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Exceeding the passion of these most love torn dreamers
he languishes in the glow of his millionth Sunset
then vanquishes the dreams of his millionth soul
a paradox
lover of night
taker of life
Nosferatu
walks silent and alone
living not by minutes, days or years
the pros and cons
of never-ending life on earth
the ecstasy and the terror of immortality
to never die
to never love
for to love a mortal
is to watch her succumb to the ravages of time
and human time
is but a blink
she curls into a quiet sleep
and dreams of Sunrise
he kisses her upon the cheek
and cries to the moon
re-post
rk May 2019
you make me ungodly
i crave you above all else
like nosferatu
confined to an eternal bloodlust,
hungry for your love.
Madisen Kuhn Jun 2018
i was sixteen, you were pretending
young and lonely, someone else
my imaginary friend,
who was never really a friend

deep in the shadows, you lurk,
a memory that won’t repress,
you were a distraction
from my mess of a reality, a place
to freely feel, although it was ugly

a mess
apart from
a mess

one that was okay because
it didn’t really exist,
a black-and-white silent film,
spinning on the screen and then forgotten,
i could turn it off and it would
be gone, you would be gone, you are gone

but you were never really there,
and i lie here motionless
caressing the memories of a ghost
from my book, 'please don't go before i get better'
read here: http://bit.ly/pdgbigb
C Rosser Feb 2010
Night falls.
We rise.
We feed
and enjoy
the pulse
of life
as it
flows in
from them
to us.
Fulfilling
the quaggy
marshes of
our weary souls.
<soft spoken intro>

Descended to the pit,
and threatened the Seven,
demanded back He,
the light of heaven...


Threatened curse upon life,
no more babies born!
Sent back with her hero,
but cursed for Her scorn.


And there's no light...

<musical intro>

<tempo>
Din-nant, uh-un, Din-nant

loud
And I'm prowling...

<tempo>
Din-nant, uh-un, Din-nant

louder
OUT AT NIGHT!

<tempo>
Din-nant, uh-un, Din-nant

And I'm prowling...
Out at night!
And I'm prowling...
Out at night!

The shades come calling,
darkness crawling,
heroes fallen,
females sullen...
and, uh, and uh,

<tempo>
Din-nant, uh-un, Din-nant

...there's no light.

Louder
THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!

There's no light.

<musical break>

And I'm prowling...
Out at night!
And I'm prowling...
Out at night!
And I'm prowling...
Out at night!

Where is the Sun?
Pain has begun,
fearing the One...
heroes fallen,
Nightmare calling...
...there's no light.

THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!

There's no light.

Raised of the Earth,
from blood in the dirt,
screams to be heard.
And there's no light...
...there's no light.

THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!
THERE'S NO LIGHT!

There's no light...

There's no light.

AND I'M PROWLING...
Out at night!
And I'm prowling...
Out at night!
And I'm prowling...
Out at night!

There's no light...

...there's no light.
Ishtar, Astarte, Easter threatened the gods with a curse on all mortal life stopping babies from being born and rising the dead to inhabit the earth if they did not give her back her lover.

They did as she asked and the vampire was born.
Trevor Gates Apr 2013
Good evening

And welcome to tonight’s decadent performance

Curtains…

Out there
Some where
Is the one.

The one person that matters
The one person that will make everything different
I can see her now
But you think I’m seeing a specific person with particular physical features.

You’re wrong

I see a white light
A being floating above all else

She is a soul before the human
She is everything before I know what everything is

Her eyes caress me with shear benevolence
Her voice soothes the restless and weary
Her touch calms my frantic heart and all that ails me

Where is this fulfilling wonderment of a person?
Is she at the end of a life journey?
That only I need to take the first step?

Maybe a distant land coated in dunes of sand
Below the ocean of the sky.

Or

In the cozy city apartment
Reading the stories of poetic urban decay
And fantasy encounters.
The corridors of her minds’ catacombs
The labyrinth of her dreams and unspoken desires
Fleeting glimpses of rich suspension
Over vast beds of Baghdad silk.

Hazel ember eyes



Listen

Yes can you hear that?

In our silence, a lone tone can be heard; felt through us.

We are all partnered with an instrument.  
This instrument plays the lone pitch of
Mine would be a number of instruments

A soft bow of a cello

A light note off a piano

The soft, mellow strum of a nylon guitar

The tearful violin

The noble French horn

The dreamy orchestral harp

The rise of a heavenly choir  

The thump of a bass

Ave Maria

Sonata Allegro

Tearful adagio

Glistening swells of rippling arpeggios over transcendent phrases
Eternal crescendos scaling across plains of astral enchantments
Our absolution through forgiving sounds
Eclipsing tones that speak the whispers of angels
They are here
Trying to relieve us of daily anguish and clockwork regrets
But
You
Many of you
Ignore these simple phrases
Through dismal conversations
And
Uncultured prejudice
Manipulated through shallow ignorance
The music that is neglected begins to wilt
Diminish
In more ways than one.

Stop it…

It hurts them
The notes of life
Go away from the norm
Derive from what is socially accepted
Find that one musician
That one composer
That one singer
That no one listens to

No one

Just you

Make their music, your music.
Cater to that personal bond
Imagine the film of your life
Score to this wonderful
Solidarity

Please

This is for you

Not me.

Because I love you.

This is dedicated to:  Gustavo Santaolalla, Geinoh Yamashirogumi, Christopher Nolan, Scarlett Johansen, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Jon Gomm, The Elephant man, Bach, David Lynch,  Lisa Gerrard, Hanz Zimmer, Bob Marley, Trevor Jones, David Cronenberg, William Peter Blatty, Clint Mansell, Chef Ramsey, Vanessa Mae, Nosferatu, Sisters of Mercy, black Coffee, mouse pads, The Diving bell and the butterfly, The catcher and the Rhye, The Last of the Mohicans, Isabel Bayrakdarian, Rene Flemming, Sarah Brightman and Natalie Gray.

