| Poems | |
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Nuebus - Student  |
drop in any poems that u consider GOOD here. doesnt matter if it is or isnt urs  i'll start. an insight in2 insanity...Tainted Spirits Oh no, again here I go Tossing every night Lost within my eternal plight Oh no! Say it isn't so? Still for love I seek Through your mind I sneak It is so! Oh my, once more! Away from you my soul tears me Is it my past or mayhap my spirit sees? Oh my not again. For now I go again Is it fear for in which I am being pulled away? Should I stay? Nay, I go again! Deeper, closer Into your arms I fall Now I freeze forever still Darker, heavier Oh no!, now I fall For now I drop to my knees Nay my soul, naught it may see! Oh no! Fallen again! Such shame! Ignorance inside me it did mold Nay, I lie, I was told! Stupidity, shame! Pain, 'tis it so? Such stupidity, I loved! Now to the ground I am shoved Pain 'tis coming fast! Wake up! I must wake! In my arms I need you Could you need me too? Nay, I have fallen! Warnings? I heed not! My nightmares disturb me eternal Leave me be or I toss thee infernal! I heed naught! Love! I must not! Blinded by my past pain Yet I wish to love again Love... I must! Come out! GET OUT! Tainted spirits leave me I curse All your pain you must reverse Away, away from me! Pain! My past! I hurt, I scream I tear my soul's seam Pain, leave me! For nothing? Nay! It was a step, I tell you, one more I moved closer to happiness forevermore For nothing? 'tis false! _______________ Sanity is for the weak -Let the madness consume you... I'ma moron, i'm the master of morons, i even got a club of morons... so how do u beat me at bein a moron?... and no, not by being u. Ex-Padawan of Chaos~ |
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Nuebus - Student 
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this aint a poem but its a story. He was a homely sort of a boy, fifth child of 12. Ignored and abused, dirty and malformed, he always felt like there was something that could help him escape. He would climb into the tree in his yard. Fixing his little fantasies onto it, with whatever he could find. Stolen items from the silversmith, from his father’s workshop, he used to create a wild and fantastical world. He would get a wicked beating if he were to be found out, but he was becoming numb to all that already at the young age of ten. And his creations were getting larger and larger, strange looking things hanging from this tree. He no longer cared if anyone knew; his obsession had grown into a physical need. Warped silver makings tied with his mother’s wool marked his twisted mindset. The villagers tried not to look and they made his mother crazy with grief. His tortured soul had become something of an anomaly; the other kids who knew him were scared of him. The other kids were playing horse and carriage and pretending to be great wizards and warriors. Rats and small animals he would play with in his tree, pretending to be his father and making these animals pay for whatever he had been punished for. The tree began to stink of the dead flesh of rotting animals, and he began to call himself 'the beast in the blood tree' giggling at the thought of his fantasies. Tying them to his strange not quite human hangings and letting the blood drain onto the leaves and branches. He imagined the tree was his friend, talking to him, telling him he was a lovely child and that he was loved and needed by it and this blood was his gift back to the tree. In his thirteenth year, his father had stopped beating him. His child wasn’t even cowering in fear anymore, with every lashing he just smiled as if he enjoyed it. He did not even flinch. This took all the power away from his father and one day after the final whipping began, his son looked at him with such blankness in his eyes and yet a crooked smile upon his lips, that is made his father stop in mid swing, throwing his hands in the air, cursing as he walked away about how useless this all was. Little did the boy know, his father left the barn trembling and went straight into his house, downed a bottle of home brewed alcohol, beat his wife almost to death and promptly fell asleep satisfied. This boy never slept in his bed in the barn anymore…he slept in his tree, his clothes were soiled beyond cleaning, and the smell had grown into a musty awful smell that when the wind blew, you should smell it across the field. His mother had begun to just leave food wrapped in a cloth piece from one on her old dresses, at the base of the tree, no words were ever spoken, and she did not know what to say. The boy would eat the food and leave the cloth handing just out of reach so she had to come close to the trunk and jump up to get it. Fear would grip her every time she did this. And he began to enjoy that look on her face, snickering at her and she struggled to get the cloth, why does she continue to get the cloth? It was like a game he thought. He even made some blood drip on to it to see if she would take it and she did, crying and running all the way to the house, only to bring it back washed and clean with her meagre offerings within it. It was funny to him, how she actually cared about him, he never noticed that before. That was a thought he no longer cared about anymore and he began to fantasize about killing her in his tree. And so it began, this lust for blood and twisted desires that came about as natural to him as his own life of hardship and just as equal twisted scenarios had come. The death of his mother, who through no fault of her own save being quite ignorant and slow, was the starting point to this torrid tale of madness and self loathing, was to endure through all the years, a curse past on through her daughters and their daughters till the one who ended his miserable life. Even in doing this the tale will not cease, for it is the tree that is twisted and gnarled in its own lust for life. Using all that it can to perpetuate the one thing it loves most….life. No matter how insignificant, no matter how malicious, it wanted it and it would stop at nothing just to feel alive. _______________ Sanity is for the weak -Let the madness consume you... I'ma moron, i'm the master of morons, i even got a club of morons... so how do u beat me at bein a moron?... and no, not by being u. Ex-Padawan of Chaos~ |
