Archive for February, 2015

Toy Box Blues

Posted: February 27, 2015 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

Toy Box blues

WorldofHarley

Oh little toy soldier,
Why do you cry?
Wooden hands held tight to your face,
Gluey tears oozing southward,
Unheard sobs in the toy box.

Oh little toy soldier,
What are you afraid of?
Build by corporate talons,
Driven onward by unfeeling authorities,
Led to fight for your spiteful toy box state.

Oh little toy soldier,
Grab your pop gun.
It is time to wage war,
On all of those other toy soldiers.
They are of different toy box colors.

Toy soldier

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Daetrolos: The Julmurns

WorldofHarley

“During all my travels and all of my years, there are few beings in this world that worry me more than the Julmurns. These abominable, reptilian creatures have stained countless lands with blood, razed numberless homes and brutally ended untold lives. I hesitate to call these beings evil however, they are simply blinded by what can only be described as an immensely influential theocracy. Julmurns live in a church-state, one that dwarfs even that of the Human Religion of Dust of the past. The Dust is ironically integral to the Julmurn culture as well, in a far less harmful form however. The Julmurns once surged from the wastelands of the south end of Primea, intent on dominating all “inferior” beings. They sought nothing more than to bring all of Primea under their theocratical and tyrannical yolk.

The Julmurns hail from the Zyst Einode (yet another Dust Wasteland), south of the…

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A frail old man lives upon a lost hill,
A spectre of a man,
A man with power over life and death,
He is the Necromancer,
A god over mortal flesh,
Warts and all.

A wave of the staff,
Rotting hands pulse skyward,
A chanted incantation,
Banshees shriek in the black,
A flourish of the hand,
Maggots surge from pus-filled corpses.

A sacrificial blade drips crimson,
Coffins and crypts are clawed open,
A forbidden ritual,
Bones rattle as if sentient,
A dark grin,
The dead horde begins its carnival march.

A twisted mind once filled with thoughts of family,
His rancid creations are a hollow replacement,
Their eyes no longer see,
Their minds no longer reason,
Their hearts no longer beat,
And no longer love or feel.

Necro

Festival Of Blood

Posted: February 22, 2015 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

Festival Of Blood

WorldofHarley

A continuation of sorts of ‘A bloody legacy‘.

Sirens in a cacophony around me,
Spotlights hunting me,
Police sharks around me,
Chomping at the bit for me.
They can’t have me,
Not here,
This place is part of my legacy,
This bloodbath is sacred,
These corpses are relics,
A holy site.

To my sanctum i must go.
I’ll be safe here from those police-shaped monsters,
Those blasphemous curs,
This sanctum is my chapel,
My playground,
My hideout,
My home.

Previous rituals and games reside here,
Corpses and bloodshed,
Gore and bones,
Intestines and brains,
This glorious scene is my festival of blood,
Another chapter of my bloody legacy.

That one crucified to the wall there?
A famous actress.
The one hung from the rafters with his eyes and tongue missing?
A vile politician.
The one with his head missing and back broken?
A treasonous teacher.
And the one…

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This is my life,
I am player number one,
Average skill level,
Average score,
It’s a bit of a game,
There is no second controller.

I want to travel over our LittleBigPlanet,
See the Silent Hills and Battlefields of the world,
I want to lay upon a sunny beach on Tropico,
Allow the mental Fallout to ebb away.

I want to receive the Call of Duty,
And battle Metroids and Dark Souls in far off places,
I want to Command and Conquer my foes,
And be a knight with a Mount and Blade.

These are simply a few of my Final Fantasies,
Don’t mind me,
I’m just playing video games,
One life remaining,
There are no more credits.

VideoG

Daetrolos: A Speculative Study on the Djinn

WorldofHarley

“Off the west coast of Primea is the treacherous Great Divide, a nigh-on endless ocean. It’s possibly the grandest mystery on this world. Few dare to traverse its waves, fewer still have actually managed to locate any new landmasses or anything of note. It’s desolate, to say the least. Even decorated explorers such as Renault Tserra, Klaus Transuppe and Magnus the Sequined have all attempted to map the waves, to little success. One lady though, discovered something truly fascinating. Rene Jerla was a Riefan Lords daughter turned explorer who used her fathers money to buy a boat to roam the Great Divide, in hopes of making a name for herself. She discovered something fascinating, yet terrifying in the same measure. She discovered another continent, far larger than Primea. She discovered the Amber land, the continent of Demes.

Rene Jerla made contact with many inhabitants of Demes, crossing the dunes in…

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The Hymn of the Inmates

WorldofHarley

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Brothers and Sisters,
Good priests and bad priests of all orders,
Allies,
Rivals,
Lovers,
I beseech you,
Hear my words!

Lords and Duchess’,
Madmen and Madwomen of all conditions,
Scum,
Thieves,
Murderers,
Churls and Misfits,
Hear me now!

The world is an asylum,
Our asylum,
We are the inmates,
We are the individuals,
We are the freaks,
We are the aberrations,
We are the monsters,
We are the inmates.

Join me in a celebration,
Rejoice in your own individuality,
Embrace your eccentricity,
Love your peculiarity,
Dance in the rain,
Paint with your fingers,
Laugh madly in public,
Do as you please.

We are the inmates,
Singular and deranged,
Odd and frivolous,
We are ourselves,
We are the twisted family,
Embrace the asylum,
And join us.

Hymn

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The Aluminium Man

Posted: February 9, 2015 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

The Aluminium Man

WorldofHarley

Do you believe there are plainly good or wicked people?
One or the other?
Cut and dry?
Then allow me to tell you a tale,
A tale of the Aluminium Man.

He came unannounced from the mists,
Adamant yet flexible,
Rigid yet mutable,
A metallic body from the bowels of the earth,
A brain of unfeeling electrons,
Iron appendages and a spheroid lower body,
A heart like an on/off switch.

He once found employ at an orphanage,
He was regarded as highly as an angel,
Protecting the children and aiding the nurses,
Reading tales of joy and grilling luscious meals,
The people saw him as a true altruist,
A man as resolute as platinum,
Even as his heart feels nothing.

He once served a tyrant,
He was considered a demonic reaper for his lord,
Sweeping armies aside and terrorizing the conquered,
Slaughtering pretenders and executing saints,
The realm saw him…

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Weights of the world,
All of its horrors,
All of its madness,
All of its problems,
All of its stresses.

It bears down upon me,
Crushing me,
Compressing me,
My muscles inevitable fail me,
I’m not Atlas.

Cracks start to show,
I fear that I’m doomed,
Can I have a ray of sunshine?
I’m far from a titan,
I’m not Atlas.

Atlas

Cannibal Heart

Posted: February 4, 2015 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

Cannibal Heart

WorldofHarley

Cannheart

This was an easy meal,
One little swipe of a blade,
She fell like a lead balloon,
Utterly feeble,
Utterly pathetic,
Utterly delectable.
Oh, i have been so hungry since the last one.

Hello, remember me?
Your humanity?

Cannibal they call me.
Viperous monster and pitiable freak.
Man-eater and defiler.
They must be right,
I can’t deny humanity is one hell of a meal.
I’ve never loved anyone who wasn’t to become a morsel.

This one is different…
This one is perfect…

A delicious bloody sauce keeps the meat succulent.
The ribcage splits easily enough,
Revealing that most enticing of meats,
The beating center of my meal,
The epicenter of love,
She hardly needs it anymore.

Yes, she does!
This girl loved someone…
She may have even loved you…

I take my prize in my bloody hands,
Raise it to my face,
It’s still beating rebelliously.
My fangs ready to…

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