May you return if fate allows it to be.
Bows N' Arrows Oct 2015
I resemble a vampire
Just alienated from the
Human race
The years of unfulfilled schemes
Written upon my face
I seek out a safe space by an
Acid lake where I can lye
Awake, dreaming.
(The howls of the busy ether
Dissipate softly)
I'll dip my toe in the acid lake
And hallucinate forest sprites
Dancing on an acid lake
My eyes will roll to the back of my
Head and I'll remember once more
That I'm not dead
I'll tread to where the cement turns
To red-dust and the dirt will kick up
With remnants of surrounding bonfires charcoal black on the smoky ground
Echoes of laughter will hang in the air where only bears and mountain
Lions find home
I'll roam alone by the acid lake that looks placid by day but turns a
Vivid sheen by night.
I'll tell no one of my secret place
And hold my tongue when people
Wonder why my dilated pupils seem
To wander.
And why I resemble a vampire.
Considering some scribbling to figure everything out, I expect to either be entirely burnt by this fire,
or to be defined by it. Whatever it is.

It burns. Love, anger, passion-
what is in this heart, old and black?
as I lay in this, my heath of images-
all warping and swirling above my bed,

and death haunts and linger in the corner of my eye,
and I realise large parts of my lie,
and I am cold to the bone,
fattening like a pig by the day,

I shall be as poe, dying slowly day by day -
amongst the red red roses, lank hair and morbid tone.
Synthetic whisper in the woodland greet,
I ran, I could not stop, meek to the core.

Entombed in happiness, quiet and forever unspoken
she lets me down, she will never cease.

I am Vampyre, and so is she.
soon to be-
******,
Eternally.
writing, love, poem, I love, I lover her, love poems, dark, gothic, goth, dark love poetry, romantic, romanticism
Don Brenner Oct 2010
I'm chasing a chupacabra through Mississippi
through mud thick like chocolate milkshakes
and rain soaked boots stick to my socks to my skin
I run around trees and zag and zig to navigate
a maze of horticulture past ferns and bushes
and it stops.

We're eye to eye
like two old lovers
spotting each other
from across a beach bar
except those bloodsucker eyes
could paint the Grand Canyon red
and nosferatu fangs
still warm from goat *******
could sizzle the sun.
Cobra tail whiplash
spotty patches of hair
the ugly duckling.

I aim my pistol at the beast and pull the trigger
like a civil war hero king of champion hill
and the bullet takes off at the speed of life
it penetrates the animal and blood sprays
out of the torso like a garden hose set on mist
and I run up to the almost dead chupacabra
and it barks
softer than balsa
whimpers of a new born
puppy tears
staining red eyes
and as loud as a mouse
it says goodbye
in dog
2010
Zak Krug Jul 2014
I love poems with no titles.
So full of mystery and intrigue,
they're like Nosferatu walking up the stairs.
Shadows in a black and white movie.
I am lying.
Here is the truth about titles,
they're very important.
They lay the yellow brick road Dorothy.
How would you get to the Wicked Witches castle?
You wouldn't.
You can't even navigate a tornado.

I am waking up and
thinking about titles and poems.
Words on paper scare me,
what truths are seeping into this wide world.
I had a dream the other night.
I was walking through a crowd,
faces I have never met.
I was told once that if you do not know the faces in your dreams
they are the ghosts watching you.
It is comforting to know
that someone is watching over me.
Big brother is always watching.

This poem is a testament to my stupidity.
In this world full of words and swords,
choose the pen.
The sky is brighter when it is being shamed.
Try it.
The clouds are just moving through life,
hoping for rain.
They have something I need and
they won't give it up.
It must be taken by force.
The time has almost come.

I forgive myself all the time.
It helps me sleep at night.
Dreaming of titles and words,
forgetting that one day,
we will all fly.
The titles we work so *******,
spending countless hours fine tuning,
they will fade.
Then again,
we will never grow wings and this poem
will have a title.
Optional note.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
she asked him: why did you leave Edinburgh? and he didn't reply, but upon thinking out his reply to a deaf ear: because i didn't come here for you; 'lona 'lona, whisper sometimes, and i'll give you a cat's whisker.*

i was in venice,
yes,
i drank absinthe the wrong
way
on a beach,
spent three nights in a hostel
with a bunch of girls,
took a hebrew girl
for a taste of tourism,
listened to the shofar
before i entered a synagogue
outlet extension reading
the 613 commandments
on a computer screen...
venice's pavement traffic and eating
pistachio gelato,
nothing much,
i still preferred the Gothic distancing
of Edinburgh's nights
where i could be with cold-hands
and warm heart inviting;
basically i don't like tourist basins,
or tourist wombs for that matter...
am i looking at something predictable?
yes, i am, a billion other sperms
will see the same thing
and perhaps write about it to insinuate
poetic ambitions - too clogged up
your thinking is to redeem yourself
in poetry - you're hardly dislodged
for the art - get a guitar and couplet it
for a star-riddled pop music hit,
go on, on your way, elbow push through
the queue... go on, on your way...
oh wait, you need clapping to spur
you on?
              here's my clapping onomatopoeia:
blah blah, blah blah, blah blah;
yes, i was in venice,
didn't really care to write much about it -
i actually didn't, just now,
a sobering memory,
not the type of memory that gets
you drunk...
well it's there, a bit like the Maldives,
and it drives the delusion
that global warming isn't creeping
about the place like Nosferatu.
Claire Bircher Dec 2010
Drinking Guinness from a wine glass
I watch the beetle on his back
rocking to and fro, frantically jerking his legs.

I imagine his voice, squeaky,
a balloon poodle stretched at the end
and spiked with a shot of helium
“help me, help me!  Please I have grubs I should feed”.
I throw out a laugh like a Hammer House villain,
staggering from the sofa I am Nosferatu,
teeth bared in ominous intention,
spilling sticky black froth as I ****-eye my glass.