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Sared - Retired 
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Guilty or not guity. Past convictions frustrate, the judge who wonders should your fate abate. _______________ I'm crazy, not stupid. |
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SaZ - Student 
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i found this one : In night, unseen, Avoiding light, You going in, Not black nor white. The beasts await, The guards on stay, You need to fear, Or fall as prey. Behind their backs, No need for kill, You sneaking forth, You love this feel. The only thing You know for sure That very soon You'll want this more _______________ playing jk3 since 30th of january (2005), member since 1st of february. [Unofficial Master to Vision and Z�diac ] If you can make a fool of yourself infront of 300 people you can do anything - Jaiko D'kana |
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angel - Student 
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you sux treex _______________ my honor is my life |
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Nuebus - Student
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just an insight 2 ma insanity. The pain of losing It has been a long time Old friend, familiar, Since we danced in our Garden of Pain I thought you were gone Left far behind, Sealed behind golden Rings eternal Can she know how We used to dance? Does she know How close we were? Will she feel the lethal Edge cut its fatal slit? Will she feel the noose Tighten its loving grip? Can we Dance in my Garden of Pain? Where i left you forever But no not forever I am back again Push you away in my Garden of Pain, yet you are Still there when I come back again Restless sleep with Dreams of those passed on Joking and laughing to bring Me out of my Garden of Pain There is no way out except one And that has been torn and broken Like bones in a hand that Once caressed and showed love I lived here before In my Garden of Pain Yet it seems So foriegn to me There are no colors in My Garden of Pain Blackness has consumed it and Vomited out a mockery of color My Garden of Pain, I didn't miss you My Garden of Pain, I hate you My Garden of Pain, I fear you My Garden of Pain, I am Home. _______________ Sanity is for the weak -Let the madness consume you... I'ma moron, i'm the master of morons, i even got a club of morons... so how do u beat me at bein a moron?... and no, not by being u. Ex-Padawan of Chaos~ This comment was edited by Nuebus on Jul 27 2005 05:45am. |
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Thomasooo - Student 
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I wish I were artistic. If I were, maybe I could understand poems of a depth larger than 0.1 cm. _______________ In the navy and LOVING it!
Recipient of comment no. 1000 and heart-warming words from Ataris! 
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CuZzA - Student 
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Quote: In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. - John McCrae Written after the funeral of his friend, who literally got blown to pieces in World War 1. yup, heard it before...v good poem _______________ - Even if Carlsberg made "w*nkers", Christiano Ronaldo would still be the biggest "w*nker" in the world |
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Esta - Student 
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Pretty good, reminds me of Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen, and that short piece in the opening of Medal of Honour Allied Assault. "And when he gets to heaven to Saint Peter he will tell; 'One more soldier reporting sir, I've served my time in hell'" Goodstuffs _______________ -Kauyon Draconis [Official master of Ataris] |
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Bail Hope of Belouve - Student 
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. - John McCrae Written after the funeral of his friend, who literally got blown to pieces in World War 1. _______________ Visit the Belouve Family Website! Quote: I try to have fun with my friends and try to make a difference as best I can. What does making a difference mean? Well, it can be as simple as saying hello, answering a question that seems obvious or heck, just talking. -- Vladarion
Want to know Vladarion? Read the Article about his life here. |
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Esta - Student
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A touch of blood Metal against skin, I swore I'd never again, Cursing my blasphemy as the blade sinks in. Staind again, Scarlet floor Like many times before; same spot Between thoughts of agnosticity Motives and fears Torn flesh and the taste of tears. The will to live So close and yet so far. I won't give up, not yet. _______________ -Kauyon Draconis [Official master of Ataris] |
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