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raen Feb 2015
An almost stillness came about as she strode into my door,
like breath itself refused to move,
fearful of touching her mysterious beauty

But her obsidian eyes betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
she looked at me,
and I knew…


Molten lava spilled forth from her mouth, melting our clocks—
eighteen hundred nightmares compressed in two hours.
Long hand moving forward, as the short hand moved backward
How can memories persist in such an acrid life?

She spoke of a beast in the guise of a man,
one who ravaged innocence with the flick of a click
A coward that collected milk teeth for hardened bones
of other ***** beasts with no spine

That throaty tenderness when she spoke,
sprinkled crystal seeds of frustration in me
She says she loathed him, denied she loved him,
but her obsidian eyes betrayed her

There she was, a bud he plucked from the nuns’ garden
He grafted then he pruned her,
spreading her pollen, wafting her scent
yet folding her petals to himself

Caterpillars feeding upon her leaves,
she lets them devour her,
yet once they are wrapped in their cocoons to sleep,
she stabs them with her thorns.

Tears then slid down from her midnight lace eyes
and it was all I could do to catch them
She said she was weary of curtailing butterflies,
of tearing their wings before they can even fly

I had to ask, how many… how many winged gems?
She lifted her sleeves, and showed me her scars
One ugly mark for each innocent child plunged deep,
my heart getting slashed at least three hundred a beat.


A certain stillness came about as I strode into her door,
like fear itself refused to move,
letting breath touch her mysterious beauty for the last time....

Her obsidian eyes had betrayed her.

Sharp and gleaming,
with a silver sheen
I looked at the knife beside her.

Maroon-mapped sheets, a stunted womb.

Strains of Bon Iver’s “Flume”
flit past the sighing air like a butterfly,
and I knew…
Agosto, 2014
AD Mullin Nov 2014
In pursuit of an elusive harmony
     summer nights rolled away from us
     reverberating into a numinous bassline
     reconciling the duality of our dreams
     with the non-duality of our burgeoning truth

Plying our differences into commonality
     re-aligning fractured selves using the agency
     of Jungian synchronicity and finding
     immutable archetypal truth: INFJ and INFP
     our portraits resonating essence from meetings past

Flustered with desire
     walking in non-ordinary reality, finding love
     and getting lost in Source, the Love that
     is magnified so purely through the portal
     of your soul

Much more than a soul mate, Plato
     tells stories of Zeus splitting souls in half
     as punishment for pride
     in this incarnation, we've both found humbility
     will this be enough to carry us back to our nobility?
It is challenging to find your way back
     into a lover's arms, my mistakes haunt me
     through eternity but I wake up every morning
     let them go, just as the sun sets and rises, reminding us
     with experience, guidance, and repetition ... it gets easier

My half soul, my plag nishmasa
     awoke when my mortality decomposed before me
     when half becomes one, then the real turmoil begins (and it's delicious)
     on Acheron Shores, Raven calls
     and I follow my destiny into an obsidian night
'If I cannot deflect the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell.' ~~ Virgil
Dawn King Jan 2015
Obligated attentions often wander
While mention of you has become obsolete
The natural order was but a paradox
As if malevolent incantations drawn behind obsidian palisades
Moil to counter the divine

Each sunrise on countless days past
Out near the eastbound pines, totem ravens cast out
Narrations from night time Goddesses
Visions of the prospective, ironically incongruous

The palisades must be breached

I have not the strength

Yesteryear’s unified heart
Now cavernous barren wastelands
That blow eternal drifts
Toward the obsidian palisades


Permeate the baneful fractures of the unintended
laika Sep 2014
Block by block
I delve down
is it iron?
is it gold?
or only gravel and stone

toiling with pick and shovel
I dream obsidian spires
towering 190 blocks above the shore

I dream wheat fields
and cow pens
nestled amidst rolling hills

I dream discovery

but before these
there must be iron
Jim Marchel Sep 2016
We will never forget...

The last day dawns on my life
And I don't know it
As I wake up to golden rays
Of sun knocking on my eyelids.

I kissed my wife good morning,
Got up out of bed
And tucked her in again.
Naomi spent 10 hours last night
Delivering a new mother's firstborn.
I didn't tell her good morning
And I wish I told her I loved her
But I didn't want to wake her.

I sipped my coffee on the way to work
As if it were any other day,
My only worry was if I had spilled any
On the new pink and white
Polka-dot tie my daughter Elise
Had bought me for my birthday
Last weekend
Or the new Bostonian shoes
My wife gave me
With the card that read,
We love you from top to bottom!

I walked into the conference room
And checked my watch:
I was 9 minutes early
To the most exciting moment
Of my career:
My first pitch as project manager
For the new country club going up
East of the city in Glenwood Landing.

I was 10 minutes early
To the most helpless moment
Of my life.

At 8:45 I said good morning
To many fine ladies and gentlemen...
Bankers, lawyers, city representatives,
A union boss, some secretaries,
And a stenographer in the back.

The same words I would never again say to my wife and child...

And immediately I was thrown
Through the air
And knocked against the righthand wall
Of the room.
I was utterly confused
And my face burned
From the coffee I had been holding
That now stained
My beautiful polka-dot tie.

It would be nothing compared to the heat I would soon face.

Outside our 111th-story window
Rose an obsidian plume of smoke.
We all knew something terrible
Had happened just a few floors below.

The fine ladies and gentlemen
Of a moment ago
Quickly turned into uncivilized beasts
As the lights went out
And the piercing scream of the fire alarm
Shouted louder than the new mother
Experiencing the pain
Of her first childbirth.

Smoke very quickly came from below
And filled the floor with the foulest odor
I had ever smelled:
Burning rubber, sulfur,
And burnt hair.
Others in the room sealed the door shut
With expensive overcoats and undershirts
From Armani and Burberry.

They tried the phone countless times
But the line was dead.
I looked down at my watch
As a bead of sweat fell from my brow
And landed on my new tie:

Today's date.

The fire alarm got tired of yelling
And the room was filled with an
Uncomfortable rumbling sound...


...and the hysterical wails of the
Fine ladies and gentlemen in the room.
Some prayed, some wept together,
Others wept alone.
The one thing we all had in common
Was the persistent coughing
From the obsidian smoke
Slicing our lungs.

I looked down at my watch:
The heat was now almost unbearable.
We huddled around the window
Jack or John or Jim smashed
With the powerful throw
Of a mini-refigerator.

When I gazed out the window
At the same sun that kissed my eyelids
This morning,
I was calm.
I thought of Naomi, who was
Surely watching on television
As her family called her to make sure
Her and I and Elise were alright.

Daddy's alright, baby girl.

I'm alright, Naoms.

Gary or Greg was the first to jump.

I'll make it home to you, angels.

Sophia or Cynthia was next.

Please, God, get me out of here...

Jack or John or Jim
And Patty or Peggy
Were each other's last hug
As they fell
Like two stars from heaven.

I couldn't see
And I couldn't breathe.
The sunlight was the last thing to kiss me.

Before I jumped
I felt my girls.
I touched the tie on my neck
And the shoes on my feet.