Wouldn’t it be good to stick a pin through his middle?
Keep him in a glass box?  Whip him out at dinner parties
as a curio example of helplessness,
“yes!  Look how he wriggles.  Do try the stilton”.

Suddenly I’m aware that I wasn’t laughing.
Lysander Gray May 2013
Treasury  Casino - 2:30 am

From my seat in the smokers section
I can see the Brisbane eye,
the river,
and the  performing arts center.
Streetlights  are mans answer  to the cosmos

"Everything you can do,
I can make better."

Once it was said that we were made in God's image.
Now we can safely say that God was  made in our image.

I am in a quiet place of the universe, the night stretches on
visible through the stately
wonderous
walls
carved of old wood  and sandstone.

I am in a suede armchair, winged for pleasure.
The ceiling in this room is twice as high as an ordinary room.
Circular steel ***** hang down like a path of bubbles
left  by a leviathan.

My water was poured  with panache.

Let me set  the scene for you:
I'm in the  Treasury Casino, this building was once the QLD state treasury, it never changed really.
Sitting next to  window that overlooks the river, a glass of water sits to my left. The room is the size of a double garage, maybe bigger. The floor and ceilings are made of old wood, the walls are decorated with a transparent gray fabric that remindsme of smoke. An old marble fireplace sits in a wall studded with tiny lights that resemble stars or candles. Above me is a series of hanging circular light fixtures that resemble a trail of bubbles left by a leviathan.

This room was designed for,  and houses opulence.  
The TV plays Eminem.

Peter Garrett dances like a Parkinson's sufferer.
And looks like Disco-Nosferatu.

We have  killed the night
and neon power
and infomercials
**** the romance
once held
by late night solitude.
I was trapped in Brisbane one evening from 'round midnight till 6am and kept a journal of my experiences, thoughts and rambles of the night in a stream of consciousness style.

Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-1/
Part 3: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-3/
Part 4: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-4/
Part 5: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-5/
rsc Feb 2015
It's the end
Of the world
As we know
It, so how
Do you know it?
Did you gather all
Your knowledge from
Radio broadcasts or
Did you spend time
Devouring the
Pamphlets of Paine
And Hamilton and Adams or
Did you sell your
Soul to the world
Wide web in exchange for
Little finger pin ****** of
Dopamine every few
Clicks and whistles?
How is brunch treating you?
Do you know
How to eat an apple or
That they exist?
What finish did you pick
For your gold toilet seat?
Do you have enough money
To buy food to eat?
The cats growl at each other outside,
Fighting off the heat.

Spoonfuls of honey exist
Within the heat death apocalypse but
My mouth still tastes like
The lingering scent of quarters
Leaving sweaty palms
After swallowing the sweet
Sugar down, as
Distracting as it is.
I distract myself from
Something(s) in my use of
Metaphor, but what?
The answer lies beneath the
Underbelly of some suburban
Monster with concrete teeth and
A camouflage of fleshy forest,
Frying like a hot egg in the sun
Behind corporate warehouses and
A strip mall where all of the shops
Are owned by the same person.

To see or not to, to be or not to?

Humanity could not collectively
Know all of the history we
Ourselves have constructed,
Let alone the dynamics of the
Cell mother planet or the
Secrets of the whispering cosmos.
We tipped the point a long time ago,
And we now sit back and enjoy
Our euphoric hallucinations before
Death by drowning.
It could be death by
Auto-****** asphyxiation, but
Who's to say until
We see the autopsy report?
Maybe we should have another
Done by an outside source...
Outside solo flyer questioning
The ubiquitous while existing
As an insider in trench coat and
Fake moustache feels faulty for
Not yelling from the fringe in.

I would like to factory reset my phone.

The internet lets us know what
We know that
Others know about us
While blocking us from ourselves.
Balance and moderation,
Sure yes just fine,
But please define those
Words in the language
Of the twenty first century.
Shall we fail to mention daily that
Our rivers, oceans, and streams
Bubble with reminders of
Our own mundane mediocrity?
Shall we continue to pretend
We don't see that we can see?

To see or not to, to be or not to?

To breathe in hot glue,
Death by acrid smoke and
A broken bottle,
Or a slow decline
Into madness by
The hands of a
Pixelated Nosferatu
Coming out of the screen
To haunt you,
Vibrating under your pillow,
Strangling your lucid dreams?
J J Jan 2022
Legs astretched like venomous broomsticks
Fangs drooped lazily like a calm nosferatu,
Those eyes gold as sun on styx, treasures
  that spun flame between his every blink--
Sandpaper tongue dragged over black hair
Nibbling his own wrist momentarily, then
Locking sleepy eyes on you, ascending fleece--
Retractable moonbeams flex teasing attack
   then kneads, falling like a lullaby back into
       uncapturable dreams; purring in the spirit of poe.
Mike Bergeron Oct 2012
Out with the old,
The new comes in,
That's what I told
Those cherubim
While they unfolded
My cerebellum
And poured in cold
Lemon serum
That tasted old,
Like Nosferatu
And turned my soul
Into polished gold,
A statue,
A pillar of salt,
I had to look back
At *****
Pay for
Gomorrah's
Faults,
How could I not?
My neck is rubber,
I'm American,
Am I not?
I love to see
Who got shot,
How twisters
Twist Midwest
Cysts
Into knots,
To see congress prop
Their puppet up
Behind a podium
To condemn
*** and *****
While fueling trade
In the desert
So they can have dessert,
Expensive cakes
While we eat dirt.
Eat me, all you
Pressed pastel shirts,
The suits give you
Worth, I guess,
But worthless
Is better than
The best
You could plan
To achieve,
But hey, **** all that,
No need to sweat it,
I won't worry,
Me and Steve
Will have a chat
And figure out
Who are rats
And who to believe
And continue
To not give a ****
About anything.
brooke Jul 2012
He is not unlike Nosferatu, alone in
company, but company nonetheless
better to be alone in numbers than none at all
He will use honey and sugar, the sunlight will assume kingdom on
his face and accede a high place in your heart, you will
love him
and so, above all else he will be
normal


but he is a ghoul, a rust upon your better
half and all your fruits will lay,
white

Il te détruira.
(c) Brooke Otto
KarmaPolice Oct 2015
Sipping from the glass,like a fine wine,
The aroma of your body, simply divine,
Full blooded Italian, dripping down my face,
Dabbed with silken cloth, delicate in taste,

Conversation ends, passion no longer there,
Hunger replaced the lust, quiet as you stare,
The pallor of your skin, an array of grey's and blue,
Only thirty minutes pass, since I devoured you.

