Bloodspiller

As this days sun grows coral,
The sacrifice is brought up,
To the apex of this temple,
Our golden pyramid,
This one shall suffice,

The sacred hymns are recited,
Drawing the scrutiny of the gods,
My obsidian blade is held in thirsty readiness,
The time is upon us,
Two small eyes grimace up,

‘Tetatzin…?’

The blade falls,
The vessel is pierced,
The pantheons wine is spilled,
Painting the glimmer of this place,
My people ring out in hysteria,

We become phrenetic in holy awe,
Aloft a warm youthful heart is held,
Hesitating to still beat,
Huitzilopochtli drink deep,
And be praised by this act.

Some writing music: Part 85

Hello there inmates!

I hope you’re all having a wonderful day! Oh, and a wonderful week of course. Mine has been quite nice to be honest. I’ve been able to spend plenty of time with Tash which is always a gift. I’ve been more than happy with my recent scribblings. I have been thinking I want to head back in to my more horror-esque works. I’ve leaned a bit too far from that favourite genre of mine in my opinion. What do you guys think?

So, I’m going to be showing all of you some new music today. You’re surely aware of my ways by now! Haha! I have a theme for my musical choices today and it’s one I feel like I have done in the non-too-distant past. I could be imagining it, but we’ll see. Maybe one you lot can let me know.

Todays musical theme is history! Oh yes, anyone who has read my work in the past knows that I have a soft spot for history, particularly when it comes to military history. History is an excellent subject for musical expression, both in subject matter and in stylistic methods. They sometimes use instruments you hear less often, such as instruments used in marching bands and the like. Orchestral stylings are also often used in artists work when imagining historical scenarios. I’m going to try and get a variety of artists as always, it can be difficult at times though!

So, join me as we delve into the musical minds of nostalgic artists the world over!

Sabaton – Fields Of Verdun
https://www.sabaton.net/

2Cellos – Thunderstruck
http://www.2cellos.com/

Iron Maiden – Run To The Hills
https://www.ironmaiden.com/

Neil Young – Cortez The Killer
https://neilyoungarchives.com/

Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark – Enola Gay
https://www.omd.uk.com/

And there we have it!

I had to include a Sabaton song in there, I just had to! So, I hope that you enjoy all of my choices this week and if you’re so inclined, go and give these artists some love. They all deserve it in my opinion. Let me know what you think of this weeks choices and maybe suggest a theme for next weeks writing music? That would be cool!

How about some Harlequin social media nonsense? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, and account on Instagram and an account on Twitter as well. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page. Thank you for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

The Monarch War

A continuation of ‘Hedge Knight‘.

The battle lines were down,
Like an assassins dirk across a map,
A knife through butter,
A plague through a nation,
Somewhere Death was atop a pale courser,
Waiting for his ravens harvest,

The tyrant versus the monarch,
Bloody upheaval versus the status quo,
Two hosts of armoured termites,
Spear and lance and blade,
Village pitted against fellow village,
Serfdom meat shields,

A yelled command,
And the storm of blood and iron began,
Armies collided and spilled crimson,
Mars drank deep that day,
Amidst the sea of levied corpses,
A monarchs and a tyrants eyes met,

Time stopped.

Hedge Knight

There was a knight,
A man of foul tastes and fouler intentions,
Scorned by lords and radiant ladies,
A brutish giant of a man,
Fallen out of court favour,
Settling to escape from the disapproval,

This knight turned that scorn outward,
Turning to punishing the serfs,
A wandering tyrant,
Chivalry turned to banditry,
A wolf in iron clothing,
A kingslayer,

This was no Robin Hood,
But a plate mail monster,
No silver tongues,
Just silver daggers and silver morningstars,
Claiming to be a knight errant like any other,
But searching for vice over virtue,

Along with his merry band of cutthroats,
He revelled in flesh and loot and fury,
A plague on the realm,
A steel cyclone,
Tearing a scar of hate across the nation,
Until a feeble monarch deigned to act.

The Regiment

Amongst the mire and barbed wire,
There lies prone the battered regiment,
Under a rain of both water and shell,
A band of brothers,
Rats armed to the nines,
Fighting more for camaraderie than a flag,

Holding their own,
Holding the front with tooth and round,
Keeping the foes from the trench,
Opting for blades as the bullets run out,
Shouting out under a chorus of machine-gun song,
Weighted down by mud and corpses,

Even these warriors are not ironclad though,
Waves of bodies fall upon them hourly,
Each loss is a bayonet to the gut,
Where each bodybag is a sacred relic,
Sent home with a sombre reverence,
Back to a warm welcome and a cold hearth,

A brief homage and an eternal sleep,
And the war rages on.

Hood

On one fateful day,
On the straits of Denmark,
An iron knight was laid low,
Clad in atlantic fleet grey,
The Mighty Hood,
Pride of a kingdom,
Reduced to scuttled wreck,
Pierced by HE crows from enemy ordnance,
Sent afly by a chancellors namesake,
Explosions cry out,
And the valour of the Royal Navy is frayed,
Rended and sent below the waves,
To be a monument to a fallen chivalrous age,
Now in cold waters does she finally rest,

Ventis Secundis

The Duelist

What does it mean to be a duelist?
Is it the air of flamboyance in your raiment?
Or the tales surrounding your blade?
The cold atmosphere of your stare?
Or is it purely your talent at arms?
A swordsman must be as a snake,
Biding her time to riposte and strike,
Reptilian eyes looking for a weak point,

There’s no underhandedness here though,
She is as regal as a king cobra,
And deeply respected as the fang she is,
The patience pays dividends of course,
A chink is spied,
No cuirass is impenetrable,
Not for an artist,
Not for a true duelist.

Anubis

My minds eye travels for malms,
To these golden lands,
Domains of god-kings,
Amidst the most ancient of civilisations,
There is still respect for death,
In its ghastly canid form,

Anubis or Anpu,
Archon and keeper of our final destination,
Still regal in his purpose,
Despite animalistic visage,
The dead must be embalmed and carried on,
They have a sustained journey ahead,

The wolfs head may inspire fear,
But his howls echo over the sands for no ill feeling,
Simply to ward evil from the graves,
Growls and snarls against desecration,
To protect the dead,
As they are ushered towards the stars in the after.

Imperialism

Many lands believe might makes right,
And bestow this belief on the foreign poor,
A show of force,
A frank display of arrogance,
Replacing ancient tenets with roads,
Inflicting new flags on old traditions,

With heretofore never seen weaponry,
Science turned to warfare,
Behemoths of timber and black powder,
Lines of steel and ruby uniform,
All lands become part of a gold rush,
Power used to justify itself,

Large swathes of the world under one creed,
But a creed benefitting very few,
Vampires in wigs of affluence cheer,
Raising goblets of exotic blood,
To chalk and sands stained in red,
Conquest being its own reward.

Shinobi

The eve grows fatigued,
And your eyes along with it,
The shapes in the corners grow contorted,
Monsters hiding in the periphery,
Raving as you sweat bullets,
Shudders in your limbs,

You feel dark eyes upon you,
An undeniable weight,
Your heart rate begins to sprint,
But you dissuade your own chills,
T’was merely fear of the night,
You lay your head down,

Something sees from the rafters,
Not a revenant,
But a ghost of flesh,
An adept of a grim mantra,
A bladed shadow,
And it seems you’re the mark,

Sleep keeps its distance,
Shudders radiate in your marrow,
You clench your eyes taut,
Something drops to the floor,
Black garb flowing like water,
A shadow approaches its prey,

Eyes and edges behind obsidian silk,
Sleep of a kind is here.