I love you both

From top to bottom.
We will never forget...
Trevor Gates May 2013
I’ve been expecting you.
I’ve waited an eternity.
Please sit
Thank you
I will now tell you things

I will tell you things I will do
Things I will do to you

Are you curious to know what they are?
You should be.

As I am curious to know
What compelled you to come here?

Everything in your conscious told you to stay away.
Yet, you are here.
Your friends warned you
But, you are here
Your nagging doubts, your conflicting reasoning all point to something else
Alas, you are here

And I can’t seem to understand why.
You know what I am.
I am an unconventional socialite of the most diabolic kind

I feed off the likes of you.
The sweet, tangible nectarine of modern serenity
The soft, lavender of incorruptible virtues
The delicate outer skin of savory delectability

My mouth waters at the very thought of you
I salivate with the very presence of you
I can feel my blood rush
My hands shake with anticipation

Let my touch
Caress you
Warm you
You don’t deny it
Because you long for it
You long for me to trace your lips with my fingertips
To suckle the flesh drops of your ears
To familiarize my hands with your supple body
To show you the darker side of forbidden passion
To welcome you into the bounty of vicious coitus
And depraved, animistic *******
And deep recessive *******
And blood constricted battering
With lines and whips
Leather and
And masters
And tormentors
And wicked shadows lurking in the room
Watching us as we display the ungodly exhibition
Of your forbidden desires

For me to savor the swelling peach of your ***** fruit.

This is for you.

Even as you proclaim your goodness to others
You have a side of your personality that demands unsuppressed copulation.

And why do you need this?
Why do you need me?

I can see it in your eyes.

It was because people in another world told you to hide your womanhood
To despise you sexuality
For it will make you weak
And vulnerable

What was your story behind your frailty?

It could have been the close-minded parents of the old age, who never tried to think for themselves; only allowing others with higher knowledge to justify their old-fashioned morals.
The life you saw through popular culture and mind-altering media.  The problem with pop cultivation is that is follows the wave lengths of susceptible hosts: the average, everyday citizens that “trust” the outside word; that “trust” what is said to them through dystopian and totalitarian subtleties.  
You didn’t know better.
But you could tell it wasn’t right
How is it that a young child can truly know what is right and what is wrong
More so than the misconceived adults?
Because simplicity is key to filtering the complex

Now what does this have to deal with you sexuality
Because unless you do what is only natural for you to do, others will tell you what you should do.

Now, you embrace your emerging fruition.
As my tongue slithers around your sensitive ****
My fingers stretch and penetrate your wanting *****
Is your chance
Overpower the host before you
It is a test

Your daunting task ahead is to overthrow the embellishment of your submission

Are you up to it?

We shall see.

The shadows on the walls are the ones that maimed you
Scolded you
Accosted you
Abused you
Terrified you
Rectified you
Molested you
Suffocated you
Punished you
Insulted you
Silenced you
***** you


Because they are:
Afraid of you
Intimated of you
Worried of you
Scared of you
Enticed by you
Infuriated by you
Aroused by you
Alarmed by you
Entranced by you
And pleasured by you

Could you be all and none of what I said?
You tell me
Whisper it in my ear
Now bite it
Use your teeth and swear it
Tear it and devour it
My creature of the night
My child of ritual
My servant to flesh
My master to skin
My all to this and none to that
The embodiment of lust
The being of now

And the beginning of the end.
Thank you for coming here tonight my dear.  Send my regards to your fans and loved ones: Johnny Depp, Lucifer, Mammon, Hellraiser, Candyman, egg whites, Wool hats, Epson printers, Derek Riggs, Spider-man, Bruce Willis, Lampshade, Black Holes, Taxi drivers, Durex condoms, Hank Azaria, Simon Pegg, Colonel Sanders, Iron Man, Spike Jones, Spike Lee, Spike Speigel, Eva Green and of course his imperial majesty, David Bowie.

Maybe we’ll see each other again.
Tiana Lloyd Jun 2016
Her skin is Obsidian,
Forged in the sacred flames of pain,
Calamity, and destruction.
She walks through Hell unscathed, for she is
She was anguish, she was suffering,
She was guilt, she was unrequited love, she was hate.
Molded, formed, shaped, and artfully crafted, her darkness was beautiful.
zebra Jun 2017
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the shear immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night

when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes

no longer able to contain her self
she would strip naked
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo

as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening  echo
through the sky

without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching

the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song

oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true

i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score

you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle

hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like you only could

tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth naked wet

a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows

her tender pink ****
a chard flower
like a
John Leuven Apr 2014
Sometimes I wake up to
spatial tension
and awkward sting,
where there are fractions of
unwanted proteins and
dripping enzymes.
Sometimes I wake up to
obsidian corpuscles
of unknown origin
and encounters with
and rafter-rattlers.
Sometimes it is as simple as
dripping beige,
intangible amber,
and cold, cold, blue.
Sometimes I wake up
to nothing, too.
SøułSurvivør May 2015
etched under my skin
flame roses blister

scars on the palms
of my hands bleed
stigmata thorns

my eyes freeze to crystal
the tears around my neck are
fashioned in lace black obsidian

my lips - the color of amber
and fire - are vows
never broken

my moons are scarlet
my stars are cold
my sun is silver
and beaten GOLD


onyx and obsidian  
firelight, oblivion
supernova, starlight
wrapped in black but so bright
This I'm hoping will grow into something more, it as a metaphor for the paradox of dark and light, coexisting in the same space, space occupied by people. we are both dark and light.

I'm debating on leaving it as is, or trying to get something else out of the thought.
DEW Dec 2016
What do you hold dear?
I've seen it.
Tasted it.
Owned it.
Thrown it away.
I've loved it, hated it, ignored it.
This is what we fear:

The primitives unearthed the obsidian.
Their eyes caressed its semi-reflective luster.
Their fingers ran along the smooth confines of purpose,
or rather, surface,
it was cool to the touch
and obsidian whispered its secrets
imparting realities the primitives sought.

Tree bark was no longer an obstacle.
The flesh of beast
land, air, or sea-bound
came away like loose clothing
and the people rejoiced, teeth all the whiter.

One day, whilst digging with his prized tool,
one man found a sparkling oddity.
It puzzled him deeply.
And so,
he unearthed it
and sought to reveal its
mystery, disrobing the dirt that clung
to its crystalline body this thing, this... diamond
in the ruff was beautiful, but truly,
what worth was beauty
in light of the fill
of belly?

The man put faithful obsidian
back on the shelf
and joined his hard-working brethren at the fire.
In the night,
a stranger passed through the village.

The man sat at his fire,
chipping the stone from the crystal,
entertaining the astounded onlookers
as he perfected the gem.
The stranger looked upon the diamond
and she delighted in her providence.

She stood at the fire of the meal place
allowing its haunting glow
to cast her face in flame and shadow.
She announced,
"Look upon his treasure.
This is no mere stone!
A fist of this
can buy you king's riches
in Assur.
This man cares not for that..."
And with that, she skulked into the shadows.

Those whose hungry eyes
spoke for their hollow hearts
came forward and pleaded with the man.
If he does not care for the stone,
mustn't he choose a kin who does?

