesh drawn hands weep
Her name into sculptured frost. Then I seeped
Into silence for all eternity that no consequences forbid.

[b]Hear Her Plea[/b]

There?s no time to cry
The fire still burns
In spite of the lies.
Those flesh wounds burn
Like your preluded high,
Your fragrant chant
Slips through the night.

Caressing a foreign shadow
Pleasing to the tempest ear.
Have no faith fir the storm comes now
I hate the worm of seers.
Way yard to hell it falls here,
Yet this creature fills with potent tears.

The church of towers rings the bells
Of salvation. That shall never save
Those monstrous choirs. Written from the quill,
Spit out the language of the devil
Those tongues that like a chutlhu howl.

I dream of a world, a nymph on ice.
You seem to scream by the draconis talons
As the luscious nymph howls for life
Another Armageddon shall rain on the desolate earth. Of halo
That shatters to poisonous pieces of the bloodshed and strife.

But why the shall she sweep over me?
Like a machete lusting for a crimson fluid.
The only thing that matters in this odiferous
Earth. Then a blood-curdling scream preyed on congruent
Air of pestilence and ashes. She lay on a lake
Of silver like translucency powers of a pathos spewed.
A war of demonic presences; they feud.

Singing the hymn of thee
Shall she ever see
Me dead and free
Her alive, in a seed
Known as Earth. Hear her plea.

[b]The War, Caress of Swords [/b]
Staring at the stars
I fear they'll speak
To me of their scars
In the darkest peeks.
Seeing him upon the mountains. God Ares.

Hear the wars fright
In a grotesque place.
A screaming, searing plight
For ones who need to be saved.
He sees the warming decay. A wretched Sight.

He laughed and scorned
At the battle field
Watched many lovers die
For there fate was sealed.
A dream of crimson and life. It was all defiled.

I see that serpents crawl
On the dead and dying.
I wrap myself in thrall
To keep away the crying
Of the potent quill. I hear your blood shrieked call.

I hear those stars. They call
Telling me of life and all.
I can not take this, so I fall
From the caress of the sword, I dissolve.

And I'll post the one I just recently placed in another thread anyways.

[b]The Doors Chattered Upon The Wind[/b]

Three Rightful places 'neath the earth
rack up the winds and screech of dirge
Lunging against the bark of that bare grown trees
Delicate up in the sky where incognito weeps.

And I feel the grapes upon the tattered vineyard
Broken like the clattering graveyard gates.
Light breaks upon that subtle courtyard
Knowing the contemplation of as skewed hate.

And those broken doors in the field rattle
Those doors that chatter upon the wind.
Feeling the knotting in your grave side cradle
And realizing the plight of hell's reign within.

So speaketh the forest you doth here
Lying to you in the swayest form of seer.
Where the bones lie on the wayward
An ebon dart of darkness pace it's slight of card.

These all lie before you as the doors of 'neath.
Writing in a passage to tend you and wreathe
Your neck, yourself upon the darker of forests,
The sullen of plains,
The cradle of graveyards that lay within.
And to quote the poet. "Nevermore"
Shall I lay in my death bed, but always ?neath the earths floor...

Well there you go tell me what you think.
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