"antechamber" poems
There sits a crimson satyr crowned
The overlord of underground
In left he twirls a steely blight
Upon the surface world by night
With right commands his vile jest
To welcome avarice, his guest
The next of sin to him akin
To all the wicked souls therein
The boiling cauldron antechamber
Brimming with his seething anger
Pain and sorrow, anguish of
One fallen from the grace of love
And in its hellish rendezvous
A shadow deal to conquer you
Is sealed in some ungodly tongue
The hook upon which faith is hung
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
i
Aloof aback the nether antechamber
Abaddon tried to calleth out mine name
Aba composition's awoke from smoke
Whilst nephilim brutes were left untamed.
ii
They bit me and they gripped me with
Their nail's of poison and polunium whip's
Through the old agaric horror play oubliette
Obelisk's, of troglodyte monstrosity!!!!
iii
The nearing was open, yet to far off
I felt the crimson color, up mine lung's I coughed
Mine calumus pinion's all were eventually lost
For I was mocked, as the legion scoffed.
iv
Scourged I was, as mine back was chopped
Like glass bead's hitting a gentle rock
They cracked mine sweetly frame, and made a pop
Mine soul was dying, mine head was lost.
v
Yet in the destination of this witching hour
Cameth in Gabriel and Michael of all unknown power's
They arrayed this hell with celestial shower's
They freed me of mine inferno, and tooketh me to the higher sire.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry.....
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
Each room has a glow
a basking room, an aural one
if they were circumferences
would they arc beyond the horizon?
and by unfurling my imagination
why would I not choose to unloosen my certainties?
a certain light quality permeates
only to find a hallway
even more intense
an antechamber in a prism.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
You visited Darkness on my doorstep
A maelstrom of madness behind a cracked clown's mask
Your rictus grin cast shadows on my house guests
An upheaval of war broke out at gentile dinner party
Your heavy booted footsteps echoed in the antechamber
As you strode so confident into cacophonious dinner
Laying hands on hors d'eouvres and rotting sweet flesh
Forcing famine to descend on friendly folk
You played with the delicacy of human frailty
As you coughed with hollow wet echoes, racking paper lungs
Spreading filth and vile pox from woman to man
A sickly green pestilence wrapped tendrils around them all
And lastly, you stood before me brandishing gloved finger
You pointed at my chest and asked me, "Are you ready?"
The delight you took from all this rancor, truly sickening
You visited death upon my dining table with glee
But death won't get what it wants on this cold day
Not with heavy heeled boots of war, nor from feast to famine
Not with the pox of pestilence, no horse will drag me away
You came bearing darkness my friend,
But in a quiet valediction, I shall have to ask you to leave
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC
fireplace
With the child she stands by the fireside, consoling tears
fallen branches cannot regrow, save the buds an early blossom
all oblivious to the angel standing behind them, a sword in hand
lifted high, glory brought forth from a babe's cry
the antechamber fills with dread sounds
a gurgling no parent should hear
her heart was not ready.
new shoes
In the cool of rain, small sounds magnified
new shoes: a callus will form in time
it's only mortals meeting in a chamber stiff
old air chokes madly
games played these days are brutal
I will write a letter; the breeze flies.
pile
One atop another, gawky tries finesse, falls flat
pile on pile on pile
a range of mountains called my name
much like a needle in thick plush pile
they never found me
tig is lost of flicks and feats
possible genius reduced to numbers by idle hands.
I don't pretend to know (you), even as you slice up
the last quarters I have left.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
It’s simplicity
Its cradle and skill
Evil in bed
Disturbs your conscience
Born worthless
No miracle there
In delightful fast
Storm holds its vine
Selling naught
Desiring naught
Its words
Sounds
Its actions
Gestures
The beast fears naught
Unknowingly knowing
Swollen senses
Glorious aliment
For a crooked tree
Its breast bends
Its hands bends
Insults are loves
Wars and artifacts
Antechamber of death
And says naught
Not one will remain
Responds
Not one will prevail
Responds
Your dust will be eaten
By democratic worms
Of all brothers
Despised by all
Beasts fears naught
Nor life nor death
Who says?
Who comes?
Who goes?
The breeze only alone
Eternal
White on white
Atop the dead walks
A single hair of grass
Grows, lives dies
Beasts do not share terror
Abounds in its symmetry
Without choices
Alone as the lone sun
That from three stars
It hangs
Empty and nothing more
All perishes
Something In the middle there
Alone Only
Embracing the extremes
The beast has been a beast
Over million a trials
And even then, nothing in the middle there
But the seen
Growing to naught
Perishing in naught
Beasts
Aware of this not
As ornament the imprint
Of its fiery tenure
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC