Tag Archives: dark poetry

The Tiring Masquerade

Posted in Poetry English by
d7fr35-e4074830-a645-4675-9f5c-17b838c48e78

An intimate confession from behind a carefully guarded shell.

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You will never really know how I really feel;

I may laugh my head off, or even if I may cry

You will never really know who I am in real;

no matter how long and how hard you may try

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I always wear a mask, I never reveal my true self;

I lurk behind the shadows, I hide myself so very well

You will never guess who I am – a human or an elf;

I am so well-guarded, you’ll never get past the shell

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I do not hide because I am pure evil or a white dove;

perhaps I am a mix of dark shadows and bright light

I hide because the care is selfish, and there is no love;

I hide as there is only business, maybe wrong, maybe right

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I am both dead and alive, both delusional and aware;

I am both yes and no, some conflict and some strife

Delusions of grandeur and an awareness of what’s fair;

conflicting desires and the chaos inflicted by a dull knife

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That you will never find me, it’s a fact, and a promise too;

it’s not a challenge, just a statement and so very true

That you will never discover me, it’s not just my view;

and that you will never love me, is a truth that I always knew 

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Life is a long masquerade, it’s so very long and so tiring;

that the end might be near, it’s awaited and so very certain

The desperation is real, it’s so sad and so very depressing;

that there is no hope, it’s about time to drop the curtain

The Inevitability of Sorrow (Previosuly, Seeds of Happiness and Fruits of Sorrow)

Posted in Poetry English by

What if happiness is only the beginning of sorrow?

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All those who cultivate seeds of happiness,

will one day surely, eat the bitter fruit of sorrow

It’s your destiny, and your legacy, my dear child,

just follow your past, don’t seek a new tomorrow

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All those who know how to love and how to care,

will one day surely meet a sad and lonely end

It’s bound to happen, oh please don’t weep or cry,

it’s not something broken that you can readily mend

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All those who dance, and who laugh clear and loud,

will one day surely shed the bitter tears of loss

It’s the rule, my friend, you can’t run and fight,

you always pay the price, you always bear the cross

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All those who forgive and carry no black grudge,

will one day mourn the loss of their own hearts

You can’t keep on giving, giving more and some more,

there’re always expectations, even when hope departs

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Those who plan and cater for all possible regrets,

will certainly be the most regretful of all in the end

Regrets are the fires that keep the memories warm,

without regrets, there’s only coldness, you can’t tend

The Last Dream of the Dying Lighthouse

Posted in Poetry English by
db8h1q-10b97d18-acae-4580-aa15-8c7fc023170f

Before its stones collapse into darkness, the old lighthouse imagines a final blaze of glory that never comes.

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The eagle soared high above the purple sea,

dark wings embracing the darkness of the night

A lonely lighthouse stood its vigil, tall and free,

alone on the shore, a noble and honorable knight

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Diving down and below, the eagle peered closely,

and his mighty heart was filled with a heavy sorrow

The lighthouse was crumbling down and in ruins, mostly,

it may have had a wonderful past, but no tomorrow

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The lonely lighthouse was very old, now just a token,

its tall structure, draped and cloaked in grey shadows

The glass lantern was long shattered and broken,

who broke it, and why and when? Who really knows?

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The sea was cruel and was full of wind and storms,

terribly angry and high waves venting frustration

Breaking apart furiously in white foam of many forms,

the foundation badly shaking, but still holding station

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The storms wrecked ships and boats, big and small,

hundreds of souls lost, and at sea, they all perished

The lighthouse stood on the shore and watched them all,

the loss was dire; there was nothing to be cherished

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It served no noble purpose or aim, no, not anymore,

a lighthouse devoid of any beacon or shining light

Being old and crumbly did not make him any sore,

having no light was its biggest tragedy and plight

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He just stood alone and prayed to God Almighty,

he prayed for nothing else but one single last chance

A last chance to fulfill his only purpose and legacy;

a dying shaman pleading and begging for a last dance

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Maybe God listened to him as He is kind and benevolent,

plucking a burning star from the heavens, He tossed it down

Hitting the tower, it exploded in embers, an event so malevolent,

but it lit the beacon, making the lighthouse wear a gold crown

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‘Ah! I have fulfilled my legacy, and now I can die satisfied’,

the lighthouse loudly yelled its last-ever cry of sheer joy

Very briefly, it was alight, at least it seemed as if it tried,

but to the wandering and lost ships, it sure cried ‘ahoy!’

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The eagle soared high above the dark, inky depth,

watching the shooting star and the high-burning fire

Sadly watching the lighthouse crumbling, it’s sad death,

he prayed for its noble soul over the burning pyre

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But, no desires were fulfilled that fateful, dark night,

God was busy elsewhere; there was no grand scheme

It was peaceful, no shooting stars, no fire, and no light

Alas! the lighthouse was only dreaming its last dream

The Autumn Outside, and the Autumn Within

Posted in Poetry English by

A season that never ends.

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Outside, autumn reigns with colors of gold and rust,

walking in fancy colors, is really a sad, old whore

Within, the autumn stays forever, heaps of ash and dust,

it was born when I was born, will die when I’m no more

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Outside, there is a verdict, a cruel and harsh judgment,

unsolicited and uninvited, yet delivered firmly in the face

Within, there exists failure, dark, rotten, and repugnant,

it was born when I was born, will die when I quit the race

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Outside, there is refusal, a hard and cold rejection,

imparted cruelly, yet justified and utterly sensible

Within, there exists misery, a bitter and dark dejection,

it was born when I was born, will die as I am dispensable

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Outside, there is warmth, an almost useless affection,

a product of reciprocity, mere courtesy, and manners

Within, there is love - a brightly burning perfection,

it was born when I was born, will die with lowered banners

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Outside, there is sadness, and within it is always blue,

in perfect harmony, the weeping violin and the crying cello

Outside, the autumn reigns, and within, there is an autumn too,

were there when I was born, will fade as the ink turns yellow

To Him who Cared to Give a Fuck

Posted in Poetry English by
peel_to_fuck_by_buhoazul_d3f3aqx-fullview

This is what happens when kindness is wasted, loyalty is ignored, and patience snaps.

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To you, my friend, who cared to give a fuck,

to you, my friend, who chose to care for all

None of your fucks ever mattered,

none of them were counted at all

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For God’s sake, don’t be so fucking sad,

you just gave a fuck and not your whole life

For Heaven’s sake, your fuck wasn’t even that good,

it was a dull blade at the most, not even a sharp knife

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You think you just gave a fuck or two,

and they were all that were ever needed?

You believe even if you gave countless fucks,

were they all the shit that you ever ceded?

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You and your countless stupid fucks,

both be damned to the red hell and back

All the damn fucks you ever cared to give,

and the fucks you didn’t ever try to crack

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Keep your fuck and keep it hidden and safe,

it is not needed at all, in fact, it never was

Keep your fucking love and keep it with you,

it is not valued at all; in fact, it never was

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To all your fucks, only a ‘fuck you’ is granted,

and that too is a generosity beyond words

You deserved less, and you got far, far more,

only cause you ain’t complete but in sherds

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To you, my friend, who cared to give a fuck,

to you, my friend, who chose to care for all

None of your fucks ever mattered,

none of them were counted at all