Posts Tagged ‘Evil’

Amidst the battery fire and shrapnel,
Ripostes and mud and barbed wire,
Warfare is glorious,
A vehement symphony of iron and gore,
Triumphant charges and resounding firing lines,
Dark clouds braiding with sulphur,
Nations forms are in flux,

You are a soldier,
Thrust your bayonet into that opposing commoner,
To increase your masters demesne by inches,
For those men who sip wine in silken tents,
In elite safety,
For those whom paint borders,
Your blood and your opponents the currency for miles,

There is no grandeur to be found here,
For the common man it is naught but hell,
A charnel house,
And yet for your flag you enlist,
Fire your salvo into that poor mans flank,
Fight for your valour,
Your thanks shall be as dirt upon your casket,

A most ancient con job,
There is no glory in war.

Horror is in my veins,
My mind is curiously inspirited by it,
The realm of cannibals and clowns and slashers,
Machetes and bowies and hooks,
Hockey masks and fedoras and faces of foreign flesh,

My psyche adores these monsters in an oddball fashion,
The heavy breathing behind an icons mask fills me with elation,
A bladed glove cuts portraits into my imagination,
The screams of youths as they flee the dark,
The craving roar of a chainsaw sends my pulse a-skipping,

I’m a cut and dry adherent of terror,
My mind wanders to haunted abodes and slaughterhouses,
To witness the chases and executions,
My heart pounding in time with the footfalls,
And the knife strikes on flesh,

To me those icons of horror are atop pedestals,
You may think me a dreadful ghoul,
They are not heroes to me of course,
I am not so deranged as that,
But they candidly set my cortices afire,

They send my imagination horrifically squirming.

Do you crave horror?
Does your heart desire a quickened pace?
To bring the otherworldly to your world?
Then turn the lights down low,
And let me tell you a virtual story my friend,

Did you hear that?

Out there in the cold of the web,
There are urban legends copied and shared ad infinitum,
Tales of woe and suicide and hellish monsters,
Things that should not exist,
Maybe they do and maybe the don’t,

Is that a bit of a chill?

Haunted websites and schools of dead souls,
Freaks with grins just that bit too wide,
Men in masks travelling in tinted window vans,
Forms of spindly limbs stalking you in the woods,
Things that climb in your window and caress your sleeping cheek,

Was that something taking a peek?

These may seem too real for some dispositions,
But don’t fear my dear friend,
These are simply fictions,
They aren’t real,
Right?

There is nothing behind you.

Do you hear the sobbing?
Hades and the Reaper sit side-by-side,
Mourning,
But not for their expired charges,
But for their assumed roles as villains,
As monsters,

Among a garden of grey roses,
Huddled betwixt souls in repose,
Beside the Styx,
Thrust there by cruel circumstance,
One guides the dead to finally rest,
The other acts as caretaker and guardian,

And what do they receive for their service?
Fear,
The unerring terror of death,
They too prisoners of fates hand,
Hades laments his own torment,
Head in hands,

Their very purpose likened to evil,
But it’s a lie borne of fear,
Death is merely another step,
And its agents merely accessories to this end,
They reap no love though,
They merit pity not dread.

Somethings in my head,
A beastly array of pains and throes,
I can feel it clawing at the walls,
And all the pain that entails,
I know not what is in there,

A bloody drum kit played by an ogre,
Or a cat with too many legs,
A stack of plates like the tower of pisa,
Or a feverish jazz band,
A penance forced on to my brain,

It hurts,
Pangs like bolts through the veins,
I grow weary of it,
The only question upon my lips,
When will it dissipate and give me rest?

So our council of folly,
The hollow authority of our isle,
Open their mouths wide again for our daily rice,
Drenched in the sweat of labourers and nurses,
Taken as if it is their sacred right,
Our gratitude for their incompetence,

This old island is sick,
A blue scourge holds dominion,
Riddled with deaf worm-like things in suits,
With brown envelopes enveloped into their forms,
Finances put to foolish and wanton projects,
Folks held to ransom by foul ferrymen,

We weep at the tax office and county hall,
But those councilmen run out the back door cackling,
If the white cliffs begin to crumble,
And the foundations of our island splinter,
Will they still accept our sweat as thanks?

Every day I seem to witness,
With drawn eyes,
News stories that make me seethe,
Built-in inequality,
Bankers in the slaughterhouses of Wall Street,
Political duplicity,

Impotent old men upon the beaches of society,
Building sandcastles in imperial styles,
Houses of cards,
With sands of ground-up people,
Little voters at the bottom of the ladder,
Each spadeful shrieks in dissent,

The sands mount tall,
Kept strong on designs of grim architects,
The castles are patted down with manifesto lies,
The old men cheer as they rise,
When will the tide come,
And tear these foul empires down?

You hear her humming,
Bayu bayushki bayu,
She is hunting you in these trees,
Wood axe thirsty for gore,
Driven on by some unseen deity,

She is coming,
And the hum continues,

Cower in the dark,
Or within some closet,
Head in hands,
Quaking in your boots,
Watching horror movies in your palms,

She is coming,
And the hum continues,

Run quick my friend,
Lest you trip and fall to her axe,
Or receive a hatchet to the spine thrown,
And her lullaby shall continue,
Bayu bayushki bayu,

She is here.

A continuation of sorts of ‘Kabuto’.

Kneeling by myself,
I meditate in the morning rays,
The scent of last nights sake still on my lips,
Glancing to the floor before me,
I sight my trusty blade coated,
Each blood drip whispered of victory,

Strewn around me eviscerated are demons,
Negative oni,
They beset me in the twilight,
With claw and cynical words,
Unaware of my training,
I follow bushido now,

My new virtues are my strength,
And my katana follows suit,
Loyalty fell duplicity,
Honesty decapitated corruption,
Compassion cut down cruelty,
Courage disemboweled anxiety,

Once the deed was done,
I reflected upon my newfound ethics,
My positive armour and virtuous kenjutsu,
Evil will no longer bring me to my knees,
I’m a warrior now,
A samurai.

I’ve had enough,
Bile rises in my gullet,
Sick of the false prayers,
Golden cathedrals looming over the serfs,
A mistaken license to look down on others,
All began by him,

Weary of a so-called god,
Held aloft by old gothic spires,
Who is either evil behind a facade,
Offhandedly unwilling,
Or incapable of saving his so-called children,
So wrathful my hands grip his ivory throat,

Lightning licks at my arms,
But I persevere,
No more sermons,
Angelic flames scald my hands,
But they hold fast,
No more decrees,

My hands do not let go,
Until the divine lights leave his eyes,
And his religious larynx is crushed,
The angels and cherubs shriek in lamentation,
And fade into nothingness,
People can hear humanity once again,

We are our own gods now.