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This heart is going to stop.


It may be a scarry sound next to a pub,
A silent scattershot in a shop to rob,
An exciting smell in a chemic lab,
Or a short nap in a taxi cab.


Only God knows how it will end,
Passing through that particular land.


But indeed this heart is about to cease.


It is the keen and slow pain that nobody sees,
The heavy carelessness bringing no ease,
The fast heart-beaten minutes I lose,
My non-existent ecography's hues.


Only God knows how it ends,
While I'm passing through all these lands.
18.01.2018
BoringBoy Sep 24
Life is a warzone;
yet here I am, calmly continuing forward.

Beautiful tragedy, the scene around me;
where the trees and birds sing together, but not everyone can see.

Opened by the will above;
I hold a force unlike the common.

I am no better, no worse, or etcetera;
I come as a messenger with an omen.

There comes hope in the eye of the sky;
Forces greater than you and i.

But with them will be a document listing lives;
Did you take the one request that came from the hope in the sky?

Open your hearts, for it comes stealthily;
I am not here to frighten you.

I'm expecting you not to trust my words;
but you also have the choice to.

Maybe it's wishful thinking, to hope that you'll understand;
I understand you, a child of Man.

But I am merely a messenger, a poet with an omen;
Surely you'll ponder this, hopeful because you can.
AsianTapWater Sep 18
Sunset paints the land
Around the kopje blood red.

Finally, a moment of peace.
Even though deep down,
I know it never lasts long.

The world begins to darken
As thick clouds cover the sky.

A cacophony of rain,
Lightning, and thunder
Surrounds me.

A creature appears amongst the torrent.
Tall, lanky, and black.

With more horns than a Manticore,
And a body like that of a Wendigo,
It seems like something from a cub's nightmares.

The creature opens its jaws,
And lets out a deafening roar.

Whether it is the end,
Or merely the beginning of the end,
I only know the worst is yet to come.
Lioden has amazing events and storylines, I can't wait until I'm old enough to start playing.
This one's inspired by The Harbinger, the storyline for September. Not fully based on the story, just some parts here and there.
I don't know if Wendigoes are a thing in the game, or if the lions would even know what a Wendigo is, but I couldn't think of anything else to compare the Harbinger to.
Ormond Aug 1
.
I heard a frail thump
Blue bird died in flowerbed
At base of window
.
Rowan May 10
Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way in
Sleek sails of five and six

Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through the broken glass

Onyx separations carve
In six wings lost to starve
May the host slight the royalty

Blackbird, blackbird, whither 'way
Don't come down this way with
Sacrificial dust from seven circling

Hither here, two and three
Come forth and fly in
Through shattered self

Onyx separations carve
In six wings to starve
May the way be paved

Blackbird, blackbird, will I?
In the serene sloughs, call
Out from the dusk, ten sails high?

Blackbird, blackbird
Come around, see my gift
And sing your song
Juhlhaus Jan 31
Hangs overhead by a solitary thread
Pommel set with Lucifer's jewel
Crossguard made of crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
Ormond Oct 2018
.
Rain fell in commotions—
The birds would have none of it,
The moon bellowed in ghostly white,
Faced in the sprite, ringing indifference
Of low fading stars, trees in posted dark
Scratched the grasslands of the fallen
Firmaments and the small creatures
That are holed up in days, scurried
With the creep of night and moan
Of oceans slide, mangled clouds
Clutched the murky burn of sky
And smallish eyes everywhen
Shuddered in the frosts
Of a shuttering rose.
.
From Wikipedia:
Samhain Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November, as the Celtic day began and ended at sunset. This is about halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice. It is one of the four Gaelic seasonal festivals, along with Imbolc, Bealtaine and Lughnasadh. Historically, it was widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Similar festivals are held at the same time of year in other Celtic lands.
.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
It's looking like
history books
and web pages
tell what once was
as an instructional
or, how to
for the future,
as every trend
spins on the same
blueberry,
and what once was
shall be, again.

I used to think
I might not have
the best grip on ****
because of that Cindy, and
her gaslit basement.
But my eyes are valid.
I'm not slitting throats,
I'm just taking notes
on this tragic situation.
Joker and The Fool.

I'm part of some kind
of severely ****** up system,
whether I wish it or not.
I better learn to smile.
So watch me. Here:

^_^

Everything's bound
to a simple rule.
Everything dies,
and everything is alive
with some participation.

I can't shake it from my mind.
        Why should I?

All of my ancestors made the mistakes
I can't help
       but bear repeating.

Why shouldn't I?
Ormond Oct 2018
.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colourless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh.  There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree.  And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
Priest.  
                    Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.

I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
.
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