"You care not for the stone!"
the man declared,
"You care for the debauchery of the city!
I must keep this to ward you from death."

Their pleading became insistent
then ravenous,
but the man defended himself,
until one deranged man,
drunk with the fantasy of the gem,
stabbed the possessor in the back.
Thence began the war for the diamond.

Who should be the
possessor of the diamond?
Bloodshed can be no true reward.
Bodies lay strewn across the floor in warring poses
teeth gritted
eyes glaring
one ****** palm sated with the prize.

The stranger danced into the bankrupt fray
snatched the gem from the dead grip
clutching it for herself.

She smiled her yellow smile that
by her sin
could only be cleansed
by the innocence of the crystal clear gem.

She walked off triumphant.

All around, obsidian glittered in the fires
that now fought to consume the village.
The first man crawled in the dirt,
like some blood-trailing slug,
trying to escape the inferno.
Trapped, he leant against a wall
and obsidian clattered to the floor.
He picked it up,
"****** are those who delight
in fill of fantasy,
o'er fill of belly!"
There, the fire consumed him,
screams and all.

How unfortunate it is
for the meek to pay the price
for the world's greed.
I love that spark of inspiration and what follows.
Kudos to all you poets out there who've influenced me to this point.
You've made me stonger, and for that, many thanks!

Enjoy this piece to the fullest :)

ryn Apr 2017
Kiss me asleep
with your obsidian lips.

Protect my ears
from the cacophony nights would bring.

Fill the void
between heartbeats that skip.

Take me into the lull,
and into the siren song that you sing.
Trevor Gates May 2013
Welcome to tonight’s show

Allow me to introduce myself.

I go by many names

Some of which, you may know
But those do not need to be mentioned
a howl, a moan, a scream, a summoning
Let’s keep this interesting.

This is the midnight calling
This is the raven cawing

This is the shadow lurking
And the jackals slurping

The demons wailing
While Charon is sailing,

The Acheron
The river
The first

The Eternal song
Of dripping livers
and Thirst


This is all confusing
And amusing
To some
And many
But to me it is painful



­A subjective simmer of passivity
A pious dose of sheer calamity

Once upon a time

In a land past the desert
Was a neon capped city
Devoid of hope

And shaped by
Casual nihilism

And too much money

A powerful portrait in all its brevity
The display of sweltering people melting against the asphalt
The mucous sunscreen and coarse sand between the toes

And crooked nails
And bleached hair
And coffee stained teeth
And pink nails
And Gucci purses
And Versace dresses
Shutter Shades
$5 lap dances

And promiscuous preteen slaves
Pop sensations
Internet ****
Social networks
Smart phones
Model rock stars
Mundane seductively
For him
Or she
The nepotistic aficionado


Delicious, robust, superb, disdain  
*******: Nose Candy
******: Snake venom
After Parties: ******* adrenaline
***** Film tryouts: Garage studio
LSD: Acid
Plastic: Lips, skins, *******.
Hits of E


Do you have change for a hundred?
Or a change for a life?

Cites in Dust
Thank Siouxsie and the Banshees; A carnival.

Tears for Fears, they’re Head over Heels

Love will Tear Us apart
From Joy Division, who claims she’s lost control

Los Angeles
Exene and Billy Zoom’s Wild Gift.

The perpetual rise of sunset rockers and Neon knights.
Teens crawling through the muck of socialites and incubator nightmares
Civil borders wired by racial slurs and salivating bigotry
Water replaced by blood
Spit interchanged for souls
And fire traded for icy methamphetamine

Warriors and survivors

Poets and dreamers

Shooters and inhalers

Geeks and groupies

Burnouts and Dropouts

Sweet dreams are made of this

Such a show, such a show! Bravo Bravo! Thank you, thanks to all I have time to thank: Martin Sheen, Julius Ceasar, Fender Guitars, Randy Marsh, elbow pads, Chuck Berry, Al Green, X, Joy Division, Tears for Fears, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Less than Zero, Alucard, Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly, Daryl Dixon, George Harrison, Brad Pitt, Rooney Mara (Love you), Belstaff, Emma Watson (Love you too), Laure Heriard Dubreuil, Manolo Blahnik, Hannah Murray and Michele Abeles.

So many to mention, so little time. We’ll be back.
This is one of my favorites I've done so far in this series. I had just finished reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis and watch Gregg Araki's films, The Doom Generation and Nowhere, which all three sum up the existentialism and merging rampancy of living in Los Angeles, California. An experience I will never forget.
Trevor Gates Apr 2013

Welcome back

To the greatest show on earth


At least your earth

Your world

Your mind
Your brain and skull and cartilage
And blood and guts and nails.

Your ears and your nose and your eyes
Your mouth and your fingers and your teeth

The bile, the pus, the plasma, the snot, the discharge

The everlasting, physical being of our callous calamity:
The flesh of dehumanization;
The soul of debauchery;
The mind of maliciousness;
The avarice of mortal delusion
Forged from the blade of segregation

Titans of industry
Gods of ******
malcontent youth
Diseased from each other
And their mentors

The masters
The hands
The hands smothering your body in mud, caressing your skin with a lovely touch.
Fingers smooth out wet clay on your chest; on your *******
Coming around to feel your goose bumps
Your *******
Your aroused body
I can feel your heavy breathing
Is it getting hot in here?
Fog up the windows
Let me unbutton this shirt
Or maybe I'll just rip it off

Suckling on my finger.  I feel your hands wrap around my belt
Pull it off

Open your mouth
Let me enter
Pull me closer
Let me know you want me to please you
To satisfy you
I will

It's getting bigger

It's getting warmer

The sweat around your *** is the sweetest

Pull, squeeze, moan, beg, roar, toss, push, ******, finger, lick, bite, drool, eat, play, ******, moan, ****, ****, touch, ****, turn, harder, faster, moan, slower, deeper, longer, push, pop, rush, ***, stroke, slither, bite, lick, ****, roll, eat, ****, gasp, ****, moan, ******, ****, bite, push, ****, ******, ****, lick, squeeze, moan, faster, ****, deeper, again, again, again, and




The Neon angels
The paranoid androids
The singing kings
The screaming queens
The velvet demons
The glorified burnouts
The occupants of netherworld Los Angeles
Of upside down New York
Of abstinent Paris
Of Leather clad London
Of **** chum *** Boston
Of nuclear Moscow
Of this and that and another one of those and a round on the house!


Dedicated to: Milk, shampoo, James Dean, Pink Floyd, Feudal Japan, Terry Gilliam, Rasputin, Marquis De Sade, Archangel Gabriel, Shiva, Gary Oldman, USB cables, Staplers, Converse shoes, California license plates, George Harrison, Jaguars, Quantum Physics, down syndrome, Jason Lee, Lily Allen, Indian women, Multi-colored rain, manbearpig, Pandora Peaks, Dethklok, The Evil Dead and of course all those that need no introduction.  

We'll see you soon.
This is part of a free-formed writing exercise I developed to cope with my "Creative isolation"

long story.
Trevor Gates Jan 2013
It’s good to see you again.

