LotusGeekpoetry

A Rose; From the Black Petal Man’s Garden Ho, now, thru and true, I stop thee, fair maid, on whateverthoust may descend upon thee that would have you rushing at this late hour; and thru my fields no less. Pray not thee warrant a fear, for what else could fields be made for if not for trampling about. … Pardon me, your Grace, but it would seem upon fair look of thee I recant my previous abrasion and see now to give you the proper respect you deserve. So fine a Lass could only flee in such tumultuous haste and fury if she were being pursued by foul wickedness of Ideals or the corruption that spawns in all our Kind. Pray that we not see corruptions sludge on one of the Kindred, for we may have to slay both an ideology and a friend. Nevertheless, my dear lady these moments are but common concern to our kind, as I recognize thee as a thing of beauty, regardless your haste. Pray, let me offer you refuge in my hidden home, it would be of most taking to a Lady of your stature, I assure

i i am not hurt my soul is just made of pain i am not alone i am the absence of everything i am not alive because you killed what i had inside i am not a human being i am not anything

The Devil; The Satan; However you may see this; However you may feel this; The tiring cry of pain comes not from Sin Committed, The howl of Atrocity comes from A simple misunderstanding. The Souls, now laid Vanquished. Hold no Hollow Rancor. Nor hold a hate toward the living, yet hold no scorn in their gaze from the blessed accidents of Youth. The greatest howl, Comes from a summation that can be epitomized, In the following refrain, of which we are all known, “What the Actual Fuck?” There have been tacked upon the Dead And, unfortunately, the living. A Burden that makes little sense. And makes none or negative progress. The restful peace of Ages, Is the same peace as a child gains, From imbibing an Apple, From a Tree so succulent. The Blood of our Titans, The blood of our Brigands, The blood of our Thieves, And the Blood of our Leaders, All served to nourish that Apple. In which our young, Now, in their Youth, Do so Justly, Rightfully, and Sacredly, Imbibe. The rivers

The Ballad of Campanella Aye twas six bells past, a toll, a chime, an echo, a tick, a ringing, and a tremor. ‘tis all very confusing in the present, so it behooves to simply keep going. But one would say, it is sometimes difficult to completely ignore Sometimes it is a soft lovely tune Sometimes it is a reverberating aftershock But when you mix it all together, well…usually nothing out of the ordinary happens. But it does make interesting sheet music. Meanwhile, we sip ale, mead, and stock our pipes. Enjoy amicability, as much as tolerated. Hit the hay, in either gorgeous splendor Or simply slam ourselves upon it and drift off into sleep. Depends on our mood, doesn’t it? The next sunrise, we look around and go, “What now?” Perhaps a different flavor ice cream? Mayhap a different board game, single player? Multi-player? Perhaps we can cook a different meal To a different tune? Mayhap we can cook the same meal to either the same or another tune. After all, the food doesn’t come out

The Arthaag -excerpt taken from the Deep, who claimed it from a survivor of these accounts. “The legends were true…but they weren’t at the same time. Of all the mighty terrors that roam this land, it is a cruel irony that the most horrid of these nightmares is a construction of Man. Not content with planting his black seed upon the solid earth, the ilk of the gaze of us humble creatures expands to the ravenous and bountiful seas beyond the sands that mark the end of fertility and the beginning of the Tempest that many call home. I was one such soul, a sailor drawn to the lure of riches, woman, the natural things. But like many of those upon the seas, the real reason I was here was adventure, discovery, and the obscene desire to wade in uncertainty, chaos, and possibility. No one, landlocked or unbound, was immune to the stories of others. Yet a wretched, painful truth is known by all that the most venerated tales come from the Sea, and involve both Prestigious wicked

my heart is broken my soul is dead nothing but torment lives in my head looking back at what i did accepting the blame but how will i live? alone there will be no one else alone here in my hell one here by myself alone trapped in this hell ...................... strive to be alive many times you've made me fight to be alive forgiveness god given i pray it gives you the faith to focus and show yourself and your soul forth giving, cheering time will heal i pray for you my friend to truly mend