Antihero


An old stone built tower stands above all on the skyline;
The curves of its body twisting spiral’s in the air.
The moon shines around its peak, which reaches up so very high.
It is surrounded by a castle keep,
That is an image of a burnt out nightmare.


The castle walls are in pieces, like its people,
Cannon fodder their game.
The drawbridge has fallen, but the iron gate still remains.
The shadows in the night speak of a desire to be the enemy within.
The voices of the fallen spit out their final endless scream’s.


The sound of war is upon the castle door.
No more escape for its inhabitants,
Apart from those who are fleeing through the century old tunnel.
The secret passage to a way away from all the savage.
The army continues to do battle, at the top of ladders and ramparts.
All have been affected by this battle’s damage.


The sorcerer of this cursed land,
Stands in the furthest, most high room,
Shooting lightning at the wall tops as the chaos reigns below,
Where all is doom
And in a final decisive action,
The sorcerer reads from his big black book;
The ground shakes, the fire falls and all enemy are shook
And thrown from their steeds in front of the castle gate.
In pieces they bleed and from the tops of the castle walls,
Those who are falling will never be saved.
They crash to the floor and become no more.
The sorcerer falls to his knees, exhausted of power,
But he has put an end to this midnight war.


No protection was given by the enemies armour.
Their swords and shields crashed loudly as they hit the ground.
The enemy is no longer the invading warrior;
They are all running in fear and their last sounds are all dying out.


As the sorcerer takes the final step down from his twisted tower,
He pushes open the thick oak wooden door.
As he walks out into the open air courtyard his face is a glower;
No living enemy can be seen, because the enemy are no more.


His men are all cheering and shouting his name,
But the sorcerer is not laughing with them, for he has a plan.
He tells them this morrow they will all fight again,
So they must all prepare to once more stand.


Some voices of discontent whisper within the ranks;
Some of them openly criticize his view.
As he creates a ball of flame that hovers above the palm of his hand,
They all realize he has been their antihero
And he could be their demise too…if he chooses to.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Vexren4000 Jun 6
Walls of fortresses,
Stretching high unto they sky,
Places of grandeur and gallantry,
A forgotten art of architecture,
The tall castle walls,
To prevent siege and protect the people,
Now eras of such stone grandeur are gone,
Replaced by metropolis, and bustle.

©BAS
Close your eyes

Your world, not extending
beyond the soft quilt under
your skin, unending


Soft ripples of cloth, and picturesque seams
Nothing here but
You, me, the sky, and soft dreams

I'll reach up and take the stars from the sky
If only to lay them at your feet
to place them in your hands
to bring light into those glazed eyes
or give a glow to a world so bland

and each one would be folded
into a beautiful origami castle
I, the lord, and you, the vassal
Or perhaps me as the king
and you as a queen, whichever
My gentle playmate.. which one is better?

I'm a majestic creature of the sky
You're an empty-faced child on a quilt
Each star shall be used as a stepping stone
so I might meet you in the place I built


Let us meet, as lovers, or
at least equals
on this starry floor
And your body falls into each soft fold
It's here, right here, that I can hold
you close, keep you safe and warm
so you, from the rest of the world
I'll withhold

Consider this a "romantic poem".. but not about me! Actually, this is a story I've sort of written. :)

Hmm, let me try to describe it. A little girl living in a world all her own, a world that's nothing more than an empty quilt with an endless sky. Above her, lives a sort of "sky-creature" and he happens to be in love with her, so he builds her a castle of stars.
Poetic T Mar 31
Woven with secretions of midnights veil,
Its fur absorbs full moons light now stale.
Through its piercing eyes that follow shifting
shades, daring to attain its glare precariously drifting.

Abiding its time as night decays, fractured sights
let in the breath of inclement silence, coldness bites.
whispering through halls, but shuddering when
this onyx mystery speaks, winds shudder becoming thin.