We’ve been expecting you



Bringing forth nighttime lore, the charming chamberlain of Libertine plays
Summoning forth demonic myths, the illustrious weaver of unspoken entities
Dancing on memories, the enchanting fairy of skeletal trees
Sizzling behind magenta curtains, the voluptuous seductress of throbbing blood
Laughing at the potluck, the swollen headmaster of flab
Killing in the alleys, the inscrutable Ripper of Jack
Fornicating in the wild in the dragon’s keep, the ***** of Babylon

Swell the strings!
Blast the horns!
The cast is assembled

The symphony of sensational voyeurism
Yes, you in delight
Don’t deny your
Sacred rite
That’s right

Join my dear

Don’t be shy

Ascend the stairs

And come on stage


Take my hand and venture now through the broken mirror of Assyria
The dunes of sands
Mounded and layered beneath the crisp blue sky

Not a single cloud
Not a single soul

Except for us

My dear
Feel the sand

It’s cool to the touch

The wind encircles your lush hair

The air feels and smells like the breeze of the sea

Where Athenian, white houses line the shores of this desert-sea world

Look up into the blue sky

Witness the open dome in the center

Above our head

Past the blues sky dome is the space between spaces.

Orange silk stars and red trimmed planets
Violet smeared nebulae and green morphing galaxy clusters

Float up to the top of the open space dome in the center of the sky

Reach out and extend your hand

As you touch, the area between this world and the next, ripples spread out from the imagery of the universe.

You touch water in the form of visual, ethereal paradise

The ripples of time expand like the vibrations of sound across the sky

Painting a new canvas of dripping oils and melting clocks

Close your eyes.

Your body hovers in the air

Far from the ground

And far from the person everybody knows

No matter how much a person perceives to know about another, there will be a part us that no one will ever comprehend.

Because to completely absorb the entirety of another life



thought process



Is incomprehensible



A new world attrition
Through masturbatory perdition

A raging, unquenchable and suffering desire that plagues

The bold

The young

The old

The naive

The smart

The swift

The innocent

The ******

The addicts

The self-proclaimed purists

The self-proclaimed “good people”

“innocent people”

“trusted people”

We are all what we live for: a lie

A lie that consumes the norm

With invisible abnormalities

We are the blind

The deaf

The mute

The chained

The ignored

The punished

The poor

The dumb

The frightened

The dead

The end

Thank you for being here once again.  None of this couldn’t be possible without: Clive Barker, Iron Maiden, headphones, batman, duplexes, Salvador Dali, The hour of the Wolf, folding chairs, wool blankets, Silicone *******, chocolate icing, Bruce Campbell, 28 Days Later, true love, true grit, The seventh seal, black widow spiders, Vishnu and anyone else I forgot to mention.

Please come again.
Yes, yes I know you are probably asking, "How many of these entries are there?" . I couldn't say really, but hey stick around and found out. Let's see what my mind has to offer.  Probably not much, but is it quality or quantity that should out weigh each other? Boing! Hey look, Pizza.

No need to fret, protesters outside my window, this is now a declaration of war to your lives (or is it?), just a free verse/form writing exercise.  Till we meet again my Peeps, minions and droogs.
Melody W Nov 2012
Troubled waters met with broken land tug
Heartstrings that tremulously threaten to unravel;
Existence on this dwindling planet is but a mere whisper that
Rustles these complex restraints,
Ever silent in their longings

In the end, what will we have to grasp
Save for these elusive phantom wills?

Aventurine stones are cast into the sea
Lovers still sing of devastating intersections of torment and desire
While children, their quiet eyes unwavering
Ache for the comforts of home and sturdy perennials that
Yield more than the first fruits of
Sorrow and catastrophe

Hold tightly to one another, while murmurs of
Obsidian lullabies and faraway dreams become
Perpetual fragments carried away by the wind; this
Ending is not truly the end.
©MW, acrostics
Trevor Gates Apr 2013
Good evening

And welcome to tonight’s decadent performance


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.


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


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
Many of you
Ignore these simple phrases
Through dismal conversations
Uncultured prejudice
Manipulated through shallow ignorance
The music that is neglected begins to wilt
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


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.
TJ Shadows Feb 2018
The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation

Heart racing and it begins
Butterflies start to dance
Rushing flow of ecstasy
giddiness embracing

Flying higher and higher
Freedom and happiness
awareness with every touch

Heart compressing
Stampede of hysteria
Slow crawl into desolation
Loosing grip

Falling faster and faster
servitude and disorientation
Restlessness with every thought

The taste of bitter toxicity
The feel of obsidian
The sound of inhalation
The excitement of exhalation
Addiction, to whatever you’re Addicted to.
Lora Lee Jun 2016
Dark, so sweetly
spirals of black
slaking black
in layers
        of rhythm
liquid night
        into oblivion
drink up, my love
let thirst
       be satisfied
let the pulses
of rock and hard
places be
         hotly gratified      
dusty artifacts
in alternation
as we imbibe the potions
           of manifestation
they twist and turn
bubble up through the muck
electrify the system
as we get ready to ****
  up all those hollow,
vapid schemes
busting them apart
         demolishing themes
of stereotyped hearts
smashing through convention
until the dry becomes wet
reaching ascension
in tears and sweat
the water gets flowing
     down from mountain ice
as we pulverize limits
          without thinking twice
and while obscurity
of twilight in the shadows
             of dusk
blurs our vision
in harsh realities, brusque
we know that we must be who we are
live this life in full force
filter broken voices
that sabotage our course
      and in a flick
                 of a whisper
an ancient eye blinks
and with one feral breeze
we are over
         the brink
like a fall from a
cliff in a delicate arc
              we open up
our buried layers
to the obsidian
No to stereotypes
no to prejudice
yes to freedom, equality
and loving how we want
It was the eve of a black obsidian night
full purple moon and stars shone bright
  the howl of one lone wolf filled frigid air
damp cold mist needed down outerwear.

The screaming banchee's breath vapor
was noxious green befitting the caper
  of scaring all children by his loud noise
of trick or treating little girls and boys.

A massive link ink wrought iron fence
surrounds eerie mansion in suspense
  Frankinstein pushes thru spider webs
while a monster exercises quadriceps.

A ghost wanders in Cemetery's grave
and a pumpkin avoided an autoclave
  the doors began to creak very loudly
a Raven and Owl sang quite proudly

Slick sleek ebony crows sit atop a roof
while another swoops, soars like a goof
  do listen, you can hear their shrill echo
tombstone-songs by mummy's gecko