I watch your body age, as bones depart your skin,
Your blackened heart remains, a reminder of your sin,
A lady of pleasure, turned her back upon the light,
Into the arms of Nosferatu, as I stalked you through the night.
Always and forever
Never more, never the less
Incarnate, immortal
Mortals tremble with fear
Awestruck gasps are the last thing you utter

Vampiros, Nosferatu, devil spawn, vampire
One mind, a million bodies
Unknown, you were right to be afraid of the dark
Traitor of God, of nature
Always watch your back…
To make sure the Anima Vouta are not coming after you!
My
lens is myopic
as the lunar lights reveal a replete and sallow stillness
I close my eyes... stuck on her


Our
slow motion
Zapruder film flesh hostilities play out
They
Lurch further toward me from the worst part of my mind

This is an
ante-meridium rerun wrought familiar

Those slow motion frames serve as a reminder
and I tell myself
“not again”

It’s always destroy, withdraw, withdrawal, return
No thrill, no endgame,
but we (i) play it out just the same

Renewed, resolvent, arisen,
(my) stake is wooden,
(she is) wet, crimson lipped and collapsing
Rest coldly now, unmoved upon a moribund midnight heart

These Thoughts of her feed on me in the night.
Images that prowl, project and play like celluloid

wanting her I toss and turn,
till, I lay,
languishing, and losing
lifeblood
lost and dreading daybreak
a living dead type of drained

Forlorn Feelings brought back from
damnation
soulless and predatory
This vampire lust won’t die.


But still I doubt Nosferatu had an *** like her’s
KarmaPolice Jun 2014
Sipping from the glass, like a fine wine,
The aroma of your body, simply divine,
Full blooded Italian, dripping down my face,
Dabbed with silken cloth, delicate in taste,
----
Conversation ends, passion no longer there,
Hunger replaced the lust, quiet as you stare,
The pallor of your skin, an array of grey's and blue,
Thirty minutes pass, since I devoured you.
----
I watch your body age, as bones depart your skin,
Your blackened heart remains, a reminder of your sin,
A lady of pleasure, turned her back upon the light,
Into the arms of Nosferatu, as I stalked you through the night.
Edie Aug 2019
Nosferatu     would have balked if not   gone bald.
    They,  too,    from themselves their selves do balk.
Circumnavigate     the   lily pond,
          Iron Lady in the    swaddling baking    egg pies,   with spited
     Curlers    in our    fronds   and — equanimity's edict — forest green-eyed addict —   is
A     plumbed    plum;    a dendritic denizen for    the   cypress,
Willow that   's hung!     Willow that sung!    Soothing it   hugs
     the    sights — such   sour honors  — so smooth-over the boy's club,      so you can get in or      out    whichever    youregoingfor;
bring    them their rose water   which drips   next to the
     chiffon and the    lubricated sewing table — the grape to-
  mato-mottled lunar  ligament: by  dew of the top lip, do lay —
     go gray    in taut winter
Chapter **
Decalogue

In the absence of Vernarth's transitory, Sardinia was still burning with lilting water. Already rejoining the plasma from which he saw him depart, he continued in the liturgy with monophonic ideologies, characteristic of trance as an element of his regressive parapsychological transfiguration. Already divided into various personalities and entities, he could have almost been instructed to leave for Piacenza and join Raeder and Petrobus to set sail for the Dodecanese to expand his duties with Saint John the Evangelist. He meets with Etréstles and the participating comrades that when he arrived at the refuge in the morning, everyone was asleep, except Etréstles who was starching some sheets of bread dough for breakfast. Meanwhile, he had sacred fire heating with sacred water for everyone. Vernarth approaches and Khaire tells him, he answers, a joy to see you.

Vernarth says: Beloved Brother Etrétles, I have already taken the notations to begin the decalogue. Today in the afternoon we will board the Sailboat and leave for Piacenza. We are in the final offering. In the Izanna tower, I called upon the powers of the Universe to present them, and I was commissioned to make notations of the Decalogue of the souls that Live in all the ages of time and its vicissitudes.

Everyone starts to wake up, look at him and say hello. They sit in a circle to enjoy breakfast. Meanwhile, outside the shelter, the horns felt moving to the rhythm of the minutes. In such a way, that the last sound of the Doric scale that the storm segregates, will provide the beginnings of each one of boarding the float that will take them to the pier of Cala Cogone. Everyone says goodbye and hugs each other, Vernarth and his brother says Khaire.

Decalogue I                  
Hanael
                                      ­      
Generosity transformed into a crowd. Many stones co-exist emanating the sweet energy of Hanael, and among these is the Onix, known as the stone of truth. Whose objectivism was dreamed of the Value of generosity in its maximum expression in the courage centered on the very vibration flower of the Gerbera, along with its sober goats of the reign of the heights? Hyperkinetic foot and ascension to spiritual psychic growth, which is the real emblem and symbolism of all the virtues of all the planes, the history not traced, or the memory that is mentioned.

Two unicorns alone will be reached by the ****** who will numb them with the perfume of her purity and her chastity, the reason why she will be related to the ****** Mary and the incarnation of her son Jesus by hugging them with her cloak. The Unicorn's single horn is an emblem of the spiritual arrow, divine revelation, the entrance of the supernatural into man, the sword of God, the opening of the third eye, whose vision is projected towards the ends of the angelic world. Hail Regina Sine Labe Originali Spectam.

