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F Elliott Aug 18

They called Kierkegaard insane,
poor man, poor fool..
ink turned against him
by a city that feared
his furious clarity.

That label is given still:
“mad,” they say,
when a voice rises
against the hidden thing,
the shadow crouched in the soul,
the beast that feeds on silence.

It is not flesh that is cursed,
but the fortress
built stone by stone
from secrets unspoken,
where the child’s cry was buried
and the monster kept the key.

Yes, let it be cursed again..
that ancient predator
that left spirits trapped,
that tried to leave others
shattered in its claws.

If eternity should open,
even the darkness of God
would rise against it,
tumbling the beast
through endless years,
stripped of its power,
stripped of its stolen faces.

Call it madness,
call it folly.
The words remain jagged,
for truth has teeth,
and silence has killed enough.

At least the monster was named
when others smiled politely
and called it “past.”
At least there was no collusion.

And if the witness is written off,
    so be it

Better condemned
for fighting the beast

than praised for leaving it
enthroned.



There is always a risk in fighting the beast: the risk of becoming monstrous in the process. To call it by its true name, to drag it into the open, often looks like madness. Kierkegaard wore that label, and so do all who refuse silence.

The truth cuts jagged, not polished.. and yes, in the fight, one becomes scarred and monstrous. That is the price of standing against the darkness. This piece is not for the crowd. It is a cry against the beast itself, spoken into the universe entire.

Yeah.. exactly..

"Control yourself,
take only what you need from it--
A family of trees wantin'
to be haunted"

https://youtu.be/fe4EK4HSPkI?si=hyG3BpKE6I8bn82p

for those who understand,
no explanation is needed
xox
1DNA Jun 28
"You are a monster!"
"Apologize!"
I am a monster–
Apologize.
Many interpretations
Elena Nickle Jun 25
Some times I feel like
A villain on the power rangers
So out of control that I cannot help but feel like I am a monstrous Ramage
As I walk around I feel like a *******
Of a disaster and I seem to cause
The chaos but I could not be anything
But  a gifted mess and that is walking around.  Though this I say
Even cryptids seem to have more
Control over their ******* emotions.
I am just talking out of my emotions
Or there is water to what I say.  I
Find that I have to fond away to deal with
The green eyed monster and combat it.
Though it is ******* hard at times.
As I feel like an exploding balloon i feel nothing  but  chaos of wanting to pop.
This idea that there someone  out there for everyone obviously
Never met
Me
Impatient fear— drawn like breath toward a love-sickness
too familiar; where even longing feels rehearsed.
Still, we wait. Too patient, perhaps, for the One who
might finally make us two.

But how many hearts have crowded this same dream?
How many lips have whispered their forever's into ears already
echoing with empty promises? Love, the great alien—always
arriving in disguise during first encounters, glimmering strange
and radiant, only to rot sweetly in the mouth after the kiss turns
to memory.

We taste the ache, to call it devotion...
We call the wound a lesson.


But what of those—the occasional monsters; who no longer
apologize for the shape of their hunger, who wear their
shadows like a second skin, not in shame, but in acceptance?
And what of the world, when two such creatures find each other?
When neither runs, neither flinches—when their broken pieces
match like puzzle scars?

Do we call it love then, or chaos? Do we fear what is born from
the ashes of their embrace— or envy it? Because when two
monsters fall in love, they do not tame each other. They make
a home of their fire. And the world, remains forever obsessed
with perfect edges, that it will never understand—how beautiful
the burn can be.

Only then, do you and I finally feel free.
No more Monsters,
Sorry RedBull but you lost my brand loyalty.
I will no longer be drinking tartine,
All this caffeine makes me forget,
It causes problems with my life and love.
So I'll save my pennies,
To afford a moment of clarity.
It's like a drug to the fragile way my mind is built.
Jeremy Betts Mar 12
The monsters quickly collect under the bed
Graduating faster to free range demons roaming the head
Diabolical shadows lurking on the perimeter of the peripheral
Becoming a something far to real to think it still impossible
Unlike fear and loathing, fear and logic are seldomly seen traversing side by side
The unnatural occurrence of an unnecessary ride

By the time an oblivious mind realizes the kamikaze danger
The digits it controls are busy pulling out each heartbreak dagger
Those select few that came through the front from the  back
Create tallies in scar form that are starting to overlap as they stack
Teetering on life's edge as it dares me to take that final step over
Finding it impossible not to follow the devil when there's one on each shoulder
Where is Elliot?
Where are the moderators?
How come Truth and others,
Work in plain sight,
It's so obvious, we all know.
Somebody must deliver the killing blow,
Who will slay these monsters?
I have not the power alone,
But I have a will to dethrone these evils,
And make art safe again.
Who is stopping this! Where is the action, people are being threatened
Evil people hide in familiar shades,
They morph their wicked skin,
To look the likes of us,
And not their monstrous kin.

They write like a human,
Speaking in themes we recognize as light,
To the point no one knows how they lie,
So who knows how many walk among us.
Nothing as disgusting as when you begin to trust one, just for them to rear their fangs and reveal their true form.
In the heart of the graveyard, where darkness lingers,
Trees bend and sway their dancing skeletal fingers,
Whispers of ghosts fill the midnight air,
A chilling ghostly melody, a silent prayer.

Demons lurking, their eyes aglow,
Dancing in circles where cold winds blow.
Torches on the mausoleum flame and shadows dance,
As spirits awaken from the grave with the night's advance.

The smoke rises higher, a sparkling fire,
A haunting tune from a spectral choir.
Close your eyes, stay quiet and still,
The spirits are playing, having a thrill.

In the depths of the graveyard shade,
Ghosts sing softly, a haunting serenade.
Goblins and ghouls in a flickering light,
Dancing around fires in the dark of night.

On a mid autumn's eve, when the veil is thin,
The spirits emerge and nightmares begin.
Vampires hide in the misty haze,
Their laughter echoes through a foggy maze.

The wind plays games on the fearful kind,
Graves cast eerie shadows rising behind,
Branches reaching fingers, leaves like skin,
In the heart of the graveyard where terror begins.

Firelight dances as witches take flight,
Beckoning spirits through the stillness of night.
Flames grow higher, shadows stretch long,
A chorus of spells in a caster's song.

Flee far away and don't you look back!
For the horrors are near, red eyes turned black,
Take cover in the shadows of the fallen trees,
Feel their breath on this all hallows eve!

Midnight gloom fades, the spirits retreat,
But the forest remembers their haunting beat.
When October returns and moonlight gleams,
The witches will laugh and ghosts will scream.
All Hallow's Night inspired Poetry.
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