Tag Archives: dark philosophical poetry

The Miserable End of a Failed Hero

Posted in Poetry English by

A brutal dialogue between a broken mortal and a mocking god.

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Receding deep into yourself, being enfolded in layers,

blanking out the chaos of complicated relationships

Tightly wrapped within a cocoon of your icy, cold self,

the harsh and cruel reality is the one and final eclipse

That is your nirvana, that is your long, torturous bliss,

that’s what’s written by fate, in all its useless scripts

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Your cocoon will hang forever - the dangling shell,

on a grey cracked wall, in the hall of eternal sadness

There it will hang, and you will squirm deep within,

away from the merry crowds, the throbbing madness

That will be your heaven, and that will be your hell,

both equally quiet, under the ever-ruling darkness

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When the bored God visits and knocks at the cocoon,

asking if you are still alive within the silent confines

You will scream from within, a long tormented wail,

‘I did what you asked me to do, I followed all the lines

I crushed my own ego, I buried it deep and still alive,

damning myself to patience, despite all the odd signs’

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And the God will laugh, He will laugh long and hard,

‘you pathetic asshole, you miserably crawling bastard

You tried to fight fate, but you failed to learn from life,

you were no crowned hero, you were merely a dastard

Now burn forever in your heaven, as it is also your hell,

self-torture is the only art you have really mastered’

The Lament of Imagined Worlds (Previously, Harbingers of Doom)

Posted in Poetry English by

A journey through dreams where prophets whisper, and sirens lie, and where imagination walks among shamans, sinners, and dying fires.

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Sometimes, I imagine the most unimaginable,

playing with lightning within the clouds of doom

At other times, I dream the most indescribable,

part of another time, walking the hallways of gloom

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Sometimes, I visit the land of the sad throat singers,

their chords singing the melody - foretelling the end

Then there are men from the West - the tired gunslingers,

flames are dying slowly - the fires that they tend

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There are shamans from Tibet - humming ancient words,

and flutes playing softly, the lament of the damned

Lonely prophets in the streets - the ever-preying birds,

warning of the apocalypse, their words all crammed

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There are lonely gypsy women, with wings under their feet,

their crystal balls telling fabulous lies, all without shame

Sirens hungry for young blood with their smiles so sweet,

their seduction dancing the tango - a never-ending game

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I see the silent eyes of the mindless throng - ruled by sin,

smiles masking a thousand fetishes, all pleasure and lust

Tears of the guilty Midas, hiding the insatiable grin,

desires swirling in frenzy, their feet covered in rust

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I dream of the strange mer-people under the stormy seas,

the weight of the dark waters burdening their heart

Pale mermaids and their sad laments, begging on their knees,

weaving a million enticements, perfecting their art

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I dream of dense forests, under the humid skies,

the old, gnarled trees, standing a solemn guard

Roots gripping the black soil, upwards they rise,

the old gods sleep, their memories all marred

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Sometimes I imagine, and sometimes I only dream,

pastimes of a failed saviour and delusions of grandeur

Life is the darkest of all curses, and so it may seem,

users have failed the system, and He is only a voyeur