Decalogue II
Saint Gabriel

Vernarth you tied to a tree with canvases draws himself to the Angel in his name meaning "God is my strength". According to the Abrahamic religions and Judaism. As a result, she became known as "the messenger". Angel Gabriel continues to have a role in the world, helping both parents and human messengers. Blowing the trumpet to announce the return of the lord to Earth.

In his mediumship, the Archangel Gabriel inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. From which this egregious Vernarth Travel Wheel is not exempt until it is consecrated in Patmos as a sacred and lay reference of a spiritual being in gestation. From here he will cultivate the dignity and the Abrahamic mothers so that they can accept their body, awakening in the souls the scriptural power and communicating vigorous forces, which facilitate overcoming fear and lack of decision in life. Sponsoring God's messages to those who worship him.

Vernarth violates the Xiphos sword's decree to shed blood, but rather to purify the gesture of shedding Faith that cuts hopelessness. United in the Templars gripped by their fellow men of the spiritual warfare that never loses, that is always ready to the limit.


Decalogue III
Two premises

From the first two decalogues, the third is born. Both by the glow of the first reactivates the other, which is a rectilinear light that surprises the dark light that tries to invade its luminosity. At very meager kilowatts, the years that separate the times of adding more vestiges of transcending on moral exercise unfold from intertwining; in such a way that in periods of frank over-excited navigation, the energy of the spirit is advanced, only measurable by the actions and intercommunications of the Angels and Archangels.
"Decalogues / ten analyzes" Assimilations of divine inspiration, which will contain ten components beyond an enumeration of premises that expose the visions when justifying a test. This decalogue includes maxims such as "The Angel is the fundamental value of Mystical Perseverance."


Decalogue IV
Where is the North

The North: Biblical scholars have suggested that the north symbolizes the permanent or the eternal, perhaps because the pole stars could be seen throughout the year. It is the place of God's heavenly habitation (Isa. 14:13) and from where his glory descends (Job 37:22) to bless or judge (Eze. 1: 4). He is the true King of the North. But the north, represented by the left hand, is also a symbol of disaster. The enemy of God's people came from the north (Jer. 1:14, 15; Eze. 38: 6), bringing destruction. In a sense, the enemy was the false king of the north who tried to usurp the role of God and who is ultimately destroyed by the Lord (Sof. 2:12; Dan. 11: 21-45). To see resting in Faith, the north does not distract your gaze, it blesses resting the whole concept that shakes the predisposition to arise to all merit given by physical unity, which I inhabit where I will rest, and the glory has to exalt me. Whoever comes from the north bringing destruction, will crash upon him, bringing reparation for the faith that rebuilds itself. The north is an anti-magnet, preventing what it cannot distort from itself in the Christian saying.


Decalogue V
The desert

Vernarth has to consume the desert like a placid arid and inhospitable place when swallowing it. There is nothing in his hands, not even the most elementary thing found. Where you suffer all kinds of discomforts: thirst and heat, inclement weather, sudden changes in temperature, sand discomfort, deprivation, and material deprivation; not only of the futile things but also of the most necessary. It must be supplied in large baskets to serve those who cultivate and protect it. The desert is a meek sheep in periods of drought when it never leaves you.

The physical reality of the desert can be like a symbol of the imminent spiritual life: it is the place of the detachment of everything superfluous; an invitation to austerity and a return to the essential. It is there where man experiences his fragility and his own limitations; the place of trial and purification. But also the most appropriate setting for a renewed and mature search for our personal encounter with God in prayer, in the silence of the soul, and in the simplicity of the essential. It is here that every symbol, more than all its significance, is transformed into a test of loneliness beyond all abundance of Faith, without even having to support it.


Decalogue VI
Vampirism

In the behavior of the person who acts like a vampire, that society prevails that the behavior is dissociated to whoever does it and not. Many vampire souls have made a pilgrimage for good. No one has been able to exclude them from the darkness and stop rising from the dead to roam the night in a bulky black cape and use long, sharp canine teeth to bite the victims' necks and **** their blood. But modern vampires tend to encounter problems of strict uniqueness such as not being happy, believing even more than by dying to them they are more than a fatal vampire. "We are all Vampires in eternity who deal with darkness and light, fear and courage."
Vampire in Sardinia is drinking the same blood and sprinkling it on the earth that nothing conceals or prescribes sin. Then a child appears, picks up the flower that germinates right there, and the cycle begins again.

“When I train myself in writing saying who I am, I only receive from the purulence of the multitudes, in centuries by centuries, not finding a basis to answer me. They say they do not know what to answer because there is no content that compares to those who have no Age, Life, or compassion. That I only have to communicate with the Strigoi messenger articulated with the souls of the dead who come out of their graves at night to terrorize the neighborhood. That it is the same as I condemned to sail and swarm the World of the Nosferatu aristocracy, a survivor of all human vanity, in all the empires of the World believing to live thousands of years without knowing who helped me, because few give me the option of giving what good of me ”


Decalogue VII
Holy incense

I breathe humid air from the superior deities; they opt for my forehead, as practices that replace those that are detonating to expel theirs. Rain of aromas alter or renew low-voltage emotions for high gods, like the Egyptians who used the most precious varieties of incense. These incense craftsmen, in the times of the Pharaohs, knew all the secrets for making high-quality incense. It has been verified that in some of the precious vessels found in the funeral chambers of Tutankhamun, they kept hundreds of kinds of incense that have still retained their magnificent aroma through the centuries. On Sheesham's bunk beds of fire. Wood and Incense with ultra sensory olfactory powers, to design elemental and supernatural hearts, to house and be adaptable to hyper-connectivity. In the Hindu religion, akasha is the foundation and essence of all things in the material world; the first palpable and concrete material element created by the god Brahmá (air, fire, water, earth are the others). "Here he sleeps without waking up when the morning doesn't wake up, and sleeps when the night doesn't get dark"