© Carmela M. Patterson
Brandon Amberger May 2016
The Road to redemption
Is a daunting path
It’s an uphill battle
That is slippery and steep
It goes against the current
In the frigid rough rapids
With rays of blistering sun
A jagged wall of obsidian
And a sea of sand
There are no shortcuts
Only cuts, scrapes and bruises
What you did in the past will never be forgotten
But what you are remembered for will have changed.
Austin Mosher Apr 2013
The rain like a cold, damp, blanket on my skin
Obsidian trees drink tears of the creature’s sin
Ivory trees lie barren
Housing a great red heron
The stars of the universe
Hidden in his burlap purse
Long luxurious locks, floating in the wind
wild guard with the masked face, eyes of sharp obsidian
and salient sword
It is a thing of cruel beauty, of glinting silver and a handle  the colour of starless midnight
It drips, an offering of crimson to the starving Earth
"Drink" he whispers lovingly "How is it that we left you to your crippling hunger?"
Thunder crackles in approval as Earth is appeased and he rumbles with laughter, electrified by lightning
and rain falls quenching its arid surface
A smile graces his face and light his wild eyes of molten obsidian
He walks, away from the bodies that fed Earth, their blood soiling his boots
back into the darkness that feeds the monsters and nightmares
PhiWrit Dec 2014
This world we live in is terribly cold
Stone hearts will chill your bones
**** your soul or so I have been told
By experiences of varried tones
If you could travel through
A mile or two in my shoes
You would lose your mind
And leave reality behind
Just like I did in a devilish bid
To try and find hope,
And a way to cope
With this life so morbid
Dealing with years of abuse
Each time I would reduce
And shelter my mind away
Blocking out the violent foray
The constant concussive ridicule
From parents with a wrathful rule
Their constant battery to my psyche
Has left me with barely any sanctity
Of mind, soul, and heart
All piles of rubble before I could start
So when I  wander yonder, I cart
Around my dead childhood
Through this broken neighbourhood
While I wear an obsidian hood
So people don't see the real me
Enough said, it would fill you with dread
Because if only you could see
The face behind the mask,
You might finally know me
In a deeper sense, my task
The method to my madness
That I am acting under duress
I might impress upon your life
What it means to go through strife
You may have done worse deeds
But you didn't have to live your life on Speed.
Radwan Jun 2010
The road marched on,
beside a beach it ran.
Hailing the sea and heeding its groan.
Walking along, I came into view.
Welcoming the sea with a smirk.
The rising sun gently pushed down the red's blue.
Blessing the world with a yellow tint it lit up the view.
Much closer than the sun, another glimmer grew.
Down on the beach and off the road was where my feet then flew.
Getting closer, slowly I advanced through the sand.
Still it glimmered, though its glimmer was but a con.
A bottle lay ahead of me, flirting playfully with the sea, as he caressed her gently with his waves.
She beckoned to my curious hands.
"Come forth and grab me like I was yours."
A cork and a paper were in the bottle.
You've already been used, filled and plugged; you come with a catch. I am to receive a message!
Hastily I scratched the cork off as my fingers took it out.
Now for the message, unrolling, my eyes caught sight of the first lines..

[I write to you from the shores of pessimism:
These shores are dark and dreary.
The waves here are slow and drowsy
The water is turbid and murky
Enthusiasm is a scarcity
and optimism was long ago banished from the land.
Pessimism and depression reign supreme and none can avoid their grip.
These shores have been the end of many a happy soul's journey.
This is where they all came to know the meaning of surrender.
And the satisfaction of despair.
All flames were put out and all their torches were thrown into the waters.
You won't be needing them anymore, they were told.
The reason for that is quite obvious, torches bring light and light mediates hope.
In a place where all hope must be extinguished and remain so.
No, your torches won't be needed here.
Here is where you wallow, in darkness and despair.
Where you sit is where you sink
Slowly the sands will drag you under.
After entering, the caretakers tie one's right ankle to a rock.
The pitiful lump of obsidian shall be your home. The caretakers stand you beside your rock and explain the rules to you.
"The rope is not forged of metal, thread or leather.
Its length is not fixed but it never breaks. If ever you tug on it, back on your rock is where it'll take you. Affixed to your rock it remains. On these shores only a pair of absolutes are recognized.. Darkness and negativity.
All else are subject to fate's scrutiny.
You came to us of your own will. and by coming here you shall realize your destiny.
If one exists for a soul such as yours.
If you wish not to sink in the sand, then stay on your rock or go for a swim.
Here you will remain, on these shores, this place shall be your prison and your safety net.
Departure is not an option until your destiny is realized, but we can't guarantee such an occurrence."
Having finished with the mandatory formalities, they take their leave of you and return to their posts.

On my first day, I noted that curiosity has very little power over the minds of the shore's inhabitants.
That no inhabitant may use another's rock without permission.
That the rope expands limitlessly and that moving lightly helps prevent sinking in the accursed sands.
Allowing me to roam far and wide, yet ensuring that I will always be roaming, belonging only in these shores, on my rock, amongst my shadowy brethren.
These shores have no real boundaries... An inhabitant may choose to stay and ponder or wander off and roam the land.
There are no secrets here.
All knowledge is readily provided by the caretakers, who say that very few ever choose to stay and ever fewer choose to combine the two.
Though time and time again they are dragged back to the rocks after having tugged on their ropes, they always choose to resume their roaming.
Expectations have no place here.
Ambition was long ago thrown off the pier.
Crucified and drowned in Poseidon's terrible dear.
The caretakers offered to read me tales from the shores' diary. They found my patience and lack of affect fitting.
On these shores I remained, listening to their tales for a time, sitting on my obsidian chair for a time, gliding on the sands and at times surrendering to their grip.
To all my fellow inhabitants I spoke in whispers and respect I paid in full to all the rules of the shores.
Then it was time to wander the land.
As I departed, knowing that I would return, I felt like crawling back into the pits of my soul but I also felt the shores' hold over my humanity fading, fading down to the feel of the rope's fabric around my ankle. A constant reminder that only I can see.
A constant reminder of where I belong, of the dreariness of my home and the darkness that always lies in wait for my return.

After leaving the shores, I wandered around the northern lowlands for sometime. Of course in such a state of mind time has no meaning for the wanderer. As time's passing loses its significance when all events are perceived as irrelevant and utterly meaningless. Thus I wandered the land, moving from village to town and from forest to desert. My journey was interrupted time and time again by the rope's influence, for sometimes I would grow weary of my surroundings and choose to retreat to my rock, there the darkness and despair provide safety. Observing then became the only promising investment of my attention, and throughout my roaming I would observe my surroundings, be they humans, critters, rocks or even machines. I resolved that empirical knowledge and logical analysis were the only relevant fields of reasoning.
In retrospect, I believe these were the only perspectives my dulled affect and cold impartial existence allowed at the time, but they were fields nonetheless, new areas that interested me, progress from the aimlessness. For now, I could say "I am here to observe. I do not belong, but that doesn't matter."
The times I spent back at the shores were getting progressively intense, though the emptiness soothed my longing, it seemed the more I saw, the deeper I would sink in the shores' sands before my rope would pull me back.
It seemed the more I observed and learned, the darker my rock became. It seems knowledge has its weight on these shores.
This isn't the time for simplification. The only way out of this rut is analysis, complexities and deduction. The way of the mind, for the sake of truth and meaning. If objectivity ever meant anything to you, you would not simplify, you would indulge in your eccentricities and gorge on analytical absurdity. Feed your hunger for details and complications.
Now the shores are far behind and I've gotten the hang of this accursed rope. I won't be dragged back there anytime soon. I may now keep record of whatever I wish.
This is but a mere transcript of my quest, my voyage, my journey, my pursuit of transcendence and my search for enlightenment, for enlightenment is my holy grail. My residence at the shores of pessimism mustn't last too long, for my light can lie dormant for only so long.
The stronger my thirst grows out here, the darker my lump of obsidian gets and the heavier my feet become on the shores sands. What's really curious though is how calm the sea has been since I started my journeys.