This place is a citadel of muteness, where one
voice to be only spoken, it never gestures than
with some intent, but wears many facades
changing its outfits, ever enjoying its odds.

For what is life without a challenge, its master
returns, those whose thought he was the caster
when spoken through a ventriloquist of self
as who holds the blame not her, but himself.
Tallie Mar 1
The walls are there for a reason
To protect against crime and treason
Don’t let it out don’t let it in
Can’t let anyone know how you’ve really been
Arm the guards, protect the inner
Don’t let in the sinner
The walls are up but the roof is gone
She’s free to move on
She went up in the clouds, the wind rose
All the way up she glows
Moving on and loving yourself while you do
Ken Rafiñan Feb 24
Ceramic crashes clash with the quiet night air.

A thunk and a thump—
cold doors opened,
then closed once more.

You could hear the frost his as it creeps along—
alone—
seeking another warm convert for its cool cult.

Spoons, forks, and knives tinkle:
creating stainless music that draws light form the darkest corners of the room.

Plastic wraps crinkle their already wrinkled faces
and cough up pairs of slices.

Bread offers itself demurely to layers of spreads
and dashes of sauces.

Breathing becomes a meditative mantra,
and before long once-idle fingers birth a sandwich.

Its crust is cut and contemplated with wistful whisper,
and then composted.

Some mouthfuls of pinot are decanted
poignantly
onto sculpted crystal castles whose rivers run red.

These artefacts of plate and goblet,
of cup and chalice,
and of hand and utensil are offered
to entropy in stories of sensation,
in texture,
and between feeling.
Pagan Paul Feb 12
.
She walks the castle walls at night,
with a rose held fast in her fingers,
the mist rolls away across the land,
the memory of her lover still lingers.

Cold flagstones beneath her slippered feet
hold the histories of the aeons tight.
Old battles, wars, and terrifying sieges,
ghosts of ancient warriors wail in the night.

And still she clutches his parting gift,
she wears the bond burden of his ring,
his love weighs upon her broken heart,
tears flow free with a melancholic sting.

They fall upon the stones and disappear,
additions to the heavy tomes of history,
little gems writing sadness in a story,
as she stares into the distance so wistfully.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/18)
.
Seems like heart by heart has been broken
none of us wants to be the last one badly spoken
I still breath the dazed and confused air of our past
I've been holding it painfully inside my chest

And who would dare to throw a stone?
while their castle was left undone
tragedies of me, catastrophes without ends
you choosed a terrible way... there will be no amends today

No star will light our coming night
even before the evening you started to fight
I could see in your eyes that you were out of mind
but in the end, I'm your peace sign
Joe Feb 18
As a child, I often imagined us as a royal family;
Dad as the king,
Mom as the queen,
And Myself as the princess.
Within our humble little castle,
You taught me how to be kind but resilient;
To be graceful but firm;
To respect other people and myself;
To love people,
Especially myself.
You have raised me as best as you could

But, a crisis swept over our kingdom
adolescence,
they called it.
It affected all the children in the land,
Making them even more rambunctious than usual.
They became irritated
and isolated themselves,
all the while their innocence fading.
Of course, it affected your little princess,
And you didn’t know what to do.

Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m telling you not to worry.
This is not a crisis but a part of life.
When I slam my bedroom door shut,
After we’d just fought,
That doesn’t mean I hate you.
My hormones are just not as calm as they used to be.
Be patient.
I’m not mad at you
For telling me to sit up straight
Or mind my manners at dinner
Or be independent.
I know you are just molding me
To become the person you’ve always envisioned;
You just want me to be more like you.

But, mom, dad,
I am my own person.
I have my own set of personalities and traits
A set of which you have inspired,
Not provided.
You have inspired me to become
A strong woman
But, I have to do it my way now.
You can’t shield me from the terrors of the world forever.
You have to let me out of my tower
Because I can slay my own dragons
and unfaithful princes.
I am not your little girl anymore
But I am still your princess
And you still rule my world.
a little tribute to my parents.

-d.j.
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