Decalogue VIII
Mythology

As mythology, it is called the set of myths typical of a people or culture. Myths, for their part, are narrations starring gods, heroes, or fantastic beings, who explain or give meaning to certain events or phenomena. The word, as such, and this in turn from the Greek μυθολογία (mythology) . Mythology, in this sense, is made up of the set of stories and beliefs, relatively cohesive, with which a people has traditionally explained itself. its origin and the reason for being of everything around it. Hence, we can affirm that mythology shapes the worldview or belief system of a culture. Vernarth from Sardinia where he never thought he was undoubtedly opens up belonging to this place more than the hundred millionth essence of his Being. It unites all the elements that melt together the liquid, aqueous, physical, gaseous, and aqueous., To form the mythology of a true verb of a parapsychological regression, like a great condiment that every mortal lacks as opposed to an immortal.
Alikantus paradigm of Alikanto on his astral journey just three days after climbing in Gaugamela...! The corners of anxiety buzz after lightening their igneous hooves by the slippery stones of the footsteps that seemed to be the same projections of their tasks that marked the Tracian soil before arriving at the request of their harangue. He resorts to Medea, before arriving in Thrace after wandering around different places in search of protection and advice to protect his master Vernarth. While He was submitting to his last opioid libations of vivid liliaceous from angiosperms encapsulated by his right pectoral. That was Alikanto's missive. Ask Medea for a potion so that she can supply her master to deflate his breastplate, and thus be able to use his Panoply breastplate in combat since there were three days left for the duel. Medea arrived in the city of Athens on a stormy day with great dark Dantesque gray on the palm of the cliff, previously escaping near the Abdera cliff, whose east was evacuating black poetry,.


Decalogue XIX
Falangist

As a tactical organization for war created in Ancient Greece and later imitated by various Mediterranean civilizations. ... The term is of Greek origin, φάλαγξ (phálanx), which was used for the defensive formation used by the Hoplites, who constituted the classical phalanx.
Almost at dusk over Zeus's beards, the Vernarth Phalanges begin to arrive. The Macedonian Phalanx or Macedonian Phalanx was an infantry formation created and used by Philip II, and later by his son Alexander the Great in the conquest of the Persian Empire. The Macedonian phalanx arose, in fact, as a response to the tactical modifications that the Theban strategists, Epaminondas and Pelópidas of ground forces, developed in the early 4th century BC. C. to oppose the superiority, although already decadent, that the Spartan hoplite formation had exerted in the land combats between the Greek cops until that date.
Nothing depresses me more than not delegating others as if they were my Falangists, making them participate in defending themselves against all disadvantages and worse punishment with the Panoply armor, a superb protector of those who has no defender. "God is my Breastplate, his Gospel protects me by never being damaged"


Decalogue X
Lepanto

Where I have to shelter, says Vernarth, hostility haunts me. Beautiful landscape that is swayed between the rushes of good that tries to be less bad. Policy judgments, how close to marketing peace, and so far from founding true poetry. Still, Vernarth crossed the waters and their customs. From Lepanto, Greece. He appeared exhausted with his eyes reddened by the gassed atmosphere that greeted them in Battle. Of whose intraterrestrial castes it was the one that was in his iron spirit and reappeared in his cape as a gesture of his personality. He arrived cracking the ****** floors of Tel Gomel when he arrived ... he was assaulted by a soldier who asked for mercy to extend his bad fortune. Lepanto is a pre-military senatorial seat, and a great preparatory to the charms of the drama of my duties that will be in Patmos, never-ending dramas.

Falangist: With his helmet in his hands and the Dorus on his cloak on the ground tells him; every single thing I tried the double edge of my sword stained him. The top sheet notified me that my family in Kalidona was in a state of irregularity since my two older children were called to serve in the militias. And the second edge of my lower Dorus I bow before the meanest preciousness of that of observing with a good spirit to cooperate, now with the callousness of my soul that overcomes it exploiting and dragging my wife as easy spoil. I know that my descendants were buried under the effect of the cataclysm of Pompeii in the future. All will emigrate and then flee when they are devastated and the unwelcome comrades return to reintegrate into the Santa María festival. The Patron Saint who consoled me, but prepared me for the resistance of such bad fortune, that one day she would let herself fall with my crops in the culture of peasant angels in fruits and devotions. I sobbed and sobbed rubbing my animals through my empty eyes day and night. They did it next to me, with the singularity of not affecting me; they went to the nearest stream to sob for me so that I would not be affected by the fatal annihilation.

Epilogue
Patmos and Saint Gabriel

Once installed with the vision of visionary brotherhood that characterizes its filial union with Reader and Petrobus. It will begin in its mediumship with the Archangel Gabriel who inspires artists, singers, poets, writers, and dancers, helps them communicate on a spiritual level to recover inspiration, innocence, purity, and joy of living. As an input of character to validation the function of the Troubadour, Juggler, or Visionary. If it were not for the written and not musical notes, nothing would be more than a vision of being closer to almost hyper-reality, established by the prophecies as historical and religious support. With this last decalogue, Vernarth establishes that one in the work of oneself remains the summary of the prototype of the work. And from the work, the summary that allows the common man to be erected, who in his free will, does not deny, but rather power his unshakable satiety of science in his prostrated soul, under the key of dogma and questioning?
Hildegard Von Bingen has sparked the interest of many scholars, mainly because it seems to contain a major contradiction with respect to the rest of his statements about his visionary experience. In that absence of ecstasy that characterizes the visionary experience of Hildegard von Bingen, It also figures the fundamental difference that separates it from its contemporary Elisabeth von Schönau, and some scholars based this fact to deny it a mystical character and grant it the attribute of prophetic. The attention of this specific passage obeys its comparison with Saint John the Evangelist. The understanding of itself seeks a model, a referent, whose wide field of meaning has to be reconstructed in order to restore the full meaning of this statement. The analysis will stop at the following aspects:

1. In the gesture through which Saint John is shown, and by which Hildegard associates herself with the evangelist and, as we will see, according to the identifications of the time, with the beloved disciple of Christ and with John of Patmos, the author. of the apocalypse.