Silence now, enough has been said, recounting the details eventually becomes a bore rather than a bonus.
It is now time for the message to be sealed and sent off on its questionable journey, to a surely unexpecting reader. I wonder if it even holds any real meaning. Let this not be warning, but a minor eye opener. May it open someone's eyes to depression's grip on us.]

And it was there that the message ended. I raised my eyes from that piece of paper and looked to the sea, a storm was brewing on the horizon.


What the F. is this anyway?
Is it a test ?
a game ?
an empty picture frame ?
Curious since birth. Now drowning in knowledge of birth...
What's next ?
Why do I always have to wait and see ?
Whatever happened to flying free ?
Why can't I just flee ?
Forged of the earth and baked in the fire of God's oven.
Infused with God's divine breath.
If I've learned anything from my time on this pitiful lump of water and rock, it is that there is no plan, there is no grand scheme, there is no justice. Humanity's behavior will always be chaotic and unintelligible.
If there is a God, then that God has chosen to be a spectator. For this day and age, God has chosen to let the world sort itself out for a change. There shall be no more miracles, only human deeds and natural disasters.

Back again to where it all started.
What do I do now ? Focus!
Find myself ? Know myself ? Control myself ?
What good would that do ?
Who do you think I am ?
Do you think what I want is really relevant ?
Do you think you would like what I want ?
Born beautiful ? Good hearted ?
Not all are born beautiful and not all are good hearted.
Not everybody has an adequately functioning mind.
What's an adequately functioning mind anyway ?
If I've learned anything from medicine, it is that the study of human life holds the key to all our relevant questions. It is that details always matter. It is that in the real world, the only thing that truly matters is to be right.

We are born beautiful, untainted and simple. Though helpless and in desperate need of our supporters, it is actually these very providers who shape us. They complicate us and teach us their ways, they contaminate our minds with their view of reality, whether knowingly or ignorantly, they lead us astray from the simple truth, just like they were led astray.
And that's not to say that parents are evil or anything of that sort.
If that's what my words meant to you, then you're an idiot who shouldn't be reading this in the first place, so get the **** out!

We tend to think of being lost as a bad thing, reasons have become a necessity for our kind and rational explanations have become our psyche's sole sustenance.
We as a species have proved our relentlessness, our strong-headedness, our ignorance and our stupidity.
Humanity is *******. Collectively, we would be regarded as the galaxy's idiot child. The down's syndrome stricken kid our galaxy had after several failed attempts when she got over 45.
So what the **** is this ?
The lay of the land ?
What's the reason for this verbal bombardment ?
Are these knowledge bombs ? Are they supposed to be words of wisdom ? Can any of the above be put to any use ?
Hah! I believe not, and I apologize if that's what I've led you to believe.
I don't think I'm special, no more than you are. I don't believe I know much.
And I sure as hell am not here to tell you how to live your life or to provide you with a lot of answers that you may or may not have been seeking.

I have but one small request however. I request an apology, I want an apology from our parents. I believe we all do, they brought us into this world against our will. Then lied to us about how terrible the world and the people in it are. Named us good people and gave us hope. Then planted ambition in our scalps and fertilized it with warmth and faith in our promise, while they played the game and knew the real deal.
If there is a grand scheme, then we are not part of it. If there is a plan, then we're simply going along for the ride, our deeds only affect us and we can never change the ride's course.
We were never part of the plan.
If enlightenment is what you seek, then the only hope for the success of such a quest is for us to know and accept our weakness, our irrelevance.
I like working my noodle
My hands love to doodle
and every question I google
As much as the next poodle.
Trevor Gates Apr 2013

Ticket please?

Ah yes good

You're right on time

Please, through the double doors

Now for the main event.

A boy in his bed was sleeping
he slept throughout the night.

Until the door to his closet crumbled like ash
Exposing the pitch black darkness of his fears

He wished

He prayed
For more than anything for it to not happen again.

This happened too often
And he wanted it to stop

But it wouldn't

The stuff toys on his shelf gaped their mouths open in terror as saliva dripped from the ceiling

The walls inhaled
then exhaled

A woman moaned from the depths of the closet

The boy wouldn't look

He couldn't

The air in the room fell hot and humid

Arms with massive hands crawled from underneath his bed
Trying to take the boy away.

He struggled to fight them off until a loud noise was heard in the closet
The assaulting hands stopped and retreated

From they darkened closet emerged a man covered in black oil.

He walked out

He had no eyes

No hair

No ears

He walked up to the boy

He grabbed the boy and dragged him through the closet
The boy was scared

He didn't want to go

He was forced

In the darkness he felt the return of the hands

They touched him

All over

He didn't want them too
But they did

The boy cried and screamed
But the hands covered his mouth

The boy's mind retreated to a place of relief and comfort.
He laid on a wide grassy meadow atop of rolling hills

His lovely, caring mother laid next to him
It was the way he remembered her before she passed.

She laid next to him

His favorite teddy bear, Johann nestled between them

The valley below sang to them the echoed phrases of Schubert's Ave Maria
Played on the mother's record player

The twilight of the scene eased the boy.

But the nightmares would return

The snakes and spiders
The worms and roaches

The clown with three faces: laughing, crying, screaming

The boy recalled all of this, all of these terrors
in the midst of adulthood

Where the boy becomes a man

The nights are the same
Even more
And ominous

The halls of his mind stretch to ceiling-less masses.

Portraits of noir faces looking into his dark, encircled eyes
Blood oozing from underneath the frames

The eight foot tall man in a body suite of leather with no face
The woman crawling on the ground with eight legs and
Hands where her eyes should be

The pile of decapitated dolls rapidly performing an **** of devilish coitus
The limb less girl with maggots crawling out of her exposed ***.  

The sleepless nights
The screaming nights
The tears shed
The blood drawn

The boy that became a man
A man who is still a boy
From his deepest fears
The boy that was touched and taken
The man that was touched and brought back
The evil that was endured
The evil that was served

No song is sung
No music is played
No painting is painted
No paradise is found

Lost is he and so are you
Less so than him
But more free are you
Than the boy
Who claims to be a man

The man who was once a boy
For all men were once boys  
All plants were once seeds

All death was once life

All that were forgotten
Say be remembered





Thank you.
Please dispose of your 3D glasses in the bins outside.  We'd like to take this opportunity to personally thank all who made this possible:  Masks, ether, cough syrup, Chuck Palahniuk, The Koran, the Iliad, Virgil, Freud, Dante, John Milton, Stephen King, Mp3 players, chain stud belts, eye liner, food stamps, Russian women, electronic cigarettes,  Uncle Tom's Cabin, Wolverine, wiener dogs, Anthony Hopkins, Roger Waters, Emma Stone, Olive oil and all that I should mention but won't (they know why).
This is a free-form writing exercise. Comment if, aroused, annoyed, disturbed, offended, *****, inspired, discouraged, enticed, flattered, impressed, depressed or simply curious
Once Upon A Wind Oct 2013
Staring into the void all thoughts asunder
Where heart meets soul to create its wonder
Where fears run rampant and visions plunder
Where lies lay bare and fold strivings under
Where night terrors roam and find their place
Where stones collapse and dreams debase
Where none can hide or seek life’s embrace
Where one’s own soul reaches its solace
Where life forms dust and lessons chide
Where cracks run deep, spread far and wide
In this obsidian plane, none can abide
Trevor Gates Apr 2013

Welcome to tonight's program

We have a fabulous show for you.

