Tag Archives: darkness

A nursery rhyme for adults

Posted in Poetry English by

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

down and down we go

Helpless puppets

on unseen strings,

dancing to and fro

Read more: A nursery rhyme for adults

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

where all is dark and low

Rivers of sorrow

and the vales of loss,

all misery and woe

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

where all is grey and foe 

Soils are rotten 

and all decays,

whatever do you sow

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

where all is cold and snow

The chill of loss

and the sins you pursued,

regret is what you owe 

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

the face you never show

Mirrored are the walls 

the ugly truth,

a loathsome tableau

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

hides the lethal blow

The wind so strong   

the hope so gone,

the anchor you must throw

Down and down

in the deep dark void,

croaks the black crow

The end is nigh,  

judgment at hand,

but death will come so slow

#english #poem #end #darkness #hope #desperation #helplessness #regret

Mary and the Dark Mother

Posted in Poetry English by
i_no_longer_see_this_painful_world_by_nataliadrepina_dcr0n0c-fullview (1)

⚠SUICIDE WARNING: “‘Come lay with the Dark Mother, her coldness is the warmth you seek’—a poem making visible how depression seduces as a loving voice offering peace through death.”

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Come and visit the Dark Mother, Mary,

she is the only one who truly loves you

Her pure wisdom has always been there,

to you and only you, she will always be true

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Come embrace the Dark Mother, Mary,

in her lap, you are going to find lasting peace

Her love will make you whole once again,

it will mend each crack, it will join each piece

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Come and bow to the Dark Mother, Mary,

and she will tell you, it’s useless to go on

Her hand caressing your tired and bent head,

and she will whisper, ‘there is no true dawn’

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Come seek the Dark Mother’s counsel, Mary,

and she will differentiate love from courtesy

Her logic is immaculate and unquestionable,

when she tells you love is not real, but a fallacy

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Come hear the Dark Mother’s prophecy, Mary,

when she tells you, ‘you are doomed forever’

But don’t lose hope, all may seem grey and dark,

her solutions are always simple, never clever

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Come and listen to the Dark Mother, Mary,

when she tells you, it is your time to sleep

Her words are the writing on the wall,

when she tells you not to cry and weep

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Come lay with the dark mother, Mary,

her coldness is the very warmth you seek

Surrender yourself and take the final step,

just forget that you were once a freak

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Come and follow the Dark Mother, Mary,

be assured, she always knows the right way

Bringing sanity to this damn circus of chaos,

she’s the peaceful night at the end of your day

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Come do what the dark mother says, Mary,

sleep is just a small, harmless bullet away

Just please cross the threshold, Mary,

salvation is only just a steel’s kiss away

The Custodian of Unfulfilled Dreams

Posted in Poetry English by
broken_dreams_by_spacewizzard666_dd2e8pd-fullview

A kingdom where broken dreams go to die—and a king who refuses to abandon them.

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Far away from all this filth and all this stinking mold,

there is a secret and silent realm of unfulfilled dreams

The realm is colorless, neither silver nor purple nor gold,

no laughter or singing, just a chaos of cries and screams

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Each dream, once it’s shattered, and in pain it cries,

it enters the realm, hearing some command unspoken

The horn of time does not blow; it is silent and so wise,

as the dreams lay trampled, crying and utterly broken

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There he sits at the gate, the old and tattered King,

the sad custodian of dreams, he protects and lovingly guards

He has neither a throne, nor a seal, nor a royal ring,

he wears only a crown of thorns and sharp glass shards

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The dreams are his children, a few are even his very own,

he cradles their delicate heads and lovingly treats their sores

Some dreams have broken wings, and some have never flown,

yet he loves them all, whether they are his own, mine, or yours

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The King has tears in his eyes; he cries over the wounded dreams,

he knows they are going to finally die, his efforts are all in vain

The dreams whimper as life bleeds out, in rivulets and in streams,

the King knows they are the last drops of a rare desert rain

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Each dream, when it breathes its very last and silently dies,

he gently kisses its dead eyes, singing the last lullaby

The King is sad, oh, he is so very sad, but still he desperately tries,

caring for dreams, without asking ‘to what end’ or even a ‘why’

Questions that I often Ask Myself

Posted in Poetry English by
puzzle_by_shadowtuga_d2wcvhe-fullview

Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.

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Who am I,

when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?

Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,

or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?

Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,

or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die

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What am I,

when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?

Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,

or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?

Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,

a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots

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What is my existence,

when I examine my state from some distance?

Is this just a never-ending nightmare, 

or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?

Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,

and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp

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Where am I heading,

with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?

Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,

or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?

Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,

while the shadow of doubt grows even more

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What will become of me,

will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?

Will I always be searching for what I dream of,

or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?

Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,

but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea

Murmuring of the Immortal Birds

Posted in Poetry English by
a_murmuration_of_starlings____by_earth_hart_d79i5vd-fullview

He bleeds from a million places but only he sees the blood; he screams with a million faces but only he hears the words—this is what it means to be hunted by the immortal birds.

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Deep within the void I choose to call my heart,

there exists the nucleus of my old and tired soul

It is a desolation, so fierce and so very vast,

a frozen glacier, so very bitter and so very cold

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The harsh chill bites into my creaking bones,

it cuts me from without and also from within

Intense is the pain, so many shades and tones,

twisting my memory and crumpling my skin

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I bleed profusely from a million different places,

yet it is only I who sees the oozing blood

I shout helplessly with a million screaming faces,

no one helps, no one comes to stop the flood

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‘You are cursed forever,’ the words say,

destined to walk alone, the sad path of life

‘To the very end, that is your only way,

a watery grave, a bullet, or maybe a sharp knife’

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‘And why is that so?’ I ask with a weary smile,

while my heart keeps on sinking, down and down

‘Your soul is dark,’ strangely, the answer is so vile,

and your heart is an abandoned ghost town’

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I look within and find all the ghosts smiling,

their faces contorted in agony and in mirth

Their gestures are cruel and all reviling,

demons in pursuit, since my damned birth

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I look around and find myself surrounded,

by the murmurings of all the immortal birds

I look at myself, forever hunted, forever hounded,

their razor-sharp beaks, claws, and harsh words

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The birds are all near, they are almost here,

they are eager to devour my exhausted soul

Their whispers are dreadful, I tremble with fear,

my fate is all done, it has rolled its black scroll