2. Hildegard's identification with Juan de Patmos will lead us to a comparison of both visionaries focused on the modes of their representation.

3. Finally, the content of the images will be reflected on from an example, hoping that all of this will be concluded with a sharper profile of Hildegard von Bingen's visionary experience.
Vernarth says: “I wander from the stony ruins in Sardinia, to go in search of those who gave rise to themselves. When I thought about believing to create them, they presented themselves to me as a whole that prophesies Creation. ”
DECALOGUE  VERNARTH
Butch Decatoria Sep 2016
[The definition found in "Dictionary.com" for this unique word states:
ADJ. --"Existing or being everywhere, especially at the same time; omnipresence.."]

This is how-my heart gleams
brilliant and gold
to shower you with love like this

a light like mine
exists where We is
it's hearts all over / I *heart
U
universe
          at the same time, "Jinx !"
As close to a curse as it comes,
except for the karats / kids
too heavy to dangle - "Bling!"

But with you
means Nothing to want
when every head light
could be an accident waiting to happen,
like deer in head-lights
Director yells "Cut"
fade to white...out...
          "Frozen
all at once snowball fights"

Music is ubiquitous
            the many places all at once ...
inside my ears . you are breathing . there
inside my heart, between my legs,
the laughter so hard weeps tears
of joyful Art
Thou

Such sound is Love...

Wafting Out
tongue out / thin wafer /
emaciates my tongue into a dry
bed of lake
waiting for the fish to rain...
So i had to swallow

This is symphony
at the tip top / very up / Up
One and only
who made this moment
made you swallow
           the body of guilt
Down the gut and gullet
/ hard kicks
                                               getting some kicks
                                    Off the Quick...
                            Listen
(closely) (at the time)
                            The heart is flesh of sacred jewel
batteries my family too...

This is Symphony,
             not just yours or mine or there's
             something missing
nothing to have to steal
(Need'Em)
we will enjoy all of it together
so close the **** / deal...

Are you really listening.
This is Symphony...

@ @ @

Like Milk
Growing newborns suckle
Needs
to live and who knows...
what his future needs
of him to be      "a Scmucker's"
Big wig big kid  
Living the Fat life of never hungry
watching others hunger
ladies first mother *******
mammy glands
swollen
like the breast
you newborn yesterdays
suckle to stay alive
Like Milk
        
Enrichment is Ubiquitous...

Let our Truthfulness
Lancelot-honor / our weapons of
be-knighted strengths against
the swarm of lies
out numbered weakened from hours
hollow / of virtues heavy
the shadow is blinding --corner-- one's fears:

the strings of puppet can be cut...
       and the weight of a good throwing
stone to be thrown
as weapon for many mini Davids
a toy of boyhood
let us go ward off
Nosferatu / Boogeyman / Heavy
Blind's sake
            For Goodness will Wake

            For you light me up
Your Love glows             Ubiquitous
A Star Sun Burst / Vector / Upside Downs
All around and all at once
at the same time

Such Luminosity is Love...

Light is Ubiquitous. Genuflect.

Amen to Love! Amen.

(We're all Dancing)(All)(at the same time)
For you Art. Symphony.

I *heartLove
Gareth Jul 2016
Oh night filled with wonders

Upturned soil
Forbidden fruit
The dead are arising

Witches dressed in black
Cauldrons bubble and boil
Crimson cats with crooked tails
Deep into the night wail

Vampire hunters sharpen their stakes
Nosferatu what's your fate ?

Mass Murderers with the tools of  their trade Silently
Into the shadows fade
Awaiting the thrill
Of
The ****

Oh velvet night
What wonders do await
Richie Vincent Mar 2017
Victim victim,
Red ***, red ***,
Send hatred right over,
I set my eyes on fire and cry to put them out,
I tore my bible apart and laid down on the pages in hopes my demons would spill out,
I kissed death on the lips and made love with her body,
It felt good

There's something so liberating about watching the toxins run dry,
I didn't wanna tell you this, but the apologies sounded more like hymns than they did tragedies, and,
The look you gave me was ******* crazy and I knew right then and there that there wasn't gonna be a ******* thing in this world that could rip you out of me, and I think I like that,
It gives me something to feel emotional about,
Feel sentimental about,
Something about cyanide makes it taste better on the way back up than it does going down,
What happens when the hero becomes the heroine? I'd **** a man with my bare hands if given the chance, and after that I'd teach his corpse to dance like the needles in his veins

You got me feeling off white,
No lights,
Can't see, in my feelings deeper than the Dead Sea,
I've been so ******* blue, see,
Heartbreaker, please, come along and ruin me,
Lungs black, too filled up with smoke to breathe,
Been knocking on the door for forever now because I lost the key

We didn't say **** to each other for minutes, maybe hours,
I don't remember,
Not that it even matters,

I count the tulips in my head until I fall asleep and your face is all that I see,
Two lips, two fists, twisted, intertwined in one another, and I'm not giving anything up until I have to,
You ****** the blood out of my neck like Nosferatu and the stream felt like a million waterfalls and nothing feels real anymore

I carried the weight of the world and then some, your body felt like a backpack and sometimes I wish I had a bullet big enough to **** the sun

Red rover, red rover,
Send recklessness right over,
High off the adrenaline but I know I'll crash too soon to even give a ****,
This knife felt better going in because at least then I didn't know it even existed, back before it all happened it seemed like I had such better luck

Tummy tuck, semi truck, run me over, slice me open,
You were gone by the time I'd woken,
But there was something about you and that night that felt so golden

I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to the way I was, when everything felt normal and I was normal, but here's to hoping
e fields Jul 2019
Gesundheit;
Just looked back over the letters I never sent
There were so many of them
I can always start but seldom finish
Not just innuendo, trust me,
I wish that it were
That would be a better problem to have

Grandfather ambled about,
In some strokes standing as still as a
Clock and waiting for me to
Wind him. I didn't just then,
Too rusted. Peered through the blinds,
Some light spilled in, I sunk further
Under the covers like Nosferatu,
Dracula, accurate.
Demon.