I'm sure you'll all find it enjoyable

You might even find it


















It could be all of these and maybe none at all
But what is it when you examine each emotion listed above?

Take each word and run it through your head

Imagine everything in your life that is associated with each particular word

The events in your life that were frightening
That were beautiful
That were delicious
That were seductive

And what emotions were felt behind the events of each memory?

Ah yes what were the stories you personally saw unfold?

The times well spent

The days you regret

The nights you couldn't forget

The people you forsaken

The lives you ruined

The love that was lost

The identity that was regained

Has your life turned out to be what you thought it would be?

Are you proud? Content? Disappointed?

Think of that one thing you could do again.

Have it clear in your mind

Now forget it

There is no point trying to imagine what could have been when you can change what will be.

   There is a life ahead of you.
Whether your 18 or 48

There is still life ahead of you.

Quit trying to mend the past.  The past is all in memory, pictures and writing.
The past isn't there waiting for you.  The only thing that opens its hands to you is the future.

A future where you fall in love
A future where you travel to where you've always wanted to go
A future where the human imagination lets you float above worlds and compose impossible music.

Be the artist that paints a beautiful picture
Be the composer that conducts a glorious symphony
Be the writer that creates a literary masterpiece
Be the one human that understands life be accepting the fruits of imaginative longevity.
Flourish in the bath of simple joys
Walk through the park and appreciate the wonderment
The wonderment of how a bird is so content with just being a bird
Why can't we be content with just being ourselves?
Is there some other choice?
Is there some other version of us somewhere? The true self?
The true self is there.

Right there

In front of you

In the mirror

In the pool of water

In the significant other

In the sky

In the oil pastels

In the five stanza poem

In you.

With you

Around you


Before and after

Once you're here and once you're gone.

The breath of life.  

Thank you all.
Please everyone take a bow.  Rejoice!
We'd like to thank:  Christian Bale, Tommy Tutone, The Cure, Lipton Tea, Museum curators, Mark Millar, Arthur C. Clarke, Keith David, Slowdive, Gregg Araki, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Elizabeth Taylor, Scott Pilgrim, Leather trench coats, Irish tweed hats, Technicolor dream coats, Mufasa, Rebekah Del Rio, Bruce Lee, Terrance Malik, Penelope Cruz, Selma Blair, Chopin, Orbit gum, Vlad the Impaler, five layer burritos and finally Howard shore for making this all possible.

Goodnight and God bless!
The Moon and Sun shared Ecliptical Longitudes the night They murdered The child.

Beneath a stelliferous empyrean,
Like Sojourners among the quiescent Twilight, Mother and child, Ventured to meet the woman’s husband, the father of the child.

She, no more than five and ten years Old,
The child, a girl, of only months,
Lay swaddled across the Woman’s
*****, tucked inside a papoose.
A rustic device carefully woven
From wool and hide, in it contained a
Priceless world.

She cooed and clucked in the frigid
Night air.
The sound penetrated the
Spectral calm and was matched only
By the maternal soothing of a muted hum.
Together, they represented the
Heathen form of the wilderness,
The Tempi Madonna among the
Silver and shadow moonbeams that
Glimmered like the dust of diamonds
Across the river’s obsidian sheen.  

Ahead, where the river narrows,
The silence stirred and was broken.
Hushed voices rose from the outer
The woman strained to listen.

(British Soldiers, she thought)

Foreign words...

        (Drunken and ravenous)

                         ...slithered from their mouths like Venom. Fear bloomed in the woman’s Chest.
Her heartbeat quickened.

        (Touched by the chill of terror)

Her eyes darted madly about the

         (Alone no longer)

Their  shadows manifested like
Smoke along the tree line.
Features blurred in the darkness.
Their gestures muted.
Like birds of
Prey, they set motionless upon their
Perch along the stony shore.

I say, a man said. Indian children are natural born swimmers,
Capable at birth of swimming great distances.

Utter foolishness, old boy, another opined.

We will need proof of this claim, my good sir, an anonymous voice Quipped from somewhere in the dark.

She let escape from her full lips
The tiniest of shrieks.
Followed immediately

(stupid girl, her mother’s voice echoed in the dark.
                             You always were too impulsive.)

Rage consumed her as
She struggled against the current.  
She tried to paddle for deeper
Water as the men broached
The black sheen of the river.

The moments passed by
In jagged surrealism.
There was no sound
When they pitched the woman
And child into the
Frigid abysm.

The splashing of water.
The gasping
For air.
The primal
Grapple and
Grunt of men.
The cold, pungent scent of
Fear and sweat mixed with the
Alcohol-stale air.
The twisting of
Hands that groped about the

         (Her rage now eclipsed by fear)

She inhaled.
Her body, numb.
Her appendages quaked.
Her body fading
As they fall upon her.
Their thick bodies
Blacked out the stars.
Their gaunt faces
Pinched and rucked in the
Reflected the fury, the
Hatred, and
The disgust for what would come next.
Their hands moved across her
Like demons as they
Groped at her small body
Beneath the choppy wash of the

(A hand grazed her thigh and she shrieked in Terror. Another
         gnashed at her buttock. Another fell upon her back. Her mind
         reeled at the possibilities of what would need to come next.)

They tore at her clothing.
Her body jarred about the water as
She writhed against their grasps.
She clawed against the murk.                  
         (Escape the horror)

She released the paddle—

(Forever lost to the deep, useless to her now)

Hysterical animalistic thoughts
Trounced off their tongues as they
Laughed at her doom—

        (Like a pack of hyenas)

She kicked at them in nameless
She thrusted her hand into
The fabric where the child had been
Moments before cooing and clucking. 
Mere moments ago she had sang to the
Babe the same song her
Mother had once sung
To her.

             (she felt nothing where the child had been…)    

She struggled away from them.
Her mind frantic with pain, the cold,
And panic
For the child.
She no longer cared for
Herself, or what they would need to
Do with her body.
Her appendages
Flailed and churned in the dark water.
         (A single gasp of air followed by
              The burning inhale of water)

A shrill call to the child—

(a name lost to time)

Her voice cut through their maniacal
It echoed off the water and vanished,
Disappearing entirely
In the outer gloom of the wilderness.

        (like afterthoughts, lost)

She groped relentlessly among the
Water for the child.
The men, near
Frozen, lost interest and returned to
The adjacent shoreline.
It was more ****** that way.
They jeered at her,
Proud of themselves.
        (The seething lust of the mindless savage, she thinks)

Their mouths salivate
As they watched
Her struggle
Became the current
For which she bore.
The impending death of the woman even
More satisfying than the feeling against their flesh of her cunning, wet crease that lies exposed between
Her brown legs.
They watch like wolves
Unable to reach their prey,
Desperate for fresh meat.
Despite the frigid cold,
Their *****, hard,
With the anticipation of death.

