I dreamed that writhing shadows wreathed a hall, While celebration's song was heard within. The lighted windows each in turn grew small, As darkness piled up, then filled them in. The music kept to perfect pitch and beat While silence showed the screaming throats the knife. The sheep and cows as one made their retreat, And left the song the only sign of life. The darkness rose, to snuff the stars, the moon, And leave a world blanked out, but for the song. I knew the sun would not be rising soon; I knew the music would continue strong. How long it held, and whether light returned, I do not know. I woke before I learned.
Tag: sonnet
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Defeat shall not be mine, nor shall remorse; No storm infernal matches my attack. No heart is brave enough to keep on course, And dare to match my terms, and turn me back. I shall not tire. Neither fairs, nor ills Shall once divert me from my purposed path. Nor hope of peace, though every weakling wills It, ever be enough to stay my wrath. To speak my name, and "failure", is to lie; To question this, is treachery itself. For I have won, and even as I die I shall remain the master of myself. And on my tomb, they'll write for all to see: "'Just one more turn', for all eternity".
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All my ROW80 progress this week (other people’s) seems to be tied up with fear in some way.
Firstly, I finished reading Nineteen Eighty-Four on Monday evening. It was a lot easier to read the last third of the book, I think because the suspense of waiting for Winston to be captured was finally resolved.
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This post is great! Beyond my skill to say In what degree or how, it touched my heart. My meagre skills can only fade away When matched with such perfection of the art. Your obvious wisdom, and your silver tounge Could win — indeed, deserve — more ears than I. From rooftops everywhere, this should be sung, And carved in stone to place in honour high. So much I'd do, to share this perfect word, And make your name in every corner known. Awaken, ye who wander with the herd! Don't leave behind a voice that stands alone. "Just sign your name to this (yes, using blood), And say the word, and watch the viewers flood." -
Within my moment, all the world will change: Past, be to Future, just as Night to Day. O natural things, accept you will be strange, Once nature's dusty rules are thrown away. O space, renew, through to the Earth's own core; Atom and atom, mote and mote, replace. O substance of the Now, be now no more, And all your risen symbols, now deface. All stars and planets shall wink off, and on. One fearsome instant, bare the blind abyss, Then shine once more. But as they never shone, For all their past, I have reduced to this. A newborn time, where history's pages tore. Now I can try again for HIGHEST SCORE.
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A perfect evil deed must be complete: In every way, an act you can't redeem; A deed you'd do although it meant defeat; A goal itself, no step within a scheme. It must be gruesome, fit to nauseate; It must be final -- harm that none can heal. You must not feel for what you desecrate, And those who do will hate what you reveal. And know they shall, though evil seeks no fame; Though villainy itself is cause enough. For hardened hearts that fear to take the blame, Would virtuous look, and not be truly tough. So know that villainy is shown and done; And must exist, as "some" improves on "none".
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I've dreamed of evil deeds, and crime, and pains; I've counted days until my heart turns dark; I've even filled my rooms with spikes and chains, And all of it is waiting for a spark. My minions wait for me to touch the phone, And armour waits for them when they come here; With lawful lords I've listed every bone I'll pick, and whom I'll have to "disappear". It's on my calendar: TAKE OVER WORLD. It's written twice, and underlined in red. I have my flags, all stacked and neatly furled, And all my loved ones are, by chance, long dead. Tomorrow is the day. Am I prepared? Am I, or is the world, the one more scared?
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A werewolf, more a monster than a man, A shade who tries to hide a shadowed past, A gorgon, cursed to frighten all she can, A dryad, far from home and fading fast. Four monsters met on distant, misty moors; Were promised, by a king with crown of bones They'd each receive what each one most adores, If they could just retrieve three sacred stones. An offer took, by team beset by need; A trip through peril, onto sacred ground; A final fight, with foe they ought to heed. A lethal blow! Prize won, they turn around, Return and earn gifts fit to save their souls — Then realise why the doomsday thunder rolls. -
There stands a Law, as certain as the Sun; The Book to match the Scales, and the Sword. An Act no mortal strife can see undone — a virtue without fear, without reward. The Scales weigh as true, only the truth; The Sword will strike at nothing but the crime. Immortal Justice needs no mortal proof, No fractured juries free to take their time. The Law does not stay crouching in the light When darkness hides the truth, or shields the wrong; Though monsters — tempters! — wait beyond my sight, The Scales know that I am just as strong. Before the Sword, I vow to find the proof Show all the words they questioned were the truth.
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Time was, I found adventures everywhere: One moment home, and duty called me forth. So many times, it was too much to bear, And every small request would earn my wrath. I realised it was foolish to go on; My doing good would leave me meaning ill; I swore that no more uniforms I'd don. Then came a foe that only I could kill. I said I'd serve again, but knew I lied. I told myself this fight would give me peace. Though hard I tried, I faltered. Many died Before I mustered will to match the beast. Now as a coward I am widely scorned, And since I left, each day has empty dawned.
Jenkins Rising 