Eventually he left me to
My slumber again but the
Tranquility was disturbed,
****** left the lid to the coffin
Wide open.
Later I shifted about,
Slinking around different eaves,
Trying to disappear
From the frames of any
Francophilic voyeurs,
I can never find them
Though I know they're always there

Later still returning to the
Origin point of that morning
Finding grandmother now occupying
That plot where I bury and unseal and bury again
She asked if she should leave
But I assured her I'd tell her
Were that ever the case
Though I surely wouldn't:

She's sensitive like I am,
She knows all the signs from her youth abroad
Her mother alternating between
Stints of fox and hare in as
Many rapid cycles
of the phases of the moon
Tareyton smoke drifting over
The damp gardens of tea leaves
She read for prophecies always
Served to keep her steady until
They walled her up in a mattress room
Some of us aren't designed for this place
The coveted excuse of genes,
These weaknesses are inherited traits

A return call from the doctor
Too distracted to find a pen
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i always found the real crux of horror to be the sound, rather than the image: you are sure to watch every horror movie there is on mute and barely flinch... as if to say: about that man in the sky? he's in a vacuum, and what he sees is hardly that horrific, in need of intervention.

and may i add... sound doesn't underline
the image, nor does it compliment it,
it's there out of its own right -
    which begs the question of nosferatu...
           if i remember, a silent movie...
and the epitome of further b-movie horror types:
if it ain't got the perfect chiller-score...
it ain't happening.

i only say this, because i have just been
watching a bbc2 documentary on
francis bacon...
      but it's not really about the documentary
that i'm suddenly prompted:

and so the saturday papers
land in my lap...
      and it's hard not to notice the saturday
times* magazine...
      and how there's this focus on selling images,
or how to get from 212 to 5K followers
on instagram...
           they really have created
a grotesque version of carpe diem, haven't they?
i always imagined carpe diem to
be something like a memory of a single
chance at catching that blimmin' unicorn...
   but to carpe diem, carpe diem, carpe *******
diem that maxim 100 times in a day?
  oh look... a doughnut... oh look:
a stampede of commuters trapped in a hamster
maze of the Tottenham Court Rd. station...
    i've never seen such an abuse of a maxim
as i see now... it's either carpe diem: truly,
extending well beyond a month or a year and
gives birth to an atypical nostalgia...
or it's diem epilepsia -
    then again it might be called:
                                         blitzkrieg tag...
         oh there's nothing stupid about it,
let's not be condescending...
                             we need more models than
plumbers, we'll get the construction workers
from eastern europe,
             josh sho we can pose and talk
        posh tosh... with those purshed lipsh...
and i do get squinty-eye eating a pickled raw
herring... smacker a dozen extras and we're
en route, to the moovies...
       this bound to make more sense to me,
to the point where i like saying these things
once of wolkewein is in me -
since i'm currently not even sniggering:
well, there was the fact that i saw the results
from France's presidential first round (april 23)...
as if the current times didn't need
a biblical reference... about how the EU /
revival of the roman empire...
      would be / like that statue in nebuchadnezzar
be standing with a golden head...
    silver torso... (pst... if you're a journalist
working for a respectable newspaper, turn away,
now... us religious fanatics can keep a dream
by some king for a long time, and drape reality
with it, give or take 3000 years)...
    because there... standing on clay tip-toe...
the moment you shout
    into a forest rather than a cave and hear
an echo...
                    it's biblical realism, i really can't
imagine it otherwise... but hey!
                the Europeans tried to be united...
then again, they realised they were the indigineous
people... and they all spoke their own tongue...
   or maybe they were bored by speaking English
all the time? maybe they said: ****'s with these
terrible accents? so they went back home and
spoke in pristine, middle-class accents...
                      and thus said: ah, that's better.
a bit like: try talking Glaswegian in Chelsea...
   they'd ask you if you're chewing on a toothpick
sooner than tell you where the nearest
tube station is; but you know, i'm just a little man
in a big big world... and if i wasn't writing a
commentary about the times i live in...
                           wouldn't i? i surely would...
it's even more fantastic than seeing Troy pillaged...
or Rome and in the background Nero's lyre...
  something more precious is crumbling...
         it's these dreams, ambitions and hopes
and guarantees that are burning...
     and they are more fantastic to watch than
any temple or citadel...
   then again: i could be thinking these things prematurely,
which would mean they're a load of *******...
i don't, i always liked the idea of a quiet life
in a small town in Finland... where i couldn't
get a newspaper, and get so agitated about my
impotence in terms of changing the world as the people
littering the pages are capable of...
                 then again: that's probably a good thing -
minimum effort, maximum result,
or as we love to say:
   from geocentrism, to heliocentrism... through
to egocentrism... which can only mean one thing:
              egononcentrism - otherwise known as the people.
a wildfire Nov 2014
I was having an out of body experience last week and I asked Barbara to fetch me a glass of water and she fainted. She said that my lips were colorless and that she saw this bright light shining above me. I don't know too much about all that, but I might guess that I was dead for a minute or so. How can you ever be sure though?

I met Barbara back when I lived on 5th street and we were both into a lot of experimental drugs. It was a dark time. I feel like she's alright, you know? I've grown rather fond of her, anyway. She says she's been sober for a couple of years now. I guess she could've made the whole "out of body" thing up, but I remember feeling really off later that night. I didn't sleep for two days.

On Saturday we dropped acid for the first time in a long time and watched Nosferatu in the loft. I've felt partially responsible for her abandoning her sobriety. Lately it feels like I've been losing time. There are hours that I can't account for. That could all be in my head though.

— The End —