The woman clamored among the darkness
She searched for the child.
Heavy fingers fell upon woolen fabric
By chance—

(Hope bloomed in her constricted chest)

Her body finally beginning to seize
Exhaustion permeated
Her mind.
She freed the papoose
From the frozen depths and expelled
The last bit of energy she possessed
To swim to the far side of the shore,
Temporarily out of their reach.

The soldiers,
Quiet now,
Returned to the spectral woods.
They disappeared back down the
Black road from which they came.

She felt the blood as it began to
Return to her appendages, the pins And needles feeling erupting in them.
Her teeth clattered nearly exploding In her mouth.
Her body
Quaked Violently

         (The child, near in her mind, cried)

She reached for it.
Her chest,
Rising and
Rapid like the river
As she inhaled the burning,
Frozen air.
The child let loose a cough and  
She clutched it
tighter to her *****.  

(Deny the river its prize)

A stream of consciousness,
Steadily slipped from her lips.

       (A great heathen prayer calling up some
                       Great Spirit
                                As she relentlessly brokered
                                            For a
                                       Life for a life)

The moments passed by like hours.
And the
Great Spirit, with
His wanton lust
For despair, did not manifest that night.

The child fell silent, then still.
The tears came now.
Blurred vision and
Angry sobs.
Darkness consumed entire.

The river flowed by her electric as if
Its lights descended from a place far
Beyond the black taciturn veil of
Night to reflect the merciless
Tragedies among the wretched souls of
The Maine Woods.
Poetic T Jun 2016
Corroding at the essence of what had been,
leaves wilted scorched by the white.
It was but a far away moment now colliding
upon our onyx reality.

No thought of that which echoed in the distance
a difference to our perspective. but now absorbing
all that was delicate obsidian, eviscerating all
substance now bleached from known existence.

All we were was eroding away, flowers blossomed
but wilted upon the sight above, diluted our shadows
were not as they were. All that was will soon be but a
blank slate no longer the beauty that was obscurity.
Fat, tall, and poor, well a young girl
couldn't be anymore different or
Hard headed with no tears, I
so wanted to be made
in that single moment of creation, of

There they stood in black
huddled by the books on
in the aisle for young fantasy
we stood glaring, laughing, judging
not glass, but a shiny mirror

Slipping out of school early,
brandishing new bags and clothes,
feet treading along the linoleum tiles,
of halls and malls, sitting in cafés
the pressure changing what showed on the

Needle pierced skin over
and over again, so much
the pain throbbing, spreading
as ink sunk into my skin
crafting little by little a symbol
Melody W Nov 2012
longer nights have escaped me; silken dreams
hover silently over sleepy terraces build from
obsidian stone and pale quartz - travesty
all along the corridor; crescendoing whispers
vex and taunt, sweeping the hearth bare
then shadowing crevices with moonshine
elven fingers, movement quick, change unnoticed
even as the morning intrudes once more
Spicy Digits Dec 2018
Wish I were sunny and magnetic,
And darkness was only at night
Not in my soul,
Black hole

Wish I were an inspiration to you
To me, just naturally
I would have an armour of titanium love,
Undreamed of

A phoenix rising in red hot embodiment,
A testament
A barefooted rebel of society
And the prison of tradition

The visions clear to me,
Patience flows, unceasing

Wish I could uncover and set free
That little girl inside of me
But my heart is the heart
Of a tragedian
On disappointing the psychologist
[February 13, 2017]

The emerald forest radiates lustfully, humming a constant melancholy tune
Reverberating off trees of sadness, beneath the sorrow of a cold graphite moon
A storm echoes imminently, sinister clouds stretching from a frigid ruby mountain
In the center of the madness, amongst the sapphire rain, footsteps silently pounding

Her shimmering tears glisten iridescent underneath the evanescent dim moonlight
The vicious snarling follows close behind, the howling smothering her with fright
The thick, chaotic mist swirls beside her, blanketing the ground with mysterious fear
Snagged on a gnarled root, she collapses into the mud when the beasts appear

The veil dissipates around the enormous, savage shapes of starving silver wolves
Leaping towards her with jaws parted, with immeasurable furiosity uncontrolled
Her scream pierces the atmosphere as a sword suddenly materializes out of thin air
A lean man stands over the pack in triumph, the breeze blowing his long raven hair

The volatile storm rages above, further dragging reality into the depths of an abyss
The blanket of fog thickens, a bell chimes in the distance, sounding the apocalypse
No discussion, dashing through thickets in a labyrinth weaved from a song of despair
Hand in hand they are tormented by the infinite horrors of a hopeless nightmare

Lightning crackles across the ominous sky sending waves of fire through the clouds
An explosion rips apart the melody like shattered glass, siphoning the world of sound
Flaming wings emerge from shadowed obscurity, shrieking, rumbling, rolling thunder
Smoldering towards the barren battlefield transformed by ancient dwelling hunger

A malevolent silhouette reveals its unnatural presence from quiet concealed rage
Iron rattling within its grasp, a phantom riding stallions contained by leather reins
Born from corrupted suffering, their charcoal fur hidden by silky midnight manes
Crystal hooves thumping against firm, packed soil as they charge into level plains

A pillar of electricity discharges from the collision of two forces at supersonic speed
A phoenix billowing molten embers at an evil apparition and its demonic steed
Haunted chains tracing through the air, creating swirling vortexes of wind and debris
The pressure deteriorates the land, awakening a statue as mortals escape the trees

Frozen in time at the edge of blood-nourished roots, lone figures witness in awe
Hellhounds racing towards the scene with curved canines and sharp granite claws
A fierce roar splits the fabric of existence as a mighty golden serpent soars overhead
It plunges to the earth with an eruption of dirt, stimulating a potent aura of dread

Infernal demons of unknown origin clash with relentless power, using no restraint
An obsidian knight wields a wicked blade, opening wounds and splattering paint
The canvas becomes tainted, filled with unfathomable memories of forgotten peace
Oils of countless colors blend together, sentiment reflections within a crimson sea

The maelstrom intensifies, a whirlpool complete with mayhem, emotion and will
The battle is consumed by its own hatred, a grim picture stained by a poisoned quill
Water evaporates, the exhibit solidifies and the vision fades as the instruments play
Her agony gleams on amethyst cheeks as she walks into the center of endless decay

Malice snaps and tension shakes, a chasm filled with hostility breaks, infusing hate
An inferno incinerates diamond, emptying a bottomless pool of lingering fate
A distorted sculpture is formed within the horrendous tempest of mutilating torture
When sickening smoke clears, she lies within a tragic crater of a scorched orchard

Turmoil subsides, the weather calms and light beams on the war-torn earth
Deities gather near her burnt mangled corpse, finally able to feel remorse
The ashes of reincarnation flow through their fingertips, reviving innocence
She awakes to harmonious music, embraced by its blazing magnificence
Author Note: A collaboration of my previous poems within my gemstone series.

Obsidian Knight [February 13, 2017]
Category: Fantasy/Gemstone Series VI.
zebra Jul 2017
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees

behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations

your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred *******
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss

I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake

then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky

— The End —